Transient Transplant

When my friend texted me “What are you doing tomorrow, and do you like steak?”  I knew it was an omen for good things to come.

She had extra tickets to a steak festival of sorts in Seattle called Cowabunga.  The event of the night was called Seared, where various restaurants were giving out small steak oriented bites and booze.

The website said “elegant attire,” and my friend told me it was supposed to be a little dressy, so I came home from work that night, threw on a dress and some heels and ran out the door.

I had been texting my friend in New York about it earlier in the day, and we came to the conclusion that this would be the place where I find the rare Seattle man that I’ve been looking for–eating steak and drinking booze all night.  

We also determined that seeing as my anxiety gets the best of me and I get tongue-tied around men I find attractive, I needed to, in his words, “wear something pretty, boobs out.”

I was fully on board with this and wore something I felt fell under the “elegant” category but showed the ladies off a bit as well.  Tastefully of course. I’m not going to whore myself out for steak that’s already free.

This was my moment to meet the steak loving, Ron Swanson-esque man of my dreams.

I walked into the venue, and they let me in early because apparently I had a VIP ticket.  

I was greeted with a swag bag full of steak oriented things:  tongs, an apron, beef jerky, steak seasoning, etc.

Did it matter that I don’t cook and likely wouldn’t utilize half of this stuff?  Absolutely not.

I’m all about a swag bag or getting in anywhere before the crowd started so this was going well for me so far. 

Until I stepped into the venue…which was grass-covered in hay to give it a country vibe.

Stiletto heels were certainly not a good decision at this point in the day, particularly since it had rained earlier, making is very easy for me to aerate the lawn as I walked from station to station.

Not the classiest of moves for sure–but I’m not exactly known for my level of class so it seemed about right for a Carly move, walking around sinking into the grass looking like a baby calf learning how to walk, but at least in a nice looking dress. 

I’ve met some weirdos in Seattle–maybe someone would be into that.

Other than great drinks and food (including one of my personal favorites, a pastrami crepe with dill pickles), there was also a live band, a drag show, and a mechanical bull.  Everything that would make steak seem more fun.

The food was amazing, and it was some fantastic people watching, as “elegant” was clearly interpreted in a very Seattle way as cowboy attire by most.  I was definitely overdressed for the occasion, but I was just happy to eat, drink, and visit with friends while watching people get overly confident on the mechanical bull only to be thrown off in two seconds.

I only dropped a bite of steak down my top once, at which point it went down my cleavage.  I was glad I had dodged the bullet of staining my dress as I fished the steak out. 

I thought I had given up on my plan of finding the perfect Seattle man here as I was not presenting my best self.  Though it was probably my more accurate, real, trashy self.

Overall, it was an amazing time, and a very unique event.  I didn’t walk home with my future husband, nor with my dignity, but I had a full belly full of delcious food, so I called it a win.