The Seattle Bouldering Project, a warehouse at the headwaters of 1-90 where I work a few days a week, continues to be a source of unending fun. Seriously. Working has never been such a good time. We get this DJ every other Friday night. He's always smiling and charming, you can just tell he's gotten away with a lot of good shit in his life.
This Friday, to celebrate it being January whateverthehell, we added four kegs of beer, neon, Madonna and Michael Jackson.
The resulting chaos was ridiculous- I've never seen the place so crowded. People were crawling all over the place, climbing under each other, falling on top of each other, lying in a heap underneath the walls. People were like, "Oh, it's 80s night, I guess we don't have to follow the rules."
The only vacant spot in the gym was the cave, which most people couldn't handle in their parachute pants. That meant my crave-worthy, mouth-wateringly magenta project was wide open for me to play around on during my scant 15 minute climbing breaks. I still haven't finished the thing.
This party was all about the ladies. Holy shit, everywhere you looked another fly girl with crimped hair was crushing the shit out of something in a unitard. Until the drinking really went off, at which point we couldn't handle the climbing and so we did the dancing.
So I guess we'll see you there next time.
This is for you, Will: