Day 5.5 and 6

Friday night, September 26th. After a quick nap, Jami and I went downtown. Steve-o decided to come along. This proved to be a mistake. We began our evening at Mcminimans Irish Pub. (That is spelt incorrectly) (I think). The pub is actually a huge complex, that in the dusty past used to be a catholic prep school. Now it contains a restaurant, bar, lounge, and movie theater. The theater seems pretty neat, it runs older movies for 3 dollars, and since it has a bar inside the later movies are 21 and older. They're not pornos though. I don't think. Porn and alcohol in an old catholic church just seems deliciously indecent.

We decided that we were more hungry than thirsty, so we went to the restaurant first. Steve-o got fish of the day, a rainbow trout, and some fruity cocktails. He likes surprisingly gay drinks when hes not inhaling PBR bottles. Jami got a side of french fries and another fruity drink. Women. I on the other hand enjoyed an enormous bacon cheese burger smothered in ranch dressing and for an appetizer, the "Terminator".

Oregon is apparently the home of the microbrew, every singly bar/pub/restaurant/gas station/and flower shop has their own home brewed beer. Mcminimans has six, the Terminator being their most aptly named. In a world of watered down rice beers, the Terminator is a refreshingly barbaric concoction. Coal black and thick has mud, this heavy stout replaced my entree as a major source of calories. The beer tasted suspiciously similar to the homemade bread they served with my cup of new england clam chowder, and was much the same texture. Both were cut with a knife and served with butter. The only difference was the Terminator has more alcohol than some rye whiskey's I have sampled.

Following the meal, my natural tendency was to lapse into a diabetic coma and sleep off the itis for 6 to 8 weeks, but my cohorts were annoyingly energized by their sissy drinks so we continued into downtown proper. Here we wandered around for a time, stopping at various trendy and chic bistros and bars. Steve-o's glower grew ever darker and more sinister. He does not enjoy trendy and chic. We finally camped out at a small martini bar, where I enjoyed an overpriced whiskey sour and talked steve-o out of buying a painting of Mr. T. No matter how realistic a rendition of Mr. T, acrylic on canvas, it was not worth 175 dollars. I recognized the name of the artist though. She was one of the dancers at Starz. Small world.

After I finished my drink and stole the rest of Jami's, we followed a grumbling Steve-o back to his truck, and we were home by 8:30 pm. From now on, Jami or I drives.

Saturday, September 27th. On account of my previous early night, I was up and about rather early. I hit the post office, to collect a large box of clothing and shoes that Big Momma had graciously mailed me. I then dropped my truck off at the shop to get the brakes fixed, and Steve-o and I went to the farming supply store to buy fencing. Jami has a small cattle dog by the name of Griz, as in grizzly bear, and being a cattle dog he enjoys nothing more than herding the horses and periodically getting kicked in the face. For the Horses sake, we wanted to build him his own kennel.

On the way back to the ranch, Steve-o remembered that our Reed Pub was hosting customer appreciation day. Being such a long time local patron, I went and enjoyed free tacos and 1.75 beers. I enjoyed these until my wallet was empty and my belly was full. I then went home and fell asleep face down next to my fridge. It was 6pm.