redshifter.org

Ask most San Francisco dwellers about living in the Outer Sunset and they'll shoot you a look as if you're talking about Western Mongolia or the Lower Nile; as if that part of town may as well be that far from city center. Fine with me. Truth be told, one of the major reasons why I'm considering a move to that part of town is the utter and total lack of any type of "scene."

Except, that is, at Pittsburgh's Pub, the local watering hole. First off, it's a bar that's owned by a 'Burgh native, and many of you readers know all about that "yinzer" action. For those of you that don't, just picture in your mind lots of wood paneling, Budweiser neon, Penguins paraphernalia, and drunk locals.

Emphasis on the word "drunk." There was one girl there who may have once been cute had she not spiraled into a wasteland of alcoholic promiscuity. At one point, while I was getting a drink, she sauntered up to the bar, sat down next to me on a barstool, and literally threw herself on me. I sort of gingerly retracted.

"Oh, sorry," she said, "did I hurt your tattoos?" [ed. note: what?!?]

I was like, "uh, no..."

She held out her hand and introduced herself as Wendy. I politely introduced myself and shook her hand. What followed was positively creepy: she stared me down with this wasted, bleary attempt at seduction and gripped my hand with a truly metacarpal-crushing force. I mean, she shook hands like a lumberjack.

I just withdrew and hid, and for the rest of the night Wendy was getting all nasty with this total burnt-out rocker dude who looked alarmingly similar to GBV bassist Tim Tobias.

Rad.