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Since it gets light unreasonably early, Dan and I woke around the same time and got coffee at the Rookery. The trendy coffee shop had some great snacks, and it becomes a restaurant at night.
Next on the agenda was trying to get my now-worthless $500 phone working on a different network at GCI. Soooo many settings altered, no smartness achieved. I settled for being able to text and make calls, so at least Dan and I could find each other.
We stopped by the office of our friend, Lance. Lance has a government job doing… something. So we waltzed into the state building with no one around to ask us who we are, what we’re doing there, etc. Different. (Good.)
Next, I had to drop Dan off at work by the docks because he drives bus tours full of people that waddle off of cruise ships. No really, almost all of them are fat. If they’re not fat, they’re loud and think that means they’re outgoing.
Dan instructed me to take his car, do whatever I wanted, and report back at 2. He had a comp for me to take the tour with his group. What I was going to do and see was vague to me, but that was probably just a trust issue on my part.
I drove nervously through downtown Juneau, praying I wouldn’t get lost. (Remember: No smart phone.) I ate some food at Dan’s house and rushed back to the dock… just in time to help Dan gas up and prep the bus because my phone didn’t automatically update to account for the 1-hour time difference. Gah!
Dan took us up to Glacier Gardens. There was a nice hiking trail with a slight incline. There were also nice golf carts to take our lazy asses up to the top of it and take in the views. The tour guides were Mormon missionaries. As I began tuning out a college student’s “blessed” elevator speech, a young girl turned around in her seat and asked me if I was a ghost.
Sure, kid. Boo.
I exchanged pleasantries with her family (her name was Alyssa), farted around in the tourist trap-I mean gift shop-at the trail head, and was then taken to a lookout point by Mendenhall Glacier. It looked dirty.
For dinner, we had spicy Indian food at Saffron, then went out for drinks at the Baranoff, the Triangle, and Rendezvous. The Baranoff reminds me a bit of Polar Bar in Seattle. It’s another nice bar under a nice hotel, but it has its own character and good bartenders to match.
The Triangle is like Quarter Lounge. ANYONE can run up in there and unleash the crazy. Not drunken-fratboy-crazy, but people-with-mental-problems-wanting-a-drink-crazy. It was going to be fun to see where I land on the spectrum.
And yet, I still vote more often than I play the slots.
I think they meant to put this sign by the white wine (my liquid courage of choice).
You’d never know it, but I took these on a nice day with my Crapberry.
You know which one I mean.
I think I have found the single worst thing on earth to do when you have a stomach ache: Rinse out a jar of mayonnaise. It’s not hard to guess how I found this out. It was so gross it actually made me laugh and I felt better for a few seconds.
I asked my mom to send me this book because I thought it might be a fun, albeit antiquated, way to shed some light on how men and women communicate. Kind of like How to Win Friends and Influence People for relationships.
From the beginning, the author addresses that not all men and women are the same. He even calls special attention to women in the workforce who tend to assume more masculine communication tactics. Then he launches into the worst kind of stereotyping of men and women I’ve ever read in my life.
Because of this book, I am now mad at the early 90s. Seriously, early 90s, don’t even talk to me. There’s nothing you can say to undo this.
Men Are from Mars was a best seller. A BEST SELLER! For six years! Mid 90s, I’m glaring at you, too.
Anyway, the book makes women sound like whiny nincompoops and men sound like closed jerkoffs. I stopped reading after 50 pages or so.
At Quinn’s. Eating plates of meat.