You got some time

Good afternoon, Mr. President. Sorry I've been away so long. I won't let you down again.



After work, I met Andrew and Brugos at Gameworks, as their company was having a little gathering. I didn’t realize how awesome the Happy Hour there is. ALL drinks and appetizers half price? I found it difficult to argue with a $4 Long Island. So I didn’t. Must remember Gameworks when looking for Happy Hours.

Even though I now live on a bottom floor and can DDR when ‘ere I please, I couldn’t resist playing the arcade version. But not before I watched some CRAZY kid blow everyone away with his skillz. This skinny teenager had his level set to “Methamphetamines”, and his feet were moving so fast that he actually had to hold on to the railing behind him for what I can only imagine was to prevent himself from propelling forward. Not only were his feet moving at an alarming rate, but he was hitting EVERY ARROW in the process. This kid made Green Dress Girl look like a bloody amateur. Incredible. One can’t help but fear for the kid’s love life, however.

Andrew kindly shared with me the spoils of his slot playing, by purchasing me a little plastic army man for the princely sum of 5 tickets. Thanks, Andrew! My army man (Floyd) now resides on my key ring with my bottle opener and my Noel Gallagher key chain.

After lingering too long at Gameworks, Brugos and I were to meet a co-worker of his to hitch a ride to Wenatchee, where we would be white water rafting the next morning. On account of too much Gameworks fun, compounded with Slurpee cocktails, we didn’t get on the road till after 8. The drive up was really cool. It was fairly foggy and the mountains loomed over us with blue majesty as we drove East. We had entertained the notion of camping, but it was dark and raining a bit so we decided that a cheap motel would be the way to go. We naively thought there would be something affordable in Leavenworth. After making one stop, the desk clerk at the Luftwaffle Inn (or whatever), suggested that we would have more luck in Wenatchee proper. So onward we drove, inquiring at a few major motel chains, before settling on the amazing deals at Lyle’s Motel. Our room was sparse, but the price was right, and all we need to do in it was sleep. Brugos and his co-worker went to get a quick beer and I stayed behind to watch Dr. 90210. Apparently, I didn’t miss much. Must not be a big bar culture in Wenatchee, even on a Friday. Or perhaps we weren’t clued in to the hot spots. Meep?


Woke in time to grab a quick breakfast with the Sweat Pants Mafia (at least I’m assuming that was the reason for so many teenagers about in sweatpants) at Denny’s. Then we headed to the rafting rendezvous point, only slightly late on account of someone’s appointment with the Porcelain President.

We quickly squeezed into our company issued wetsuits and booties (trying hard not to think about how often they wash them in between tours) and hopped on a bus that would take us to the launching site. (Dubious hygiene aside, the wet suits were fun to wear. I felt like I had finally been asked to ride in the Blackbird.)

I was a little nervous at first, whatwith the “we are not responsible if you die” waver I had to sign and the cautious talk from our guide. Soon, however, I realized that this was quite the touristy event and only a moron who doesn’t follow instructions (of whom, I’m sure, there are enough to warrant these types of disclaimers) would fall to peril. It was actually pretty easy to stay in the boat. (I have this on good authority. Because if it were easy to fall out, believe you me, I would have done it). It may be that the rapids themselves were rather mellow during our time out, but I have a feeling that they wouldn’t allow a bunch of first-timers to go out in dangerous conditions, even with the “it’s not our fault” waivers.

Anywho, the trip was awesome, despite me having to pee pretty much the WHOLE time and despite getting totally biffed in the face with a big wave. It was like the end of the log ride stretched over several hours. And I was in the front of the boat, so, like with the log ride, I got drenched. The sun was shining, however, so I stayed warm enough.

After the trip, we were treated to a BBQ lunch (included in the price), shown pictures of our trip (including several of me inhaling water!) and sent on our merry way.

Since the weather in Eastern, Washington was certainly beautiful, and the weather back West was uncertain, we decided to linger in Leavenworth and play a round of mini-golf at the Family Fun Center. Whether it was due to brownies consumed with lunch of a little bit of sunstroke (from a wicked burn on my poor, pasty arms), my game was suffering. Still, I did not come in last place. So even with a handicap or two, mini-golf is still my best sport. (Shut up).

We stopped at a neat little roadside bar called the Booby Trap for a beer, before heading into Seattle around dinner time. Dinner was eaten and then I promptly fell asleep, not waking up again until after 9. Considering Saturday night a loss, I went to bed. Apparently, rafting really takes is out of you. Or maybe it was the mini golf…


I spent the day organizing my media. It looks much less cluttered in my apartment, but I am still not happy with the overall appearance. Hopefully, I will have something satisfactory by my hovelwarming. However, since it is a Caucasian Squalor party, perhaps having everything neat and organized would be counterintuitive.

Then Brugos and I went to the Central Cinema to catch the last program for the Seattle True Independence Film Festival. I probably wouldn’t have seen anything in the festival were it not for the fact that my friend Danny’s short was playing. Unlike most film festival programs, the shorts were all pretty decent. Danny’s was especially enjoyable. Unbeknownst to me, however, the program contained a feature. LIKE many features in independent film festivals, it should have been a short. A SHORT short. Instead, it was one hour and 16 minutes of silly Jew jokes, pelvic thrusts and references to gay sex (the latter of which seemed to really upset the girl sitting behind us…as every time the notion of a man sucking another man’s penis was presented, she exclaimed “EW!”).

After the movie, Danny and I lamented the fact that such a torturous script could be made with what was CLEARLY a very good budget. (They got the rights to a Hall and Oates song, for god’s sake! That shit ain’t cheap). We lamented loudly, assuming (or at least I was), that since the film was very clearly shot in New York, that the filmmakers would not attend a small Seattle film festival for its screening. Brugos pointed out our mistake in the form of two dudes lurking right behind us. Doh! Oh well. They had to know the truth. And the truth is that Danny and I are resentful assholes who are apparently fellating the wrong penises. (EW!)

Danny was heading to the Rendezvous with his cohorts, but, having only slept 14 hours the previous night; I decided I had better hit the sack.

NEXT WEEKEND: The Dompire Strikes Back!

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