Ensuing the third night of slightly off putting behavior, myself and the two Ohio fellas that are kind enough to let me sleep on their sofa, had made one critical decision that by and large charted the course for the remainder of the evening. Just to give you a little background, these two gents are a few years younger than I, and their desire to seek out and crush hot Seattle girls only slightly surpasses their best endeavors from their college days now that they are gainfully employed. Despite our solid track record so far, we discounted the ability of certain substances to affect our motivation. We had started the night reasonably well by finishing the final games of NCAA Football while rapidly consuming Kokanee, which is a brilliantly crafted Glacier brew that we have dubbed the Seattle Bud Light. For some reason we figured it a good idea to light up before heading out for our masquerading in Fremont, which is a quaint haven for beer drinkers, punk rockers, and nubile college girls. Our past success with that final category was primarily due to our "who gives a shit" ability to initiate conversation, mental acuity during conversation, and sharp decision making under pressure situations. As it turns out, during the short cab ride to the neighborhood, we realized very quickly that we were equipped with none of these useful tools. As we struggled for quite some time trying to decide on exactly which bar to further our inebriated state, our plight seemed to unfold that we were definitely not "crushing" tonight at best, and at worst, we might end up just eating at the curbside hotdog vendor and just going home. However, we managed to will our way to our first pitcher at a fine Fremont watering hole called The Red Door. After spending several one's of dollars attempting to dispel our apathetic mental state and following the, I think two, suggestions that we should to talk to "those" ladies, we decided that this wasn't really the night we envisioned having when polishing off the Kokanee's. So, departing with still a reasonably upbeat attitude, and outlook mind you, we strolled past some drunken girls sitting on a bench in front of a local quilt store. Jeff gets the brilliant idea to sit down and take a photo with them with his mobile phone camera. This went surprisingly well until Stace rolled back by them to see what was going on by saying, "hey, what's going on here?" To all of our surprise and comic relief, the clever one pops back off to him, "okay there, cashmere mist." The comment alone probably doesn't seem too comedic, but her flip was referring to Stace's sweater he was wearing that night, which was primarily due to his previous dinner engagement at his boss' house. Regardless of his reasons, he was still wearing a fairly conservative "misty blue" cashmere sweater, which turned out to be a great fuck off statement from an unattractive fat girl sitting on a bench in Fremont. What is the moral of this story? Pay close attention to what you wear in order to give off a "business casual" look at your boss' dinner parties. Carry on, cashmere mist.........carry on.