It was God's day.

I had just had coffee and counsel with an illustrious and inspiring woman of boundless beauty and chattering charm when I looked up at the clock and said, "I'm late for a fashion show."  Words I had never before uttered but were the truth.  Our goodbyes said and embrace peeled apart, I headed for a drink and an address for the cabbie. 

A quick sip and I was conveyed downtown.  The driver said that he admired my facial hair, which happens sometimes, but I've never had anyone ask me if it grew that way naturally.  Really should have gotten the number of that taxi.  The show was great.  Trinky M, you were gorgeous.  Lots of hot, HIGH maintenance girls. 

One asked me to take a picture of her on her phone; she then proceeded to show me ALL the pictures she had taken of herself.  Yipes!  Thing is she wasn't a salon artist or a model.  The whole thing was weird. 

Burritos and tequila after, I nab a cab and make it back to the place of my employ where a good friend is having a holiday party.  Always down for a bit of the ole free sauce I pony up and begin The Imbibe. 

Enter Flyboy: Charming and handsome young boy, A co-worker and friend.  Flyboy is as easygoing and always down for whatever.  I love him.  He clocks out and clocks in on my shift. (Flyboy is newly 21, I'm talking a few months in whilst my liver looks like a dog's chew toy).  We begin with Southsides(gin mojitos).  Switching it up.  With my every whim comes the quaff of something different: whiskey, wine, gin, vodka, and tequila.  Still with every drink Flyboy slams his fist on the bar with a smile asking, "What's next Big C?"

I say, "Lets go down the street, my Girl Bridge is working."

I head for the door and unbeknownst to me, Flyboy is stopped by the bartender on shift, "Just be careful, I saw a look in Big C's eyes, and all I'm saying' is, BE CAREFUL."

Whatever.

Buy the ticket; take the ride. We show up and Bridge is there so shots are bought for the lot.  At this point I have a brown out.  Apparently we wander back to home base where the holiday party is wrapping up (no pun intended). 

So Flyboy and I are double fisting leftover white wine and beer.  He's telling me the specifics of an encounter with some young lady.  It's late or early depending on your clock;  2 a.m. at least and I'm feeling a bit peckish. 

No f#@k that, Ravenous.  I have a hunger that no corner store with their frozen burritos and rotating hotdogs on their 11th hour can satiate but we're in Ballard so we go to Denny's. 

This is where I start to come to again...the beige booths, stark lights and the claw game that I was once a master at and now don't even attempt.  Quarters better spent at the Laundromat.  We are seated and order.  I go with the sampler (deep fried yummy goodness)  and Flyboy gets, Yep, you guessed it, Moons over my Hammy. 

As we wait we talk shit for a bit.  And then the greasy, glorious, beautiful bounty comes.  Immediately we dig in.  I'm dipping cheese sticks in ranch and Flyboy is chomping through ham like a chopper through rough winds. 

Then it happens. Flyboy looks up at me, says nothing.  And as I have a mouth full of ranch covered chicken strips it comes... Like a canary-colored pudding fountain, a Jackson Pollack Big Bird puree, Flyboy sprays his plate with a yellow waterfall that could fill a man’s hat.

He takes a deep breath after he's finished and although I should be thoroughly disgusted and a bit put off food I start to laugh...HARD.  This has to be the funniest f#@kin' thing I have ever seen.  In my head I think, "Laugh it up chuckles!" and I do. 

Flyboy put off by my lack of empathy or more likely the smell of deep fried food coming from the Denny's kitchen, gets up and goes outside, not without, oh so politely putting his napkin over the regurgitated plate.  I sit there for a second taking it all in while eating another onion ring.  It's gross but I'm still hungry. 

I finally follow him outside and try to console, but if you've ever try to tend to a vomit victim you know they do not like to be touched, so I do what any good friend would do: call him a cab, slip a 20 in his hand and wish him fare thee well. 

As for me? Well, I went back inside, finished my food and apologized to the night manager for the mess.  Oh yeah and had a vanilla milkshake for dessert.  Yum!