Session #5: Prostitution is a Tricky Thing

The Sessionista is quite the jet-setter these days (sans jet)! After a 10 day vacation on The Mothership, The Sessionista turned around and headed to Whistler, BC to celebrate Sister Sessionista’s final days of freedom before The Wedding of the Year.

On Friday, Sister Sessionista and her entourage headed to the Great White North to party in what was once the land of hot men (that title has apparently been passed on to some unknown spot and/or The Sessionista has ventured so far from Singledom that she can’t even identify hotness outside of The Sessionista’s Man).

Come Saturday night, Sister Sessionista was properly bedecked in a freakishly demure veil and sparkly “bachelorette” tiara (frantically picked up at Display and Costume for the eff me over price of $20). First on the agenda? Creating a solid food base for the soon-to-be consumed liquor, at Caramba in the Whistler Village.

Caramba lived up to the “all food is shitty in Whistler” phenomenon that The Sessionista has experienced time and again.  In some weird cross-border collusion, the waitress brought The Sessionista another effing gin and tonic, a la her high school reunion. Clearly someone out there wants The Sessionista to drink gin. The G&T was replaced 5 minutes later with a T.  If there was any V to be found in it, far be it from The Sessionista to know. Digging into stringy, salty pot roast, The Sessionista wondered how bad the 2.5 star restaurant would have been if this is what she was dealt at the 4 star restaurant.

The “stagette” party (when in Canada…) shimmied down to The Savage Beagle (or The Beagle, if you want to sound like you’ve been there before) where they were “on the list.” Except there was no line. And no cover. Making the stagettes feel slightly less important.  Sipping another VT (again, light on the V- it was as if the entire Village was against The Sessionista) and watching soccer highlights on the plasma, Sessionista wondered when the craziness level would kick up a notch.

Tired of shitty techno and grown men embarrassing themselves with ugly dancing, the stagettes wandered down to Garfinkel’s where The Sessionista quickly came to the realization she was too effing old and wearing far too many clothes to skip the line and get in, even with her Stagette Sister in tow.  What miniature buzz the party had attained at this point was quickly wearing off, so it was on the hoof again, this time to find a place called Wild Bill’s, which promised to be well…wild.

Tantalizing strains of “Billie Jean” wafted out of the club while the stagettes stood in yet another line that appeared to go nowhere, listening to people yell “happy birthday” to Sister Sessionista. Seems a giant white veil and tiara with “bachelorette” written on it is just too much to comprehend in Canada. Luckily Sessionista and Company were thoroughly entertained by the  people watching. Apparently all the mirrors in Whistler were broken on Saturday night- the only possible explanation for the sick amount of squeezed-in satin and perplexingly tight-assed, blousy stomached dresses tottering around the village.

Freezing their tatas off, one of the stagettes made her way over to a doorman and asked if the party might be able to skip the line. The stagettes were then escorted to a WHOLE OTHER BAR. Apparently this is where they shunt all the old (i.e. 30), clothing-clad women in Whistler.

Unceremoniously dumped in Tapley’s Pub with a derisive “you can wait over here for 45 minutes, then we’ll let you in,” Sessionista and Company beelined to the bar, where the only hot guy in all of Whistler (the bartender) gave the group a free bottle of pink champagne. Sessionista figured the rosy color alone indicated the bottle cost an astonishing $6. But who was The Sessionista to complain?? This was the best service she’d gotten all night. Finally, someone was giving Sister Sessionista the proper attention she deserved on this, her Last Night of Freedom. The place was packed with phenomenally drunk but seemingly normal people (minus the guy who arrived wearing a giant cardboard box), the music was good and the bartender was hot.  Reason enough to stay.  An hour later, the doorman from Wild Bill’s arrived, telling us the stagettes could come over. And get in to the club for the bargain price of $18 a person. Apparently Wild Bill’s thinks it’s on the Vegas Strip, cozied up next to Tao.

Forgoing the ridiculous cover, the stagettes continued to drink, Sister Sessionista continued to get grabbed (the veil, not her) and all was going quite lovely until Sister Sessionista and her friend the Blond Biologist were propositioned by a stranger, through a glass window.  Innocently drinking and enjoying their last 15 minutes before the bar closed, the Sessionista’s Future Sister in Law suddenly noticed a man standing outside the window by the table, pointing at Sister Sessionista and Blond Biologist, then making “sleep” motions.  The offered rate? $150 for the pair. Thank god the exchange rate is one-for-one or they’d have been worth around $50 piece. Holding up wads of cash to the window, the creepy dude continued to try to solicit a woman in a white veil for sex. When that didn’t work, he offered up $150 for The Sessionista. The Sessionista has worn many cute, scandalous outfits over time, joking she looked like a hooker. But apparently jeans and a t-shirt are prostie wear these days. Or this man was too drunk to notice The Sessionista was showing less skin than a 7th Day Adventist.

And you thought The Sessionista was exaggerating...
And you thought The Sessionista was exaggerating...

Being propositioned seemed like a good way to end the night, so the stagettes exited the bar, escaped the john, and wandered back to the condo, with one memorable stagette party under their belts.

Sessionista Says: Whistler 2009 is no Whistler circa 2003. Sigh. But at least The Session can check the “#743: Have someone offer you money for sex” item off her Life’s To-Do List.

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Session #4: A Decade in the Making

In 1999, Sessionista donned an oversized purple gown, hideous cap and black rubber flip flops to graduate from Issaquah High School, saying adios to the simultaneous joy and pain of high school forever. Until her 10 Year Class Reunion.

On Saturday night, The Sessionista took the Red Dragon over to the childhood home of her friend Immik where, like so many times a decade ago, they were seen off for the evening by her parents (this time, no curfew). The Red Dragon safely parked curbside (Sessionista was not arriving at the Reunion in a 1998 Suzuki Sidekick regardless of how comfortable she is with how she turned out), Sessionista and Immik headed to the Woodland Park Zoo, where a smattering of her graduating class were congregating to celebrate (?) 10 years gone by.

Sessionista, rocking her fave minidress and soon to be not-so-fave platforms, tottered into the venue, after a massive last minute “MUST we do this??” session in the parking lot. Completely sober, but not content to stay that way, Sessionista and Immik headed straight the bar, where the night almost began in a disastrous fashion when the clearly not on his game bartender almost mis-served a GT for a VT. Luckily, eagle eye Sessionista saw the Bad Green Bottle and quickly set things aright.

Armed with alcohol, Sessionista and Immik made there way into the “crowd” of 15 or so grads awkwardly mingling around the Zoomazium (fancy name for children’s play area with bar). After a few sly nametag oogles, The Sessionista got the hang of it and got down to the business of small talk, all the while keeping her eye out for the inevitable “guy who got a lot hotter post high school” and “100% wasted girl.” (success on both accounts, thank god, considering Sessionista plunked down 50 hard-earned ducats on this affair).

Throwing back mini-burgers that were literally the size of quarters, Sessionista reconnected with old friends and talked to classmates she’d never even known in high school, reassured that some things would never change. A decade later, there was still the guy who refused to look at you when you talked, clearly always looking for someone better to speak to. There was the popular girl clique who had somehow gotten even blonder, thinner, and bedecked in shorter skirts (and here Sessionista was worried about her mini dress…). There were still the quiet people who had slid by unnoticed in school (but who, emboldened by their dates, were far more social as adults).

After the official party ended, the crowd headed to Kells, where The Sessionista and Immik refused to spend $7 just for the privilege of walking through the door and getting cheap beer spilled on them. Instead, they hovered on the corner of 1st and Stewart, insisting on escorting the out-of-towners who couldn’t find Kells. By this point, The Sessionista would have happily set fire to her platforms. After getting hit on on the street corner (is “would you like to join us for dessert?” code for something illegal and icky?), Sessionista was forced to walk 7 downhill blocks (with gravity castrating her toes the entire way) to the Zig Zag Cafe. To keep it short: strange patrons, disgusting bathrooms and tasty hummus. Sessionista can’t judge the drinks because by this point she was on to her 4th VT and frankly didn’t give a shit how it tasted.

At 2:00am, The Sessionista shut it down, said goodbye to the Class of ’99 and slipped off her platforms.

Sessionista says: 10 years later, the guys are friendlier, the girls are the same and the Sessionista is happy to have had a chance to take a look at the odd little ceremony that is the 10 Year Class Reunion.

Session #3: Networking is Twisted

The Sessionista and her compatriot Kappa Delt decided a little networking was in order, so on Tuesday they braved gridlock on 520 (in the air condition-less Red Dragon) to mingle with, fingers crossed, a bunch of happily employed, awesome be-jobbed people at Puget Sound American Marketing Association’s (PSAMA) networking event at Twist in Belltown.

Reality quickly descended, and even a rotating pig and a heavy on the vodka, light on the tonic VT couldn’t save The Sessionista and Kappa from a brutal two hours of desperation (whose desperation? Still debatable.).  Kappa fended off consultants looking for consultees, while The Sessionista found herself inexplicably involved in a “how the eff is this expanding my professional network?” hula hoop contest. Those hips weren’t made for hulaing, though, and The Sessionista lost in Round 1 to someone from the PSAMA committee who used her neck (Sessionista is petitioning the result).

Fortified by booze, The Sessionista did her best to act interested in marketing-babble  (excerpt: “clearly the Gen Ys and MillenaKids aren’t going to go for traditional direct to market z-comm pieces” and “increase the ROI by outsourcing the target strategy to a firm with vision”) but quickly drifted towards the food table where she nibbled on mysterious yet tasty potstickers (first carefully tasted by Kappa to ensure there was no seafood involved).  Missed out on the beef satay due to forced networking. Some people clearly don’t realize that hovering over the food table indicates hunger, not chattiness…

Finally, Kappa and The Sessionista were forced to pull the “going to the loo” trick to escape (it was that or lose all hope of Kappa EVER joining Sessionista at another networking event) and made a run for McDonald’s.  The Sessionista proceeded to moderately bump a curb on her way to get one of the new Angus bacon cheeseburgers (entirely awful and gigantic waste of $5, made with crazy salty bacon that the Sessionista had to chuck at Kappa while driving because it was THAT BAD. The Sessionista does not voluntarily remove bacon from her food without a damn good reason.), which had Kappa losing all faith in The Sessionista’s driving abilities.  Which was not helped when Sessionista accidentally hit the gas when dropping Kappa off and may have almost clipped the back of Kappa’s brand new car.

So Sessionista’s night ended, without any good contacts, without bacon, and without any faith in her ability to handle the Red Dragon.

Sessionista says: Do not drink (1) VT at Twist and then drive (even 2 hours later!), especially when combined with nasty McDonald’s Angus burger.

Session #2: It’s Trivial

On Monday morning, The Sessionista received a call from Sister Sessionista demanding her presence at the Issaquah Brewhouse for a spirited round of pub trivia.  Icing on the cake? Trivia night started at the entirely appealing “am I the only one employed in this city?” hour of 7:00pm. Seeing her chance to get back in the trivia groove (a groove killed by a job on the Eastside and her refusal to attend a game that didn’t start until 9pm on a work night), The Sessionista jetted (puttered at 35 mph) from Redmond, placed six unsuccessful calls to find a replacement for Sister Sessionista’s fiancé, who had last minute familial duties, parked at a free public garage by the library and entered the packed restaurant/bar, ready to go toe to toe with all the trivia heads in town.

One foot through the door, Sessionista quickly realized it was one of those uniquely Washington places (i.e. not Target) that didn’t have air conditioning, never mind the staggering 100 degree temps that were blanketing the Eastside.  Angrily watching an overhead ceiling fan rotate at approximately 12 rpm, The Sessionista sweated. And sweated.  The Sessionista’s Man arrived (sweaty) and grabbed a Rogue beer while Sessionista got her hands on a Lindemann’s Framboise for the “bargain” price of $7.50 (after asking the waiter how much it cost- The Sessionista isn’t shy about these things). Sister Sessionista, slightly glazed from the heat, tried a Rogue as well (brewed on site? Sessionista can never figure just how much Rogue is brewed at the brewhouse).

The trivia was good (40 questions!) but turned out to be a special benefit for Morocco. Which means that A: it’s not a regular event (Sessionista’s dream of blowing off steam at a weekly trivia game? Crushed.) and B: one of the categories was “Morocco.” Turns out The Sessionista and Team were embarrassingly out of the Morocco loop (witness, no one at the table knew Arabic was the country’s official language).

After a few hours of hot fun (literally), Sessionista, Sessionista’s Sister and Sessionista’s Man split, losers at trivia, but winners at…well…nothing.

Highlight: Arguing about which moon of Uranus shares its name with a Sex and the City character and then conceding to the only MAN at the table (poor move).

Lowlight: The Kobe beef sliders which had gelatinous masses of wasabi mayo and were served, quite literally, on a bread plate, with nary even a sprig of parsley as garnish (OK, they tasted decent, but the presentation was icky and The Sessionista likes her food to at least LOOK appetizing).

Sessionista Says: Meh. Worth it if there’s trivia involved.