Oregonian Dispatch *UPDATED!*

Apparently "Oregonian" is a funny word. All of my friends in California seem to giggle every time I say it, even though it's basically conjugated the same was that "Californian" is. Oh well, comedy does indeed lurk where you least expect it!

Take this thrilling misadventure, for example:

*Last night my sister and I decided to go see some old high school friends who were supposedly gathering at a local pizza place, Abby's Legendary Pizza. Note that they do not call their pizza tasty, delicious or tolerable. Only legendary. My father claims that it is THE worst pizza he has ever endured, and adds, "and I've had a lot of bad pizza," so perhaps this is what Abby's pizza is legendary for. I never found out, because the event was hastily planned almost entirely via the facebook, and when we arrived no one was there -- not even the host of the party -- except my sister's friend Brian, who looked very relieved when we arrived.
We stood around by the gumball sticker machines for a while trying to decide what to do, before I made the joking suggestion that we should check out a Dallas bar, since none of us had ever done that before. The more we talked about this idea, the better it became, until we were nearly bursting with excitement to head on down to a good ol' paragon of redneck culture and kick back a few brewskis!
The little girl getting a sparkly horse sticker from the machine looked at us in a way that told us that she knew we were going to Hell.
But for tonight at least we would not be going to Hell -- we were going to a long-standing pub in Dallas' run-down downtown that had changed names and proprietors more times than we could remember. It was not Heaven by any stretch of imagination, but it was cleaner and more welcoming than we might have suspected. We sat at a table and were served by a former classmate of Elizabeth's. Each of us ordered a beer and Brian got a hamburger. There were about four old guys hanging out at the bar, and one of them chocked on something and almost died, but didn't. There was a rerun of The Office playing on the television. It was not exactly eventful.
Our beers only cost $2.50, however. Elizabeth was nonplussed by this, but Brian and I come from more urban and costly areas and were shocked. Dallas beer is cheap beer!
We paid the paltry tab and headed out into the cold night.
We were about halfway home, which is to say I had driven my Mom's Prius about two blocks, when I noticed a cop car following me in the rear view mirror. Just when I thought the cop wouldn't turn on his lights and pull me over, well ... he turned on his lights and pulled me over. Awesome!
It turns out I had forgotten to turn on the headlights. Uh oh!
"Where are you folks headed?" the young agent of the law asked me after I finally figured out how to roll down the windows in mom's car.
"Well officer," I said, "We're actually just heading home after having a drink at the bar."
"Oh really."
"Yeah, but I only had one drink and that was probably an hour ago."
"..."
"Well, OK, it was probably more like I had one drink over the course of an hour, really."
"Ok, you can go on home then," the cop told me after he ran my license and registration, "but I really don't recommend drinking and driving."
"You got it, officer!" I said, as I rolled away.
...
So there you have it. My first trip to a bar in my hometown ended with me being pulled over ALMOST IMMEDIATELY and also being let go without penalty or sobriety test after instantly fessing up to having been drinking mere moments earlier!
Small towns are amazing!