The year was 2000, dot comes were falling left and right and Bubba was still our president. I recall a year of overindulgence, arrogance, and self fortitude. Yes, it was the year we met El Scorcho at the Shanghai Tunnel.We called her "swivel hips", round faced-long curl, and finally the infamous, El Scorcho. She would serve us daily as our bartender and we had visions of serving her. Whether it was intentional or not, her round curves and surly attitude kept us drinking. We knew in her presence we would complete the tripint. It was a great place to begin the fuck it.

As fine as that year was it was also when we were introduced to the Houdini. Houdini was of course a masterful magician who could escape evil deathtraps and vanish before the dick dropped. He was charismatic. He was an entertainer. One would normally aspire to be such a celebrity, but unfortunately I unwillingly fell victim to his possession. The Houdini would usually occur after a deadly mixture of beer and gin followed by Makers and beer. It was in this order that
I would fall into a trance-like state. What happens next not even I can tell. But, I will try to explain it as best I can.

I remember the first time it happened as if it were yesterday. It was a beer Friday at work and we were allowed to take a half day as a thank you for services rendered. The cell phone rang followed by an,"Ahhhh... Fuck it!" I mimicked the invitation, "Ahhhh... Fuck It!" and met Kyle at the Shanghai Tunnel. What began as an early tripint suddenly turned into a precursor
to the dreaded Houdini.

Completing the tripint Kyle mentioned we should head over to Mary's Club to say hi to the double D and bow courteously to the dancing duggs. We thanked the Scorch and vowed to return. We arrived at the Portland staple and ordered our first round. I even think we got in a game of tri-pool*. After a couple G and Ts and a few good spent dollar bills wedecided to leave downtown and head SE.

We settled for Sewickly's Addition. Not only did they have a reputation for a solid pour, rumor at the time had Tanya Harding working as a bartender there. My journalistic instincts wanted to know the truth and my kidneys wanted a generous pour and so we entered the smoky taverna. Unfortunately, the rumor was squashed, but fortunately the pours were generous. I settled for a Makers and Coke, but it was more like Makers and a drop of Coke. The ice cracked and I began my journey of the sip. After two of those I was clearly buzzed and enjoying good conversation with a southerly girl ina white t-shirt. I remember the t-shirt because... well, it was a great cut for her.

We then ventured to the Bar of the Gods. It is here that things become blurry. I remember Kyle ordering two beers. I began to drink it and then suddenly found myself at the Matador. Just like that. No slide of hand. No light spectacle. I just appeared at the Matador. How did I get here? Where the fuck's Kyle? I was fucked. Fortunately, I was a few blocks from my apartment and so I decided to drunk dial, Soccer Mom**. I ended the night appropriately, but awoke to a line of messages wondering where I had gone. I thought for certain we had ventured there as a group, but I was apparently mistaken. Yes, that was the first Houdini. Was I possessed? Probably not. There are many more tales of the Houdini, but I'll  leave them for another post. I hope not to return to this state, but I can never be sure. The rules of fuck it can be a time of cheer, but they can also be a time of uncertainty. Fuck it.

* Tri-pool: A pool game developed by Kyle Ritter that welcomes the fifth-wheel. The game is played traditionally until you miss your shot. Then, the third player comes in and takes over for you. You essentially become your own worst enemy and cannot return to the game until another player misses.

** Soccer Mom: A thirty-something girl I dated at the time who wasn't really a soccer mom. She was hot, but had a kid. Hence, the coined name.