(linked for bigness...and AWESOMENESS) The First Annual Foofy Wine Party was, I should say, a whopping success. Jackson got half naked, Graham, Jessie, Andrew and Jackson squared off in Franzia Pong, I nursed a bottle of Possman's Apfelwein, Amy was absolutely blasted, and by the end of the night everyone went home happily besotten.
At work on Sunday I was playing my uke in the booth when this guy wandered up to me and started an odd little conversation:
"You play uke?" he asked, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. I glanced down at the finely crafted instrument in my hands before answering.
"Yes."
"Excellent," he responded, squinting his eyes at Tobias Funkulele, Jr. imploringly. "You gonna play me sommat?"
"Sure," I shrugged, launching into the recently learned 'Elephant Gun'. The stranger began tapping his foot in time, deeply inhaling his Camel and exhaling with a sigh. I finished the riff after a few repeats and stared back at him from my plastic chair.
"You from Washington?" he asked, opening his eyes and studying my features.
"No sir," I responded.
"You sure? You look like you're from Washington," he coughed a little.
"Nope, born in England, raised in California," I grinned, half wanting him to wander off, and half wanting to buy him a coffee and learn exactly why I looked like I came from Washington.
"Welp," he glanced to the left and nodded to someone I couldn't see, "You sure do look like a Washingtonian...mebbe even a Seattle-ite,"
"I...thank you?"
"Demm right it's a 'thank you!" He stuck out a calloused hand, fingernails stained with what looked like dirt and oil. "'Name's Ryan."
"Britta," I shook his hand firmly.
"Nice meetin' ya." And then he wandered off as quickly as he'd arrived.
The OC Marketplace is a fascinating study of the human race.
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