I saw Jumper on Saturday. Was pretty good. I spent my entire Saturday just wandering around downtown Salem by myself. After the movie, I went upstairs and sat at a table with my laptop. This douchey-looking theater manager with long hair and a beard kept walking by and eying me. After about an hour, he finally came over to my table and said, “Uhhhh…I’m going to have to ask if you have a ticket?” He seemed scared to death of me. He must know about me being a murder suspect.
I smiled and said, “Sure!” I reached into my pocket and handed him my ticket.
He looks it over. “Oh…Uhhh…Okay.” Then he hands it back to me and turns to leave.
“Do you need me to leave or something?”
He turns around, pauses for a few seconds, and says, “Uhhhh…not at this time.”
I left on my own about 30 minutes later and walked to The Blue Pepper where they have internet access.
On Sunday I spent all day in Portland. I ended up stabbing myself in the hand with a screwdriver. Not just a little scratch either, but I giant gaping hole in my hand. Blood was everywhere. It wasn’t just dripping out, it was squirting out. Gross, eh? I went into a store and purchased some heavy-duty band-aids, went into the restroom and cleaned up. My hand still hurts. I was at Dennys last night and couldn’t even lift my drink. Murder suspects enjoy talking about blood and wounds in great detail, you know?