7.8.2000

    What a long-ass week. I'm tired.

    Monday, I did in fact get up bright and early and drive down to Eugene all by my lonesome. It was a long drive. Got there and searched around for the DMV a bit and marvelled at how depressed that area had become. Granted, the DMV isn't going to be on a high-rent plot of land and that area was always a little skanky but now those skanky stores were closed with "For Lease" signs in all the windows.

    Got to the DMV and lied my way to some new registration stickers. Unfortunately, the bastards will be mailing me my registration which means I'll never get it. Because, see, I don't live at that address anymore. It's been almost three since so I'm sure my reg will end up at the dead letter office. Oh well. Here's to not getting pulled over.

    So, I have a two-year reprieve before I have to deal with the registration again. I bet you a hundred dollars that when it comes around I'll be no more prepared to deal with it. Damn Portland air laws. My car won't run with a catalytic converter you fascist, pinko bastards!

    I drove over to the University and past my old sorority (now a canary-yellow color which makes me laugh). I went into the student union through the back way. Walked up to the radio station which was empty sans a single D.J. Went over to the offices of "The Commentator" and picked up a few copies. Walked through the journalism school and looked to see which professors were still there. The campus was pretty empty due to it being summertime and the day before a holiday. Its emptiness depressed me and, overcome with dashed nostalgia, I headed out and away. I had meant to stop at my favorite diner on the way out but I wasn't that hungry.

    After the long drive home from Eugene, I had to go into work. My office isn't one of those places that would just excuse the crew for the day. Oh no. That wouldn't be prudent. Think of the consequences.

    I go in to find that my computer hard drive has been reformatted and the reformatters are nowhere to be found. My programs are all wonky and my permissions aren't set up properly. It took me an hour and a half to get into my email. So, I putzed around, feeling like I'd just sat in a car for five hours (oh, right....) and being generally grumpy. I found a coworker's computer to log in on and found that whatever DLL problem that was preventing Homesite from running on my computer was following me around the network. So, I open Photoshop and start working on a client project half-heartedly. I start to get into a groove when the damn thing crashes. I lose all my work. I have a headache. I go home.

    The Fourth was pretty fun. Thom and I took Helen and Loni, both are coworkers of his, to a baseball game with tickets from my company. My company "splurges" every year on season tickets to the Portland Rockies. They are a AA baseball team and you really go for the beer. It was the Rockies verses the Salem-Keizer Volcanoes who were staunchly shut-out in an 8-0 screamer of a game. The hotdogs were pretty tasty but I don't recommend the peanuts.

    So, we all started drinking at noon that day and carried on through barbecue and fireworks. Loni and Thom pillaged the bargain table down at the Fred Meyer after the game and brought home some decidedly mediocre combustibles. We walked up the street behind the house to hang out with a gaggle of high-school kids trying to set themselves on fire. That was pretty fun.

    The teen girls were all running around chasing after the boys and giggling. The boys were all being cocky and playing for laughs and actually being pretty witty. Loni got two of them to go leaping over a fountain of flames. We all laughed. I felt simultaneously old and young. We carried Red Stripe beers in our hands.

    After we exhausted our meager supply we walked further up the road and stood in someone's yard to look out over the Willamette and see the 'works. It was a pretty good show and we had pretty good seats. The bridge that they were shooting off next to had nearly-completely stopped traffic. Those had to be the best seats.

    As we walked back down the hill towards my house we could see fireworks exploding across the river and all over Portland. Arcing into the air and showering sparks. It was strange and exhilarating.

    The pop-pop continued until close to midnight and then we said our goodbyes and Thom and I dropped off to sleep instantly. That's the beauty of holding the all-day drunk fest at your own house. Two steps to stagger into bed.

    The next morning was hellish. Thom and I stumbling around and mumbling incoherently. We had to go over to our friend's house whose cat we were watching and see if the poor thing had survived the fireworks. We cannot find the key. We search for an hour. I put together a to-go of cat food and we head out. I go walking around the side of the house and get stopped by a massive spider web. I curse. I turn back looking for a stick when Thom calls out.

    "I found the key!"

    "You what? Where?"

    "You were sitting on it."

    "What do you mean I was frickin' sitting on it?!"

    "It was on the passenger seat."

    "Oh. Dammit."

    I put the key in the lock and dashed in the door towards the alarm system. It's not beeping. There's another sound. Music. And, a voice. Adrenalin shoots through me and smacks the top of my skull. Naturally, they're home. I stuttered and stumbled (literally, on my way out the door like a fool) and gave them the keys. All very confusing and hungover and before coffee.

    I felt like a graham cracker at work all day. All crumbly and brittle. I didn't get much work done and ended up staying really late so that I could accomplish something.

    Thursday and Friday were major crunch time on a couple projects at work. I also went out on Thursday night smoking and drinking until late. Why did I do that? These are answers I do not know. So, I'm glad the week is over. It's noon on Saturday already so I better get movin'.

    I guess it wasn't such a crap week except that I played too hard when I had to work too hard. Everything in moderation.