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The Ventiki Challenge - RESULTS

4/1/2014

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Ohhh, Chad's poor liver...

HE COMPLETED THE VENTIKI CHALLENGE!!!
And with flying colors, might I add; the guy barely flinched.

Serving as both a spectator and head cheerleader for Chad in his quest for the gold, I will take the reigns and write up a solid review...because I don't think he remembers much from last weekend.

Basically, the concept of the challenge is to drink all 19 drinks
listed on the card. The first 100 people to successfully complete this challenge receive a t-shirt, a Ventiki logo glass, and their name immortalized on a plaque for all to see.


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After Chad learned about this challenge, he was determined to get his name on the plaque (and hey, not a bad way to shamelessly promote The Underbelly). Unfortunately, we live in Los Angeles, about an hour away from Ventiki..not exactly stumbling distance. We decide to drive back up to finish the challenge the following weekend. Three down, sixteen to go; he's totally got this.

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SATURDAY -Decisions, decisions. The strategy here was to drink the "bad" ones first (aka, anything with Gin or Anais). Voodoo Temptress? CHECK. Dr Funk? CHECK. One of the owners, Scott, warned us about a couple of the drinks (order the Dr Funk light on the "funk", was one of his suggestions), but honestly, all the drinks tasted great. My personal favorites were the Mai Tai, Alter of Sacrifice, and I.C.C. of '73; all had the perfect amount of sweet and spice, and if you're a light weight like me, they'll hit you quick and leave you feeling drunk for a while; a whole lot of bang for your $10 to $15.

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If the drinks alone are not enough to convince you to visit Ventiki; the food, ambiance, and engaging staff will.

FOOD - Fresh sushi, poke bowls, pulled pork, ribs, even a Spam option..literally, I would order one of everything on the menu if I had the financial and stomach capacities.

AMBIANCE - Maui is my favorite place in the world, so anywhere that can re-create that hybrid of serenity and culture gets my stamp of approval. But it's not that Ventiki just threw plastic leis and palm trees around their bar and called it tiki...no, no. The attention to detail is meticulous; everything from the light fixtures, to the tiki mugs, to the straw-hut roof is completely on-point.


STAFF - Because we literally spent two whole days at Ventiki, we bonded with the owners, Scott and Carrie, as well as the various bartenders. It was insightful to talk business and booze with Ventura locals, and it is majorly impressive to see a local business doing so well within their first nine months of business.

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Oh right, back to the challenge. By drink number six on Saturday afternoon, Chad was feeling a little lethargic. We head to the hotel to take a nap and recharge, then head back to Ventiki around 8:00pm.

Ventiki is significantly more crowded at night, but we are able to find a station to sit, snack, and slurp down a few more cocktails.

I stick with my new best friend Mai Tai, while Chad knocks a couple more off the list. Wearing down, but still sturdy, he opts to finish the remainder of the list on Sunday. Although fucking delicious, ahi tuna and coconut shrimp skewers are not enough to sop up the booze in our systems, so we stumble over to Cafe Fiore for a carb-loaded dinner.

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SUNDAY - Eight drinks left and severely hung over, Chad was concerned that we might need to make a third trip to Ventura. I would never encourage my boyfriend to drink himself to death, but I've seen him put down more than this, and we still had a whole Sunday ahead of us. Eye of the tiger, Chad.

It's 11:00am and we're the first to arrive
. The bartender looks up from slicing fruit garnishes and greets us with a smile, "Here to finish the list?" An apprehensive Chad nods his head yes, then takes a seat to tear into his first beverage of the morning: Blue Hawaii.

He consumes four more drinks before we decide to saunter over to the Harbor to grab lunch. Aww...little dolphin rider >>> 


At lunch, our fair competitor couldn't resist a $2 Bloody Mary, which caused
a significant set-back when we returned to Ventiki. I guess vodka, tomato juice and horseradish didn't mix so well with the mass amounts of rum and fruit juice from earlier in the day.


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Three more drinks to go...including the dreaded finale - The $25 Mai Tai <<< (dreaded mainly because of the $25 price tag, YIKES!). With little struggle, Chad conquers the final three and joins the 48 others on the hall of fame plaque!!! 

WAY TO GO, CHAD!

Although he's still feeling the hangover today, we at The Underbelly are extremely proud of his achievement. If you're in the Ventura area, stop on by Ventiki. Always a good time.

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The Ventiki Challenge

3/29/2014

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19 drinks, 2 days, 1 liver

We found ourselves in Ventura last weekend and tried a new place called Ventiki.  It’s a great little tiki-themed bar with an extensive fruity cocktail menu and tasty looking food rolling out of the kitchen. 

After the first round, the bartender hands us a couple of cards and explains the Ventiki challenge:  Drink all 19 of the house cocktails and receive a t-shirt and a Ventiki mug.  No time limit and can be completed over multiple visits but must be certified by bartender on your drink card.  Great, right?  It gets better.

The first 100 rum-swilling, salty seadog patrons to complete their card will have their names immortalized on a plaque.  48 have completed (despite Aarika A’s Yelp claim that this is “likely unattainable”).


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We’re going back this weekend to ensure Lost In The Underbelly secures its name on that plaque. 

On the menu:

Mai Tai – ALREADY CONSUMMED

Jet Pilot – ALREADY CONSUMMED

Zombie – ALREADY CONSUMMED

Shrunken Head – ALREADY CONSUMMED

Lapu Lapu

Voodoo Temptress of the Seven Pleasures (I’m excited for this one…)

Suffering Bastard


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Blue Hawaii Cobra’s Fang

Alter of Sacrifice

I.C.C of ‘73

The Fuzz


Navy Grog

Strand Local

Dr. Funk

Scorpion

C-Street Savage

Lagoon of Forbidden Desire

$25 Dollar Mai Tai

The plan of attack has been set: drink, feed, hydrate, nap, repeat.  We’ve even also created an 'I CAN DO THIS' t-shirt for the occasion.

Check back. 


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Bloglovin'

3/26/2014

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Making it official...

Check us out on Bloglovin'!  Tell your friends, tell your neighbors, make us FAMOUS!

<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/12010717/?claim=5x6ns3e95hy">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>

xxx,
Alyssa
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Proud Bird

3/21/2014

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Getting lost in the LAX vicinity sucks. If you don’t make it over one lane in the nick of time, the next thirty minutes of your life are gone, as you are forced into the mighty traffic jam that is LAX. I’ve experienced this once or twice, shame on me, but my second mistake did lead to my discovering a very special restaurant: the Proud Bird. Like the fat child picked last in gym class, trains, dinosaurs, magic cards, and airplanes get me hot and bothered, so I make it a mission to get my ass back over there to enjoy a cocktail. I can only imagine the signature cocktails…”I’ll take the Amelia Earhart with a twist, please”.


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After a competitive two and a half hours of bowling at the AMF Lanes on Lincoln, Chad and I decide to cap off our victories with refreshing adult beverages at, where else (?), the Proud Bird.  We pull into the beautiful, bountiful parking lot and wander around the premises for a while. Model airplanes and lush green plants adorn the entire stretch from my car to the front door.

We step inside and are greeting by an array of aviation memorability
, a sprinkling of geriatric patrons, and a beautiful empty bar, fit for two. We pull up two bar stools and order drinks: a Manhattan for the gentleman and something called a "Skinny Colada" for the lady.  There were, unfortunately, no homages to famous pilots on the house cocktail list.


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The drinks are decent and pair nicely with the view of planes landing at LAX. After we finish, we walk around the restaurant to discover various banquet rooms, one being occupied by Harry's 100th birthday party. Happy birthday, Harry!

Although the Proud Bird is outdated and
looks and smells like a museum, I would recommend it to everyone. I read that they might close the restaurant in the next couple of years, so definitely stop by and experience this treasure before it's gone.

http://articles.latimes.com/2013/dec/12/local/la-me-1213-proud-bird-20131213


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The Salton Sea/Bombay Beach

2/18/2014

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A handful of weeks ago, Alyssa and I took a trip out to the desert to cash in on a free trip to an Indian casino we’d won in a radio contest.  We’ve all seen a casino bar and know that it’s nothing to write home about. Unless, of course, a tranny hooker smokes too much crack and starts waving her dick around from under her vinyl skirt (right now, I’m hoping I’m not the only one to ever witness this).

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The real treasures lay in the dusty crossroads that dot the desert between bustling upper-middleclass burgs like Palm Springs and Indio.  Most of the people that populate the little towns off the beaten track are a strange but intriguing breed:  some are hiding from something or someone; some enamored by the stark beauty of the high deserts; and some are just too fucking weird to live in civilization.  In whatever fashion you paint them, I find the Desert Rat to be an incredibility fascinating slice of humanity.  They’re a hardscrabble bunch, generally living without standard comforts we take for granted.  Most times, by choice – and they couldn’t be happier.

Out in the Palm Desert lies the Salton Sea.


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The largest lake in California, it’s a freak combination of nature and man’s urge to usurp it.  While attempting to make an arid area fertile in the early 20th century, engineers dug canals which were eventually flooded by a swell in the Colorado River turning a salt bed into a lake.  Again, man making the best of things, we tried to turn it into a resort in the ‘50s as the high salinity of the water made for great high-speed boating and recreation – a real desert playground for the family on a budget.

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No surprise that we didn’t take into account the abnormal salinity and the high temperatures of the desert that would eventually lead to a toxic shithole.  That is until the fish started dying by the millions…

These days, when you approach the shoreline, what appears to be a white sandy beach, is actually the bones of millions (billions?) of dead fish accumulated over the years.

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A few miles south of the Salton Sea on US 111, you’ll come across a small community called Bombay Beach.  Despite floods, drought, recession and the introduction of desert meth labs, 295 people have dug their heels in and call this place home.  Most homes are deteriorating pre-fabs or mobile homes.  Every resident we met, however, appears very happy here.

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At 223 feet below sea level, Bombay Beach holds the distinction of being the community with the lowest elevation in America (in theory, this should mean that gravitational pull would force alcohol into the bloodstream faster as you’re closer to the earth’s core.  I did not find this to be the case; however, I’m comforted to believe that even Newton faltered every now and again).  Although not nearly as sad to drive through as, say, Trona or Ballarat (I assure you, reviews of the drinking establishments in these two places are forthcoming as soon as I can drag Alyssa out to the Death Valley area), it’s still a town that is down on its’ luck.

With the nearest market some 40 odd miles away, it’s important they have a few watering holes in stumbling distance to stay lubricated.

First stop: The Ski Inn


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(I’m wagering that the sign used to read “AMAZON TUSSLE”.  Please submit your best guess.)

The last time I passed through Bombay Beach I couldn’t get my friends to stop for a drink here even though I was scratching at the window like a dog scenting a bitch in heat.  Thankfully this time we did and it was a great pleasure.


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This is a great roadhouse style establishment.  Dollar bills on the wall, jukebox and ample seating.  Around 10 people were there swilling liquor over the lunch hour (none under 65) and each of them incredibly friendly.  The bartender was probably pushing 70 (see photo of the handsome devil chilling in the background like a pimp on holiday leave) and I felt a touch of guilt every time I ordered a drink as it took him a good 5 minutes to shuffle over and pour a cold Bud out of the tap…in a mason jar, nonetheless.

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The guys sitting next to us at the bar (Dennis and his brother-in-law, Roger, who, oddly enough, own a vacation home here and were complaining about the one black youth who moved into the neighborhood claiming he is a drug addict and fingered him for the recent break-in of their mobile home costing them one vintage tube television and an all-in-one stereo system) recommended the Sunday breakfast at the VFW if we were in the area.

Now, where I’m from, the VFW is a member’s only club requiring at least one tour of duty in a jungle or desert and a handful of bullets pumped into a people that you still need to hate well after the fact.  You also need to wear one of those hats with a giant patch on it.  I’m speculating that this is also to get discounts at the local Golden Coral but there isn’t one of those around here for miles.

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Anyway, with less than 300 people around, the Bombay Beach Local 801 has an open door policy, most likely in an effort to pay the rent.  Dennis and Roger suggest hitting the bar at the VFW as we had no intention of passing out in the dirt and being there in the morning. 

Before leaving, the bartender hands us a couple of mini Ski Inn calendars for the fridge.  This place is fucking great!  Word is they also have a stellar patty melt but I was saving the indigestion for later in the day.

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The VFW is located on the outskirts of town down a dusty gravel road.  Look at how nice the Jeep looks parked there.

If there weren’t a few loud day-drunks (one with an eye patch) out on the porch (yes, it’s a porch here and not a patio), I could have sat there all day and listened to the wind kick sand around.  Please also note the great t-shirt they have up on the wall (see below).  

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Unfortunately, we had to cut our stay short as this was only a pit stop on our way to Salvation Mountain.  The irony is we got lost shortly after leaving here and never made it, deciding instead to head back to the casino before we drunkenly crashed the Jeep into a date palm.

Bombay Beach is well worth a visit should you ever find yourself anywhere near the Salton Sea.

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Happiness is a tight pussy...never a truer statement.
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Mastro's Steakhouse

2/13/2014

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Apparently, I am an exemplary employee because I was given the ‘Q2 –Team MVP’ award (thank you, thank you, hold your applause) at work. In addition to a diamond-shaped plaque with my name engraved on it, I was given a $200 gift card to Mastro’s Steakhouse. I love an expensive, bloody steak, so I was pleased with this reward. Naturally, my fancy coworkers throw out all sorts of recommendations for my visit – “THE BUTTER CAKE! TRY THE BUTTER CAKE!!!”

After holding on to this gift card for about six months, Chad and I finally commit to a date and make a reservation. I’m a modest kind of girl and Beverly Hills is a part of town I venture to on very few occasions, so even $200 of free steak required some extra convincing.


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We gussie-up and call a cab to drop us off at the Regent Beverly Wilshire for a cocktail before dinner. Yes, the hotel from ‘Pretty Woman’ and yes, everyone who goes there talks about how it’s the hotel from ‘Pretty Woman’. Personally, I don’t get all wet visiting shooting locations; I’m more excited about Vivian having a Ratt poster on her bedroom wall. \m/

After the cocktail, we make our way over to Mastro’s. The first thing I notice when we step inside is how tiny the bar is. Maybe there are bars on the other floors of the restaurant because I can’t imagine four bar stools accommodating everyone, especially because there is nowhere else to sit when you’re waiting to be escorted to your table. I order the “Lemon Ginger Smash”…it tastes like Irish Spring and is so enormous that it ends up being the only cocktail I order.

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It’s really hot and dark inside, but the mix of soothing, contemporary rock music calms my nerves. We order a cornicopia of food, with the intention of using the entire gift card: caprese salad, chopped salad, bone marrow, mac 'n' cheese, scalloped potatoes, asparagus, two giant steaks, and, of course, the butter cake (yeah, we had a lot of leftovers). The food is good, but I’m still having a hard time digesting the fact that we spent $60+ on steaks. I was also surprised by the number of children playing on iPads in the restaurant. Ohhh, rich people. 

The highly-acclaimed butter cake reminded me of a crustier, oilier version of a boxed yellow cake. It's not that bomb, don't order it.

The whole way home, we scratch our heads wondering why people dish out that much money for food. Mastros...expensive, and then you poop it out.

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Top Shelf

1/27/2014

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Rich people are just as gross, if not grosser, than middle class people, so it shouldn't come as a complete surprise that Chad and I have been to more than a few over-priced Westside bars and restaurants in our day. We LOVE the people-watching and eavesdropping.

The food and drinks are generally no better than the food and drinks, at say, an Olive Garden, but you pay for the experience. Dining in Beverly Hills, you are guaranteed three things: (1) the (aforementioned) outrageous prices, (2) men who talk about what they have and how much money they make, and (3) plastic surgery so bad you confuse it with gender reassignment.

It ain't pretty.

To read about our experiences rubbing elbows with the rich and scummy, please visit the 'Resume - Top Shelf' tab.

Xxx,
Alyssa

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Trader Sam's Enchanted Tiki Bar

1/26/2014

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When planning a trip to Disneyland, there are several things to consider. When should I go? What should I wear? Where can I get a drink?

Weekday… tennis shoes… Trader Sam’s Enchanted Tiki Bar...

So Trader Sam’s is not actually in Disneyland; it's right around the corner at the Disneyland Hotel. Chad and I learned about this little gem when desperately scanning the internet for dive bars in the area. Although not a dive in any sense of the word, Trader Sam’s is dark, exciting and intimate; the perfect place to relax and escape from the bevy of screaming children and overeager foreigners.

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Trader Sam's is the hidden island oasis of Disneyland-land. After a day of walking and dodging double-strollers, nothing sounds better than a fruity rum cocktail in a keepsake ceramic tiki glass; and Trader Sam's has got you covered. I'm especially a fan of the blue skull glasses the Shrunked Zombie Head cocktail comes in (see left).

The space and theatrics alone are the major reason to visit. Whenever a specialty cocktail is ordered, the entire bar goes into "shipwreck" mode: the bartenders cheer and squirt "rain" water on the guests, the lights flash on and off, thunder sound effects blast from the speakers and it really feels like a silly, Disney-good time. Some of the bar stools actually move up and down, which startled us after a few Krakatoa Punches.

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Trader Sam’s also offers food, including an Ahi tuna appetizer, which is probably the closest thing to sushi in the Disneyland area. Score and bonus. 

I don’t think I could be any more infatuated with this place. All the right elements are there: atmosphere, drinks, chill staff. It is a product of Disney, so the drinks are measured and overpriced, but given the options you have for bars in the Disneyland area, this is your absolute best bet.  


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Three Days in Seattle - Day 3

1/16/2014

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My third day in Seattle was too brief. Shortly after waking up, I was on my way back to Sea-Tac. Hungover, unshowered, and uncaffeinated, I was truly dreading the three-hour flight home.

I grab a Starbucks (a Seattle company, fyi) and settle down in a chair with my stack of magazines. A chick with pink hair and a Pearl Jam beanie sits next to me. I hate Pearl Jam, but I enjoy any opportunity to talk rock. We become fast friends.

She tells me about how she's traveled all over and been to, like, a thousand Pearl Jam concerts. I'm thinking in my head, "you're weird."
While she's talking, I notice the familiar intro of 'No Excuses' playing through the speakers and at that moment, it could not have been a more perfect ending to an amazing vacation.

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Three Days in Seattle - Day 2

1/8/2014

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In preparation for my trip, I watched the Seattle episode of Anthony Bourdain’s ‘Layover’. The two spots that stood out most to me were Unicorn (what I can accurately describe as a bubblegum taxidermy circus bar on acid) and 5 Point Café (early morning Happy Hour, 6am-9am!).  I decided to devote Saturday to these two bars, The Central Saloon (for rock ‘n’ roll purposes), and any other bars we might stumble across along the way.

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5 POINT CAFE: Seattle is fucking freezing, so Anna and I grab a couple coffees and make our way over to 5 Point Café.  It is 11am, so we’ve missed Happy Hour, but based on how dirty it looked on ‘Layover’, it would’ve been a shame if we didn’t stop in. Once we step inside, Anna and I literally spend two minutes crammed next to couples waiting for tables until the claustrophobia forces us out. What I noticed: it’s a dive - definitely the dirtiest of the bars we visited this weekend, they have a 90s-style juke box complete with CDs from that era, and, most importantly, they take great pride in the fact that they are “alcoholics serving alcoholics since 1929”.

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THE CENTRAL SALOON: After a failed trip to 5 Point Café, we head over to The Central Saloon for some Seattle rock ’n’ roll history. Open since 1892, it is the oldest saloon in Seattle. Mother Love Bone played their last show here before Andrew Wood died of a fatal heroin overdose.  I stand in the doorway and feel chills roll up my spine: it’s that good. No, it’s not as dirty and dingy as its website makes you think, but it has a very classic, wood-and-leather look that I find equally as fun. Anna orders a shot of Jack and I order my usual screwdriver. Make it a double for a dollar more? Yes please. We hang out for about half an hour, indulging in the warm shelter and fantasizing about the bands that played on stage in the 90s. After, we walk a couple doors down to the J&M Café.

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THE J&M CAFE: Another super-old saloon in Pioneer Square, The J&M Café, is two doors down from The Central Saloon. Classic and well-maintained, The J&M Café is aesthetically very similar to Central, so I can imagine many people hop from one to the other. Most of the patrons are fixated on the flat screen televisions, cheering their precious Seahawks on to victory. I’m focused on downing vodka and orange juice. Seattle, fuck yeah! The Cobb salad the pink-haired lady sitting next to us ordered looked pretty good..

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Liquored up and comfortably enduring the 25-degree weather outside, we make our way over to Capitol Hill for the much anticipated visit to Unicorn.

That's what it looks like! >>>

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UNICORN: One step in the door and I am already in love. Striped wallpaper in bubblegum pink, teal, and white adorn the walls. Taxidermy animal heads, pinball machines, photo booth, pimp light fixtures; it’s the booziest circus I’ve ever been to!

I order the Unicorn Jizz as my first drink. The bartender gives me a funny look and says "I don't think any of the bartenders here have ever tried the Unicorn Jizz."  Whatever, I ain't proud. It’s sugary sweet and I'm borderline gagging on it, but what other opportunity will I have to say “unicorn jizz” to a bartender with a straight face?

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We make a couple friends upstairs (see right) then head downstairs to NARWHAL, and make a couple more. Drunk and sociable, we engage in conversations of gore and death and the underbelly of Los Angeles with the bearded bartender and his chubby tattooed friend (see bartender below). We abuse the photo booth, then bid adieu to the most amazing bar Seattle has to offer (DISCLAIMER: This review is based on an experience from 3:00pm. I cannot vouch for the nighttime scene, but I'm sure it gets crowded as fuck.).

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CHA CHA LOUNGE: We end up at Cha Cha Lounge because Anna wants to show me where she met her on-again, off-again boyfriend. Unfortunately, this is the same brand of Cha Cha as in Los Angeles, and there is a reason I avoid this place… coughhipsterscoughcough. Fortunately, this location is homey with sombreros and paintings of Mexican wrestlers on the walls. There's a weird homage to Peter Criss, the least-popular of the original Kiss members, painted on the wall as well.

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It’s, like, 5pm, and the bar is empty except for a bartender, covered in tattoos, dreads down to his knees, and eyes like a puppy dog. His name, Joe, and I instantly become smitten. After downing a couple vodka cranberries and shooting the shit with Joe for twenty minutes or so, we head upstairs for a burrito at BIMBOS.

Thirty minutes later, we come back downstairs to discover a gang of new patrons have arrived, stealing Joe’s attention from us. We make some new friends, I guess they're plumbers. I don't know, I'm drunk at this point. We finish our night at Cha Cha; Anna left with a phone full of new numbers, and me with a napkin from some guy named Brad with a phone number and the question “Wanna get breakfast?” written on it. Chad, I disposed of this immediately. 

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