My messenger in disguise makes up for such short goodbyes. You can’t come home; each time is different.
Typically in the world of word association, if I was to tell you I had an intimate encounter with an urchin this past weekend one may inquire where on the coast I had been. The inquirer may be curious to why I would spend a winter’s day along the chilly and uninviting banks of the Northwest’s Pacific Ocean. The inquisitive may then ask how one has an intimate encounter with a marine invertebrate of about three centimeters covered in brittle spines. Oh how the common mind wonders once it has set itself to a generally accepted definition of a particular word: urchin. However, this particular urchin was not aquatic or tiny in stature, but did share some other attributes in a metaphoric sense.
This confrontation would occur at the conclusion of my weekend and as one may guess, or by this time assume, whiskey would have his shaky hands in this pot. A Sunday that began as anonymously as any other had over the past month with a close group of friends congregating in my living room. The five of us would spend the early afternoon eating our breakfasts (some of us bagels and others the traditional chips and salsa), watching an American football game that I had a hopeful interest in, and sharing the events of the prior evening I missed due to work at the ballroom. I was more or less disappointed in being absent to the night’s shenanigans as it was a member of the quintet’s birthday and apparently inappropriate contact with a stripper by another member was involved. Details are still a bit unclear even in the present. The afternoon’s conversation was light-hearted and seemingly jovial as the expressed team of interest performed well and ended the game victorious. My elation was evident through a series of hollers and sly dance steps. The latter is no longer out of character since we are now residing in a dancier world thanks to a New Year’s Revolution. After some subtle celebration I received an invitation from a member of the quintet that escaped minutes prior. “We watched your team on your home field, now let’s watch my team on mine.” Lots-a-Luck.
So I departed with friend in tote to a sports bar located four blocks from my house that I had somehow avoided until this fateful Sabbath. It was there that whiskey joined the festivities, as the quintet would eventually reconvene with the addition of a Wagon. (Unfamiliar, well, he is the professor who spent last winter living in my garage). The six of us watched the team my friend has a vied interest in play a terrific second half and prevail in the end. Cocktails were extensively drunk throughout this game, especially with the uncertainty surrounding the first half. You see, my friend with the vied interest is one that, once drunk, you want to see in high spirits and not envious or upset. After a final round of celebratory high-fives and drinks, we closed our tabs with the eyesore of a bartender and slyly grabbed the Cholula from the bar top. This is an action that a past reader may recall I have a penchant for, but it was a necessary condiment to my hot sauce dance performed minutes later on Powell Avenue.
After leaving the establishment the reestablished quintet headed back to the original home field for some clearing of the mind and delayed decision-making as whether or not to continue. We continued. There was a stop off at the appropriately named Wynnes and then it was off to our local watering hole. And as we all now know the water is the natural habitat of the urchin...The urchin is a bottom-eater that lives off of the defenseless, which can be something as simple as algae or something as complex as an inebriated twenty-something that continues to celebrate well past his prime social capabilities. The urchin is most commonly perceived as being a dark creature typically of a black or dull green color, whether it is the hue of the spines that cover its globular shell or that of its attire, features, and hair that cover its pale skin. The urchin appears inanimate or without any ability towards propulsion yet it is completely capable of free motion when it feels necessary or is summoned over to a bar table by a supposed friend. The urchin has a masochistic ability to destroy its own environment when left unchecked by its natural predators. With no predators in its watery habitat, the urchin will overpopulate and slowly wean out the defenseless, maybe from a bar table, until its final source of food remains and is left with no alternatives but to be consumed by its barely visible eyes and pincers. This is all the inquirer needs to know about how I had an intimate encounter with an urchin this past weekend.
Typically in the world of word association, if I was to tell you I had an intimate encounter with an urchin this past weekend one may inquire where on the coast I had been. The inquirer may be curious to why I would spend a winter’s day along the chilly and uninviting banks of the Northwest’s Pacific Ocean. The inquisitive may then ask how one has an intimate encounter with a marine invertebrate of about three centimeters covered in brittle spines. Oh how the common mind wonders once it has set itself to a generally accepted definition of a particular word: urchin. However, this particular urchin was not aquatic or tiny in stature, but did share some other attributes in a metaphoric sense.
This confrontation would occur at the conclusion of my weekend and as one may guess, or by this time assume, whiskey would have his shaky hands in this pot. A Sunday that began as anonymously as any other had over the past month with a close group of friends congregating in my living room. The five of us would spend the early afternoon eating our breakfasts (some of us bagels and others the traditional chips and salsa), watching an American football game that I had a hopeful interest in, and sharing the events of the prior evening I missed due to work at the ballroom. I was more or less disappointed in being absent to the night’s shenanigans as it was a member of the quintet’s birthday and apparently inappropriate contact with a stripper by another member was involved. Details are still a bit unclear even in the present. The afternoon’s conversation was light-hearted and seemingly jovial as the expressed team of interest performed well and ended the game victorious. My elation was evident through a series of hollers and sly dance steps. The latter is no longer out of character since we are now residing in a dancier world thanks to a New Year’s Revolution. After some subtle celebration I received an invitation from a member of the quintet that escaped minutes prior. “We watched your team on your home field, now let’s watch my team on mine.” Lots-a-Luck.
So I departed with friend in tote to a sports bar located four blocks from my house that I had somehow avoided until this fateful Sabbath. It was there that whiskey joined the festivities, as the quintet would eventually reconvene with the addition of a Wagon. (Unfamiliar, well, he is the professor who spent last winter living in my garage). The six of us watched the team my friend has a vied interest in play a terrific second half and prevail in the end. Cocktails were extensively drunk throughout this game, especially with the uncertainty surrounding the first half. You see, my friend with the vied interest is one that, once drunk, you want to see in high spirits and not envious or upset. After a final round of celebratory high-fives and drinks, we closed our tabs with the eyesore of a bartender and slyly grabbed the Cholula from the bar top. This is an action that a past reader may recall I have a penchant for, but it was a necessary condiment to my hot sauce dance performed minutes later on Powell Avenue.
After leaving the establishment the reestablished quintet headed back to the original home field for some clearing of the mind and delayed decision-making as whether or not to continue. We continued. There was a stop off at the appropriately named Wynnes and then it was off to our local watering hole. And as we all now know the water is the natural habitat of the urchin...The urchin is a bottom-eater that lives off of the defenseless, which can be something as simple as algae or something as complex as an inebriated twenty-something that continues to celebrate well past his prime social capabilities. The urchin is most commonly perceived as being a dark creature typically of a black or dull green color, whether it is the hue of the spines that cover its globular shell or that of its attire, features, and hair that cover its pale skin. The urchin appears inanimate or without any ability towards propulsion yet it is completely capable of free motion when it feels necessary or is summoned over to a bar table by a supposed friend. The urchin has a masochistic ability to destroy its own environment when left unchecked by its natural predators. With no predators in its watery habitat, the urchin will overpopulate and slowly wean out the defenseless, maybe from a bar table, until its final source of food remains and is left with no alternatives but to be consumed by its barely visible eyes and pincers. This is all the inquirer needs to know about how I had an intimate encounter with an urchin this past weekend.
