Last weekend, I visited Portland for a re-bachelor party with my buddies Shorts, Dinger, Power Nap, and Esquire (our lawyer).
Wait a second. What the deuce is a re-bachelor party?
I’m so glad you asked
A re-bachelor party is what happens to a bachelor party when the future husband’s fiancee decides she doesn’t want to get married and kicks said future husband out of their house (at nine in the morning, no less) some time between accepting his proposal and walking down the aisle.
Yes, that actually happened. No, I still can’t fathom how someone could do that. Yes, in retrospect, it’s for the best. No, the fact that someone who was with you for about half a decade and agreed to marry you would end your engagement without so much as a heads up does not make any sense. Yes, she is a smelly pirate hooker.
But I digress…
The change from bachelor party to re-bachelor party did not materially alter the trajectory of the trip; it did, however, kick it into high gear.
Travelling to Portland with four bartenders and a lawyer was never destined to end well. This simply ensured that it end in the most ugly way imaginable.
Suffice to say, this article will not divulge the details of the trip. Not for the trite, insulting, and infantile excuse of “What happens in Portland stays in Portland”, but, more appropriately that divulging all the details would diminish the mystery and mystique of one life’s truly epic adventures and, more importantly, would likely serve as incriminating evidence in future legal cases brought upon the involved parties.
Much like how a great horror movie hides the identify of the monster for as long as possible, it’s better – for everyone, really – if you don’t know everything. Hell, most of us don’t even remember everything. All you need to know is that we put a dent in Portland (and Portland put a dent in us).
In lieu of divulging the assuredly incriminating evidence of this weekend, I will simply issue well deserved thank yous to all the parties involved in making this weekend so special, so extraordinary, and so sensationally sublime. I hope to see many of you back in Hawaii so we can return the overwhelming and humbling generosity.
Without further ado, allow me to give a warm Drink with Aloha thank you…
… to Debbie our bartender at the Honolulu Airport for the beers, smiles, and side shots of Jameson.
… to the guy who blew his nose in the urinal next to Shorts at the Honolulu Airport for permanently raising the bar for most disgusting act you could perform in an airport bathroom with your clothes on.
… to the smelly pirate hooker for sending a message to her ex-fiancee wishing him a weekend filled with “fun and friendship”, kick starting an endless stream of “fun and friendship” jokes.
… to the Budweiser distributors for stocking the Honolulu Airport with a healthy supply of Budweiser aluminum bottles to ensure that we could drink at the airport while our hand and lips were unbearably cold. (The designer of the aluminum bottle falls right below the creator of ultra-bright permanent-blindness-inducing fog lights on cars on my list of people I would actively choose to not save from a tiger attack if given the opportunity.)
…To our bartenders at the Doug Fir for the beers and the best advice we didn’t need on what to do in Portland… “go to a strip club and do not drive”. (It is truly amazing how frequently people say “go to a strip club” when you ask them what to do in Portland. Judging from my conversations, all people do in Portland is eat, drink, and look at boobs. In related news, Portland is awesome.)
… to Lulu the stripper with great eye make-up sitting outside Union Jack’s for the cigarette, polite conversation, and helpful recommendation to avoid actually entering Union Jack’s due to the general bad attitude of the dancers that evening. (Yes, a stripper actually convinced us NOT to enter her strip club. In defense of the aforementioned unfriendly dancers, Lulu did say “they do great pole work though”. Also, Power Nap gave a glowing report on the attitude and abilities of the ladies of “Union Jack” after a return visit.)
… to Steve McCarthy from Clear Creek distillery for the incredible hospitality, behind the scenes tour, and making what is almost certainly the best pear brandy in the United States. (His grappa ain’t to shabby either.)
… to Jody from the Clear Creek tasting room for graciously hosting us and laughing at the world’s worst and most offensive religious themed plum brandy joke of all time. (No, I will not repeat it. Ever.)
… to the surly bartender at Joe’s Cellar who poured shots of Jameson like she knew us.
… to the gentlemen wearing jogging shorts over their yoga pants at Joe’s Cellar for breaking the record for most times anyone has ever said they were not gay in one day – my unofficial count ended at 17 – and for the grapefruit and well vodkas. (Travelor’s Tip: Never drink well vodka at an establishment where a round of beers for five people costs $11.)
… to the cougars at North 45 for hitting on me and Shorts even after I proved borderline unable to drink a beer without spilling it all over the floor. (Update: One of the cougars emailed Shorts and I after the trip. Apparently we agreed to help her plan her neice’s wedding. Also, she thanked us for not spilling <em>her</em> drink. For the record, I have no recollection of this conversation taking place.)
… to Dinger for having the foresight to call ahead and tell the staff at Bull Creek distillery that visiting would not be in the best interest of any parties involved given our current levels of imbibement.
… to the bartender at Matador for serving Shorts and I the first Negroni he had ever made.
… to the staff at Raven and Rose for the fantastic hospitality, great drinks, and for having the foresight to know that 9:30 PM was an appropriate time to politely ask us to leave.
… to Dinger for buying the shot of 20 year-old whiskey that ended my night. (If you’re going to go out, do it with a bang, no?)
… to Brian, from Tasty & Alder, for picking up Dinger after his barstool had seen enough antics and for the best improved whiskey cocktail I’ve ever imbibed.
…to Esquire for providing sufficient legal council to keep Shorts from becoming the first person to ever get jailed for whistling minutes after being kicked out of the Low Brow for sleeping on a table. Also, for leading a group discussion on whether it would be better to go to prison, since they might have good coffee and vegan food at Portland jails.
… to Power Nap for concluding that he needed a much better reason than coffee and vegan food to go to prison, which, in retrospect, was the right call.
… to Patrolman Shaw for not introducing any members of our group to the fine coffee and vegan food of the Portland Correctional Facilities.
… to Stacey Dash and Alicia Silverstone for keeping me company as I lay in bed in the next morning too hungover to turn off Clueless.
… to Chris from Deschuttes for buying lunch for our crew, entertaining us with phenomenal stories all morning, and somehow convincing us to love Deschuttes more than we already did and ever thought possible.
… to Lee and Patrick from Bull Run Distilling company for the incredible behind the scenes tour, amazing chinnato barrel aged whiskey – I can’t stress how good this was – and delicious aquavit (120 proof and still sippably smooth. Incredible).
… to Patrick for coming out for “one drink”.
… to Tommy Klus for guiding us on a truly epic evening of adventure and for staking a claim to the world’s greatest coaster flipper.
… to Tommy’s dog, Mabel, for talking with Dinger on not one,or two, but 3 full car rides. (As we told Dinger, this was not what we had in mind when we told him to go talk to some bitches.)
… to Brandon Wise for the staggering generosity, incredible food, and heart stoppingly amazing drinks. If you’re ever in Portland, visit Brandon at the Imperial order the Duck Meatball and have him make you a drink. Any drink. Doesn’t matter what it is. Ah. May. Zing. You’re welcome in advance.
… to our bartender at the Red Star for proving that it is possible to ruin a Hemmingway Daquiri.
… to Dinger for passing out on the table at the Bronze Horse while a hot girl was rubbing his shoulders.
… to Krystin and Cristine for inspiring this picture:
… to Esquire for waking up at 1 AM when we banged on his door after previously passing out so he could accompany us to Casa Diablo. (As Esquire notes, “can the record state that I had a shot of Fernet in my hand before I put my shoes on?”.)
…to he girls at Casa Diablo for reasons that will understandably go unnamed but may have involved a snake and dangerous amounts of blood.
… to Brian, the Blazer’s staff member, for settling the debate once and for all about whether I could field a starting five with my friends that could beat a Women’s Division I team (yes) and the shots of Jaeger.
…to Bethany, the hottest bartedner in the city of Portland – for the next 10 days anyway; enjoy Santa Barbara, Bethany – for the Surfer on Acid and one of the world’s most engaging smiles. Call me.
… to Jacob for taking me to Portland’s most inspiring landmark. (A sense of overwhelming awe and revenrance aren’t the first things that pop in to your mind when you Google “Mill Ends Park”, but trust me: it’s life chaning in person.)
… to Petie and Deb for provinding a witty series of hilarious and catty commentary during the thoroughly entertaining Grammy’s.
… to the city of Portland, for providing the framework for one of the world’s most epic weekends.
It was fun, Portland. Let’s do it again some time.
Addendum: Though Esquire and I did not accompany them, Shorts, Dinger and Power Nap headed to Seattle for two more days of re-Bacheloring. Shorts sent the following addendum to the story: “I know you missed it but ‘one last shot’ at Zig Zag in Seattle was all time; Brian should and will pay for that! What else happened in Seattle should never be mentioned.”
Apparently, fun was had in Seattle as well. God bless the Pacific Northwest.