On Friday, I ran a buttload of errands. Buttload, if you are unfamiliar with this highly scientific term, is super-science speak for “a lot, like, whoa, a lot.” Example: “I may need a blood transfusion: I was in Forks this weekend and was swarmed by a buttload of mosquitos. Nary a glittery vampire in sight.” OR “The seam on Jennifer Lopez’s pants gave way under the pressure of the buttload.”

My first stop was Clearvue Vision Center for my annual vision exam. I have really, really been needing new glasses. My current pair is fractured at the temple due to being in constant contact with my enormous head, and they’ve been getting more and more loose, like a whore coming into her own. I’ve been having to push them up my nose constantly, and occasionally, when I look down, they plain fall off my face. I have been having nightmares about them falling off into the toilet, that is how badly I need new frames. I put getting frames off for a year, because I hated the selection at Pearl Optical and also the saleswoman was a pushy bitch, and I can’t reward that kind of jackassery with my money. Clearvue was an alltogether different sort of experience. Dr. Gelt was friendly and genuine, and even better, she told me I was now a candidate for lasik, given that my current prescription is four years old and my eyes had not changed much since then, so one of these days (not particularly soon), I will be able to see.

I don’t know if I’ve actually ever seen clearly on my own before in my life–I got my first pair of glasses in the second grade. My mom was volunteering at the school when they checked everyone’s eyes, and I remember being herded into her line and subsequently being so angry with her because it seemed to me that it was her fault that I couldn’t read the letters, and her getting angry with me because it seemed to her that my refusal to read them was an act of willful stupidity. I ended up with a pair of pink and purple glasses with a rhinestone butterfly on the corner of the frame. The principal loved them and always treated me like her favorite kid. It was on that day that I became a nerd.

Anyhow, the staff at Clearvue was very low-pressure, in fact, they didn’t even bring up a lens/frame purchase and left me to my own devices. I found a pair of frames that are like magic on my face, and I should have them in a few weeks, so I can finally kiss my toilet-dropping nightmares goodbye!

After the optometrist, I drove to SaltWorks in Woodinville to pick up some coarse Hawaiian salt for the Kalua pig I was making for Mardi’s 4th of July Luau. SaltWorks is way serious about salt. Apparently, it pays well, too.

Bill the Butcher was my next stop–I may not always be particularly choosy about what I put into my mouth, but when I’m feeding my friends, I want to feed them right, and Bill does it right. Their shop only works with small local farmers and ranchers who treat the animals humanely, and they are raised without the use of growth hormones, antibiotics, steroids, or genetically altered feed. While I, personally, don’t take issue with the idea of genetic modification of food*, particularly if it means greater yield that will prevent people worldwide from starvation, I do like the idea of supporting a business which believes in raising animals sustainably.

After I brought the meat home, I went to 99 Bottles to pick up some beer for the party–I particularly like 99 Bottles because I can try a variety, and if I end up hating something, I’m not stuck with another five to take up space in my fridge.

I was also on a mad quest for AquaNet for Tobie’s potato gun. As it’s no longer 1980, AquaNet is something of a rarity. The clerk at Sally Beauty looked appalled when I inquired about its existence, as if I’d just slapped her across the face, spit on her child, fed crack to her dog, and had a dong hanging out of my pants. Luckily for all of us, at Rite Aid, the 80s will never die.

*Monsanto and what they’re doing to the food industry, on the other hand…

On the only truly sunny, gorgeous day we’ve had this year, a group of attractive people met at Family Fun Center in Tukwila for Mike’s Pretty Pretty Princess Birthday Party.

Family Fun Center translates directly into “Could be a lot more fun with less screaming children and slow-moving families but they are cash cows so it’s never gonna happen unless you are loaded enough to rent out the entire building, suckas!”

…We were not loaded enough to rent the entire building. The building itself is very high-ceilinged, the better to reverberate the sorts of shouts and squeals and screams that children are prone to making, particularly little girls and the eardrum-damaging shriek they make when they are overstimulated. I swear that when we approached Family Fun Center, I could watch the building thrum from the noise inside. Hence, we did not spend all that much time inside.

We started off with minigolf. Minigolf, if you are unaware, is a game about putting mastery, taking the ball to the hole, not rimming the hole, but putting it in. It’s also about innuendo, smacking friends with golf clubs, whacking other people’s ball out of the way if at all possible, and riding said golf clubs like ponies through the brush. It also features some “obsticles”.

Some of those “obsticles” included ramps into old-timey prospector cabins, an employee who kept wandering through the middle of our game, and a hole filled with mysterious slimy water.

After we finished our game, we bravely ventured inside to play some laser tag. The majority of our group ended up on one team. The other team was comprised of eight year old girls, who were seriously not cut out for the business of war. One of them dropped her gun and ran shrieking; guns are attached to the vest, so it skittered behind her, which only served to make her shriek and run faster as it knocked into the backs of her legs while her vest informed her she was being killed over and over again.

Laser tag was fun, though I wish that we would have had a little more time to play–it didn’t seem that we got a whole lot of time for what we paid. I also think it could be even more fun ramped up a notch for adults. Perhaps not as painfully extreme as taser tag, but what if every time you died, you took what felt like a punch to the gut? What if you had to take a shot every time you hit the recharge station? These are ideas that I feel need to be revisited with a business license and some money behind them.

After laser tag, I discovered that the skeeball machine would not accept my prepaid family fun center card and would require me to pump more money into the place which I was not about to do, so I made my way out to the batting cages.

We (read: not me because I am uncoordinated and would certainly hit myself in the face with a bat) knocked the hell out of some balls, and then it was time for go-karts. Also known as Exxtreeeeeme Danger Karts.

To my great shame, I skidded around corners so poorly that Chris was able to pass me; I am clearly not cut out for the world of Exxtreeeeeme Danger Driving.

After go-karts, we’d all had enough and gorged ourselves at Famous Dave’s BBQ. I badgered the waitress to bring Pretty Pretty Princess Mike some dessert, but much to my chagrin, they don’t sing or dance or make a public fuss over him like I’d hoped.

Happy Birthday, Sir Dorks A Lot!

What do you suppose freedom tastes like? Is a ring inherently more freedom-y than other shapes?

One thing’s for sure: Freedom isn’t free.