I have moved! I am in Portland, sitting in my apartment watching large cotton ball clouds float past the skyscrapers just outside my window (what a fucking clichéd description, but its true, so go fuck yourself). Moving is without a doubt a bitch. My furniture consists of chairs, lots of chairs, which really breaks my balls because you really can’t sleep on chairs when you don’t have a bed. Because I cant sleep on a bed, or the chairs I have to sleep on the floor and because the carpet still smells like cleaner which has lead to a sore throat. This very concerning medical condition may have been produced by the copious amounts of substance abuse that I have been forcibly subjected to as of late. In other injury news I did something to a muscle under my left clavicle, it was really bad two days ago, it has sense dissipated but I am thinking that a relapse is highly likely.
I have been driving to and from Eugene and Portland for the better part of a month looking for and moving to what is a sweet place. Or so I had thought until two nights ago. My cousin, Sierra and I were sitting at the sweet corner bar, Ringlers Annex, just two blocks from my place enjoying some wine (well I was having wine I don’t know what she was drinking) and talking to a very nice bartender. When all of a sudden we heard pop pop pop, just like that, but there were six-ish of them and not three. Immediately after the sound I loudly announced to Sierra, the bartender and the rest of the bar that they were without a doubt not gun shots. I based this conclusion on the fact that out of all the guns that I have fired (not that it is a large amount but as an eagle scout you kind of have to have some knowledge about guns) none had been so quite or sounded so popy. Anyway just after I had told everyone what I thought, the block was flooded with cop cars. I, being sloshed to a good degree, was thrilled, and discussed the matter with Officer Bob, or Bill or some other equally simple and forgettable name. He was a straight up douche of an off duty cop, white cowboy hat, blue jeans, and some kind of collared shirt un-buttoned to reveal his necklace of Native American-like fake beads. He told me about something or other that I instantly forgot because it was just too interesting at the time, but we did talk about it for a while. After escaping the discussion to run to the curb and watch the goings on, make some phone calls, I returned to the bar to watch the street get shut off, and lit up by police.
The bartender then told me about how officer Bob, Phil, or whatever-the-F-his-face-was, was some kind of sex freak and was not really allowed in bars due to his habit of giving girls naked pictures of himself. Thank the sick god he worships that I forgot what he said, because it was obviously crap. It mostly pisses me off because he wanted to shake my hand and I did, and less that he was some pig rappist. I stumbled around the police barricade after briefly discussing how to do so with an officer blocking the walk.
Here is a link that gives no useful information: http://www.kptv.com/news/20888261/detail.html
more to come on me smiling and laughing to a degree that makes my boss want to fire me on my first day of work AND leaving my car all over Portland in an attempt to evade parking-nazi-fucking-fuckasses
