Goodbyes and adventures

One of my favorite coworker-friends is abruptly leaving us for Chicago. She threw a fine going-away party at Ron Toms, though, which was filled with good conversation. Though we were sad, we covered it up well.



She'll be back to visit, but I get awfully sad when the people I like leave town. It doesn't happen very often, because Portland is the best place to have an awesome life, but every now and then folks move away. On the plus side, I have an open invitation to Lollapalooza and Six Flags Great America, which I fully intend to accept.

Once our Ron Toms numbers dwindled to a handful around midnight, a decision was made to migrate. Holocene, the nearest danceateria, was hosting some sort of ladies night featuring DJs with names like Womb Service, so we took our business up the street to a different establishment. The three remaining ladies took seats, and a very loud guy decided to occupy the empty chair next to me. He was offered a shot of Patron by the three dudes to his right, which he gladly accepted. I guess the rule of never accepting drinks from strangers doesn't apply to men. I refrained from telling him to enjoy his Rohypnol cocktail, though I thought about it. After he downed his shot, the guy started to talk to me. Why he made this decision, I do not know, because I make a point of looking unfriendly in such situations.

My new friend proceeded to tell me that he'd paid the DJ nine dollars to play some metal instead of the "Jay-Z crap" that had been blaring through the speakers. I asked what his problem was with Jay-Z, and his response was most impolite. I tried to ignore him, but he just kept talking at me. He said something about Slayer, and I muttered "yeah, but what has Slayer done in the last 20 years?" Big mistake. He decided to sing me their latest single, entitled "snuff," while demonstrating some air guitar. I began to look around for Bobby, who had been trying to get change at the bar. Bobby stood nearby, watching this unfold and looking terribly amused. Morgan and Brittany, to my left, were having a conversation and stopping periodically to watch Slayer guy. I was trapped. Fortunately, he finished his performance when I promised to look up the song on YouTube, and bade me adieu with a "bye, nice lady." Bobby quickly commandeered the empty seat, and we were free to enjoy ourselves further.

Eventually the bar became overly crowded, and I spied some Rose City Rollers t-shirts on several patrons. There was a bout last night, and this particular bar is a favored post-game destination. Not wanting to deal with uncomfortable derby small talk, we gave our final hugs to Morgan and left.

Both wide awake and hungry, Bobby and I decided to visit a familiar establishment. Since it wasn't quite 2:00, the Hotcake House hadn't become overrun with people making their post-last-call pit stops. We ordered some very late (or very early) breakfasts and claimed a table.



Bobby looks worried in this photo because the people at the next table were loudly quoting Blue Velvet and other David Lynch fare, and looked like models from the Trenchcoat Mafia Catalog. They were making us a little nervous, but booth space is limited and they seemed harmless enough.

For some reason, I still wasn't remotely tired after working all day and hanging out all evening. This might have something to do with the five cups of tea I'd had over the course of the day, and the giant iced tea I ordered at the Hotcake House. In any case, we went home and watched TV for a couple more hours before finally going to sleep. Sometimes it's great to party like a college student again. Everyone needs the occasional break from feeling like a boring old adult, especially when celebrating with good friends.