Fez Monkeys

I’ve never been one to get upset about birthdays. Maybe I’m just not old enough yet, but I just tend to think that getting old isn’t such a bad thing. Well, until you start to lose it. That scares me. But I think that’s a long way off.

Despite myself, I wasn’t having a very good day yesterday. I don’t take change well, so I was a little depressed about relationships shifting in my life. At some point you have to throw up your hands and walk away, but it’s still sad. Yesterday. Sad. On the verge of tears. Maybe it’s from unrelated stress. But I don’t FEEL stressed about anything else. Huh.

Somehow, Paul made everything better, and completely spoiled me. It’s a little disgusting. We went to Pasha, which was like a train wreck. Middle Eastern is hands-down, my favorite cuisine. I’d rather have good hummus than a cupcake, probably, and that’s saying a lot.

Pasha is like a bad Disneyland version of Middle Eastern, but smarmy. That’s a good thing and a bad thing. The food was very uninspired. We had the Vegetarian Combination, and the cheese flambe, which was a sad reminder of how good the saganaki was at Byzantion in Seattle (this is one of those foods you dream about for years to come). The hummus wasn’t as good as Kan Zaman or Saha, but it was OK. Everything else was OK, except for something I ate which I thought was bad, like when you eat a strawberry and it tastes like dirt and then you see that there’s mold on the one below it, but Paul thought maybe it was spiced to taste like that. Hmm.

The real attraction to this place, I assume, is the ambiance and entertainment. And it WAS entertaining. There was a smarmy MC musician guy with his lecherous drumming cohort, and then a belly dancer. The whole thing had a very Vegas lounge lizard feel to it. They made a bunch of people in the audience get up and dance, like one at a time, and do a bunch of embarrassing shit. I flatly refused. It was like a train wreck, and just got more and more horrifying, watching all the middle aged accountants with their party of coworkers getting "crazy." But still funny. I have to think if there’s anyone I hate enough to take them to this place and make them get on stage.

After the show, the disco ball effect over the curtain draped walls and ceiling, along with the droopy techno reminded me of being in a come-down tent at Burning Man. Don't get me wrong, all of this was an experience not to be missed. I never have to wonder about Pasha again. And I won't ever get the image of the fat Indian guy with a giant mustache and a cheap sportcoat dancing in a fez.

After like $32 of pomegranate (and supposedly vodka) drinks, we were still sober (the drinks sucked as much as the food), and finished up and headed to Drunken Monkey, where we listened to bad music while I slurped down a real drink, before going home.

I love riding on the back when I’m drunk.

Paul makes everything better.

I never wanted to be one of those people who loses touch with their friends when they are in a relationship, but despite my best trying, it’s starting to look like that. At least I know it’s not my fault. I tried. I have always fought change tooth-and-nail, but it’s the way of life, and I ought to learn to be more accepting of that. Anyway, my mom always told me that adults don’t really have friends. It makes me unbearably sad, but I’m only going to allow sadness a few more days before I throw it out the door too and plunge into the next thing.

I am getting the hell out of town this weekend. Somewhere. Anywhere. Any suggestions?