Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. Been busy, you know? I know, excuses! But really, I haven’t been goofing off.

I’ve been doing a lot if pondering, ruminating, soul-searching. Been thinking about stuff I’m not ready to share with the world. (Or too private to share.) I’ve never worried about TMI with me, but some things are too personal to hang out in public. I’d rather err on the side of privacy when others are concerned.

So what is going on? I’m dealing with woman issues. What to do when you love two women? I don’t *have* to choose one or the other, but if I did? The decision has been made.

Now to see how it all plays out…

“I’m bored. Wanna come over?”

“Sure. How about I bring you a bottle of rum? ‘Baby, it’s cold outside’…” I crooned in my best Bill Clinton voice.

“Love it! Git on over hee-yar…” she corn-poned back.

Yeehaw, a mission! I’d gobbled space-candy, and gone out in search of mischief.

I found it. It was about five miles down the road when I realized I also had a date with Rain.

Double-dipping? That sounds like the finest kind of mischief.

I’ve been worried that I may send the wrong text-message to the wrong girl, or call one woman the other woman’s name. I worry for my sake more than theirs. They seem cool with things. I feel guilty. They already know about each other, so I’m not being a total cheating-piece-of-shit, but I have been playing both sides against the middle and doing a little predatory backyard-harvesting, knowwhatImean? I’m being careful physically and mentally, and being straight up with both of them.

Mostly.

Diplomacy is a fine art, and my goal is not to hurt anyone, physically or mentally. So… I may not volunteer as much information as I should. (Ironic, coming from the king of T.M.I.) Both relationships seem in flux, and I’m curious to see how this all shakes out.

I’d had a loosely-planned date with Rain. I was supposed to come over, bring her a “twistie” (cough cough) and let nature take its course. She was supposed to call me at 3 PM. It was well after five and no word. I sat at Meg’s, watching her drink rum & coffees while COPS played on TV. I was in a cosmic state, rolling with the punches.

My phone rang. The Michael Myers Halloween Theme. That ringtone is reserved for Meg and Rain. Since Meg was sitting right in front of me, I knew who it was. I put index finger to lips, made a shush-y motion, winked at Meg and answered. “Heya hot stuff!”

“Where you at?”

“Near your house, waiting to hear from you. Watch broken again?”

“Oh, bite my ass! Wait, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She giggled.

“Yeppers!”

“I’m at Pioneer Square. I will come to you.”

Not cool. I smiled at Meg. “I’m by the freeway, close to your place. Just come home and I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay baby,” she purred. “I’m on the next train.”

I hung up, and smiled weakly at Meg, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Gonna go get you some boo-tay, huh?” She was enjoying watching me squirm. Things have only changed a little since we’ve become intimate. Like my feeling guilty about seeing Rain when Meg treats me so well.

“Yeah,” I confessed. “I’d forgotten I had a date with her when you called, so I came over here to wait for her to show up. I am so sorry. I USED YOU!” (Members of the Academy, note the spectacular fake tears and mock anguish, please?)

“Go get yourself some Tang, Mr Astronaut. Call me on the way home if ya want.”

Meg may be the coolest girlfriend ever, but I didn’t get away without taking a parting shot. She gave me a see-what-you’re-missing kiss, coating me in lipstick and lady scent. Rain would notice. I used the hallway mirror to remove the excess.

* * *

I sat outside Rain’s building, watching the MAX platform. I’d left Meg’s promptly, though taking my time. Rain has a way of turning five minutes into three hours, so I wasn’t surprised when she wasn’t on the next train. Or the one after that. I found a bench in an inconspicuous place to watch the trains come and go.

There she was, getting off the train. A bum hit her up for a cigarette. She obliged. She crossed the street and moseyed toward her building. I fell in step, walking parallel behind parked cars. She stopped, pulled out her phone and dialed. I felt the phantom vibration. I could not have timed this more perfectly if I’d tried.

As my phone rang, emitting the trademark Halloween Theme, I stepped from between the two minivans. Rain’s eyes got big, and she braced as if to take a punch. Then she saw it was me. “Red, what you gonna do, cut my head off? How’d you manage to do that?” She was as impressed with the theatrics as I was.

Using my best Vincent Price voice, “It’s not Friday the 13th yet, but I could make an exception for you, my pretty…”

“Shut up…” She led me upstairs, where I practiced my moon landing. Mission successful!

* * *

Thursday and Friday were my days off. I spent them bopping between Meg’s and Rain’s. I had a four-hour shift on Saturday afternoon, a fate worse than death in Meg’s eyes. To right this injustice, she text-invited me over after work.

I texted back, “Well, I’m keeping an eye on the weather. It’s supposed to rain and snow and freeze and shit, so I kinda want to get home before I’m stuck down here.”

“Can’t we just declare it a blizzard already?” she replied.

“Is this your subtle way of inviting me to spend the night?”

“Yup.”

“Two words: FUCK YEAH!”

I had a date! A sleepover date…

* * *

I’m always wary of committing to spending a large chunk of time confined in a small space with someone. I enjoy Meg’s company, and have camped out with her before, but our relationship has taken an uptick in intensity. I’m more concerned with hurting her now, even though we are casual.

See, she has a boyfriend. The retired US marshal. This is where it starts getting interesting…

I arrived with rum, beer, a magic cupcake, enough greenery to keep us both above planet Earth for a couple days, and a pocketful of Trojans, none of them used. I was the motherfuckin’ Little Red Corvette of Portland, Oregon. She had cleared off my side of the bed. She put booze and groceries away. We needed a couple more things, so I walked to Whole Foods on Burnside. I bought Secret Aardvark sauce, waiting to buy the less-overpriced barbecue sauce at the Quik-E-Mart below Meg’s building. ($5.99 for barbecue sauce at Whole Foods? Did they name the tomatoes?) I bought Meg a giant piece of carrot cake. It’s often the simple things that help get a young girl’s pants off.

As I returned to Meg’s, I noticed a familiar face hurrying down Burnside. It was Rain’s boyfriend, Joe. (Or should I say ‘other boyfriend’?) She’d recently introduced us. He knew me from the Nightclub Store, and I’d seen him around. He was younger than me, and looked like a cross between BB King and LL Cool J. Before the introduction Rain whispered to me, “He don’t know about us, so be cool.”

So that’s how it is, huh?

I’d bumped fists with Joe, and took her at her word that I had “nothing to worry about.” This despite the fact that she’d admitted he’d been spending the night once in a while, so she “could get some sleep.”

I had no room to be sanctimonious. I accepted things as they are. I will not mess with her good thing. In return, I expect some understanding with Meg. Except Rain doesn’t know that Meg and I are now hooking up. The plot thickens.

I watched Joe marching from Rain’s direction, grateful for my impending low-key evening. So I hoped.

* * *

Meg and I curled up on her bed, quietly partying and watching COPS. Meg’s boyfriend, the Marshal, calls her *all* the time. Her phone would ring, I’d get quiet. Lather, rinse, repeat. This was S.O.P. She wasn’t allowed to call him. I could hear him talking to her in a demeaning daddy-dom voice, his conversation peppered with insults and commands. Meg used to be submissive. Now she’s talking back. It’s truly delightful to watch her growing a pair with this guy.

Still, their relationship is none of my business. She has her thing, I have my thing, they have their thing. Can’t we all just get along?

About 9 PM, somewhere toward the end of COPS, Meg’s phone rang again. “Just a second, I need to cough.” I cleared my throat, so the Marshal wouldn’t hear me in the background.

As they talked, my phone rang. Yeppers. The Halloween Theme. Rain was calling. Meg was on her phone with the Marshal. My ringer was loud. I lunged for my jacket and hit what I thought was MUTE.

“Oh, just channel-surfing. I think it was an ad for something,” Meg told the Marshal. She was trying not to giggle. I was failing at stifling the giggles. I buried my head in the pillow. Then the text-message alert went off. The Tard Shark laugh. I couldn’t wait to hear how Meg described that…

She didn’t. “I have to pee.” She hung up on the Marshal, and we laughed. “That was close,” she said.

“Tell me! Let’s see what my fiancee has to say.” I went to check my messages. OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT.

I hadn’t hit MUTE. I had answered the phone. The phone had been live for almost a minute. What had Rain heard?

It didn’t take long to find out. My phone rang again. I let it go to voicemail. “Hey babe, I been trying to call you. Thought maybe you’d want to come over tonight, since it’s Saturday and I usually see you on Saturday. It sounded like you answered your phone and was walking around and I heard a woman’s voice and then you just hung up. What’s going on? Call me.” She didn’t sound mad so much as bewildered. She can stew on it. I had things to do.

I spent a glorious evening with Meg. Slept poorly, due to joint stiffness. (Winky emoticon.) I managed to go on a date with a bottle of rum and a Powerpuff Girls video without Chris Hansen popping out. We cuddled and watched cartoons. We faded out around dawn, and I slept as long as the clock would allow.

I rolled out, moving like a 70-year-old. A happy rung-out-like-an-old-dishrag 70-year-old. I kissed Meg goodbye, instructed her to get some sleep, and made a beeline to the Mothership for Hi-Rev Mocha. Large. Stat.

About 9 PM, I sent a text to Rain. “Heya gorgeous, whatcha doing?”

Bzzt: “Slept all day, just now woke up. How are you, lover?”

Lover? “Fine, thinking of you. Got last night’s message. Too much to explain in text. Will tell you in person if you remind me.”

Now if I can count on her to forget my excuses the way she does our dates? Things will be fine.

But you know it never works out that way…

I haven’t exactly been a monk lately…

To catch everyone up: I have been seeing Rain for a couple years. It’s a FwB scratch-each-others-back relationship. We like each other, a lot, but it never seemed serious. Besides, she has a boyfriend. (That isn’t me.)

There was the Porno Queen, a co-worker and acquaintance in a relationship that dated back twenty years. Mostly friendship, but some sex was involved. I say some, because the two times we almost did it, she asked about the equity in my house and stopped the sex when I told her how small it was. (The equity. THE EQUITY!) I wish I were kidding about this.

I spent the summer casually seeing Clairissa. This was the most grown-up sexual relationship I’ve had. We talked. We enjoyed our time, and stopped while things were still good. Sadly, I don’t see much of her these days. I need a trim.

I’ve been seeing Meg for a couple years now. I met her through the Porno Queen; Meg is her downstairs neighbor. The day we met, we made out like bandits in front of the Porno Queen. (I thought hoped it might turn into a three-way. No such lick luck.) In time, the Porno Queen became jealous of Meg because I spent more time at Meg’s. Porno Queen started vicious rumors. Porno Queen throws a drunken fit, assaulting Meg and her jailbird boyfriend at a party. Jailbird goes back in cage, Porno Queen and Meg are no longer friends. I end up spending the majority of my off-work indoor-time at Meg’s.

When I’m not at Rain’s, that is.

The reason Rain and Meg tolerate each other is because I’m not sleeping with Meg. (Or, to be more accurate, not fucking her on lunch-break.) I walk to Meg’s, kick back on her bed for a few minutes, then walk back to work. When I go to Rain’s, aerobic exercise, yoga and push-ups are involved. And condoms. Always bring condoms. Rain has a boyfriend. So does Meg. (A retired US Marshal, in fact. Yikes.) So it’s complicated, but not really. Sex with Rain, friendly companionship with Meg. I see Meg to horn me up, then go take it out physically on Rain. It’s been working well for me, until Wednesday night.

Then it got complicated.

“We need to talk. We need to have a serious talk.”

It was Rain. She had that ‘I need phone-bill money’ tone to her voice, so I didn’t register alarm.

I called her. She purred, “Honey, come on over, and bring me a beer?”

Woohoo! They should call Hurricane Malt Liquor the panty-dropper. Rain gets in a mood after a 24 oz can…

She popped the top, stuck a straw into the can, took a provocative sip. “I want you to pay my rent. I want you to move in here. I want you to be my sugar daddy. I want you to marry me.”

(The imaginary fellow sitting on the couch in my brain does a spit-take, puts on his fedora and checks his watch. “Gee, look at the time…!”)

“Wow, really?”

I hadn’t seen that coming.

“‘Wow really’? Is that all you got to say? You saying no?”

“No, I haven’t said anything yet. I’m kinda in shock.” I didn’t know what to say.

“Well, I know you have to get back to work, so think about it. Gee, here I am, leaning over this couch with nothing but a tee shirt on. Why, anyone could just walk up behind me and take advantage of me, and who would be there to protect me? My husband!”

Even though we weren’t married, I allowed that I could walk around to her back-forty and make sure everything was okay. It was more than okay. It was fine…

Meg had been waiting all day for me to come over. I texted her, “Wait until you hear what just happened. Need a beer? I do. Drink one for me?”

“Oh-TAY!”

Then… I texted Rain. “I’m sorry life is such a challenge right now. I will help you if I can, but I’m not marriage material. I will always cherish our friendship.” I’d said that to her in person, but wanted to put it in writing. Just in case.

I didn’t hear any more from Rain that night, or the next day. Hmm… Guess that’s over. Shit. I may never get laid again.

I told Meg of my brief engagement, and my presumed lack-of-nookie woes. In an atypically catty voice, Meg said “Oh, she’ll need cigarette money sooner or later. She just didn’t play her cards right.”

I wasn’t so sure.

Due to scheduling conflicts, I had to work all weekend (including a day-shift) at the Mothership. SUCK!!

“If you have to be there at 9 AM, you could spend the night here,” said Meg.

I could have kissed her.

In fact, I did kiss her. “A slumber party? You’re on!”

I made arrangements with my housemates to be gone all night. Bought Meg a jug of rum and a six-pack of beer to keep the mood light. Tucked Cowboys and Aliens and The Hangover Part II in with a pair of gym shorts. Loaded up the combustibles and stashed Meg a space-cucpcake.

We are ready for liftoff!

Meg’s tiny room is perfect for us. I normally lay sideways across her bed, and she sits cross-legged, using my belly for a table while I use her thigh for a hand rest. Seeing the business side of her bed cleared off (for me) took me back a bit. Suddenly things seemed serious. “People could get hurt.” The voice was the little man with the fedora on the couch in my mind.

Unable to sleep, we stayed up until the wee hours. We talked, smoked a bit. Meg did laundry. Finally about 3 AM she said, “I’m gonna put on my jammies and try to sleep. Okay with you?”

“Sure. I have to be to work in a few hours. Might be good to sleep. What jammies are you wearing?” I envisioned her South Park ones, with Cartman yelling “Respect my authori-tie!”

“The Victoria’s Secret one you gave me.”

Really? It was a roadkill slinky tee, found in the back room of the Waterfront store. I’d not yet seen her wear it. She undressed behind her closet door. She had partial blocking, but I could play peekaboo with a nipple here, a buttcheek there. She stepped from behind the door, wearing nothing but the tee shirt. She crawled into bed next to me. A brief check confirmed. Nothing but a tee shirt.

The next couple of hours were a delightful hell. She snuggled up next to me. I drifted in and out of sleep, feeling her soft curves next to me. A leg draped over mine, an uncovered bum inches from my business end. It would be so easy to just slip it in there… No…I must be a gentleman. Damn it.

About an hour before work, Meg got up, lit a cigarette. Went to the fridge, popped a can of beer and chugged about half. Came back to bed and sat next to me.

“I wish I didn’t have to go to work today,” I said. “I am going to be the world’s biggest grump.”

She laid down again, stretched out facing away from me. I rubbed the curve of her hip. “Want a back rub?” I asked.

“Okay…” She went prone. My hand went under her shirt. Soon her shirt was up around her shoulder blades. I worked my way down. I caressed her bum. She jumped in an excited kinda way. Hmm.

“Do you like that?” I rubbed the back of her thigh.

“Yes.”

I nibbled there. She liked that more. I worked my way up, kissing her plumber’s crack, lower spine. She rolled over, the rest of her clothes came off, then mine. About 7:30 AM we said goodbye to the “just friends” category.

She said something that made my day. “Wow, that hasn’t happened in years.”

“What? Somebody going down on you?”

“No. Somebody making me come.” Such an impish smile with it.

“That’s kinda the idea, isn’t it?” I must have been beet-red with pride.

I showered, no longer modest as I came out of the bathroom to chug my can of coffee-energy. Things seemed no different between Meg and I. Thankfully. Hope it holds.

I still felt hungover from lack of sleep and food, but my spirits soared. Dannyboy was happy to see me. “Rough night? You look like heck!”

I looked in the shoplifter-prevention mirror. My nose looked like it was wearing a saddlebag. “Yeah, I’ve been up all night.”

“Oh? Couldn’t sleep?”

“I spent plenty of time in bed. Just not much of it sleeping.” I gave him the mischief-grin.

“Oh of course!” Dannyboy is a born-again Christian. He must toss a bit of guilt and sanctimoniousness my way when it’s in order. No see-yin shall go unnoticed. Hallelujah!

The day dragged on. I was hopping between stores until early afternoon, then cashiering at the Mothership until someone showed up.

About 1 PM, I got a text from Rain. “Why you not answering me? I called twice last night, and texted. You mad about somethin? CALL ME!”

I checked. Sure enough, she had tried calling and texting. I hadn’t heard my phone.

Or wanted to, really.

I texted her my schedule and current whereabouts. Within five minutes she was walking through the door and greeting me with a kiss. She doesn’t usually kiss me.

I made coffee for her, and listened as she entertained my co-workers with tales from her life. (“I see you’ve met my fiance?”) Rain can spin quite a yarn. I love to watch her make up the details as she goes.

She walked me to the Mothership, where the last five hours of my Saturday-hell was to be inflicted. “I’m going home to make you dinner. Come to me when you are done.” It wasn’t an offer, it was a demand.

“I’ll see how I feel at the end of shift. I’m pretty fried right now.”

My mood deteriorated as the hours crawled by. At 5:20 the phone rang. It was Saucy Alfredo. “HI! I am at Gateway! I will be late, but I will be there!”

I’d been expecting Weird Steven to relieve me. “Where are you supposed to be?”

“The Mothership. Like always!”

“So you’re going to be late?”

“Yes…”

“FUCK!” I slammed down the phone. I grimaced at a customer. It was the most I could muster. “Sorry.” I didn’t mean sorry.

At the moment Alfredo was supposed to walk in, Grinder called. “How’s everything going?”

“I’m grouchy as hell, been up since yesterday, and now fucking Alfredo is going to be fucking late! THIS GODDAMN DAY WILL NEVER END, WILL IT?” I didn’t even glance at the customer line. I wanted them to know what was waiting for them if they wanted to push buttons…

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” said Grinder. Bless him! It was the first kind thought I’d had for him all day.

I snapped, crashed and banged through the rest of the shift. At twenty minutes past end of my non-scheduled shift, Grinder and Alfredo walked in. “Go,” said Grinder. “I’ll count you out and take care of things. Thanks for being helpful today.”

I was on the sidewalk before he’d finished the sentence.

I couldn’t deal with Rain’s drama. I was tired beyond belief, and hadn’t ate since the middle of the previous night. I did still have a bit of burnable stress-relief. I called Meg. “Sheriff hasn’t picked you up yet?”

“He’s a marshal, and he’s fucking late. Why?”

“I wanna get stoned.”

“Well, get on over here then!”

She provided safe haven for a few puffs. I yawned. “I’m gonna get home while I’m still awake. Thank you for your most gracious hospitality.” She kissed me and showed me to the door.

I meandered around a bit, puffing discreetly. I caught the trolley up to Psycho Safeway, and bought munchies. I texted Meg: “I bought 3 kinds of meat, 2 kinds of bread, and 2 desserts. Oh, and ice cream! I smoked a bowl at city hall, you see…”

She texted me back: “LOL. Look on the bright side. You got laid. Oh, AND YOU’RE NOT MARRIED!”

“I’m not even horny. Thankyouverymuch.”

“See you when I get back?”

“Count on it…”

The other night, Christmas night, Weird Steven declined a lunch break. Nothing was open, and I was cranky from being up all day. I was grateful not to have to spend the extra hour at The Mothership. Had Weird Steven taken his lunch? This story would be about me…

We are not supposed to physically confront shoplifters. It’s dangerous. BUT if we don’t, the whole world will walk slipshod over our crying corpse of self-esteem and it makes things even worse. So we become defenders of the Twinkies. We may get you arrested. If you get close enough, we may retaliate with whatever appropriate cashiering tool is available. Windex in the eyes or a boxcutter across the back of the hand gets a malcontent’s attention QUICK.

Right about the time Weird Steven was to come back from lunch, a young ne’er-do-well entered the Mothership, grabbed a 12-pack of Miller High Life and two small bags of potato chips. He walked right past Weird Steven, gave him a smug “Whatcha gonna do about it?” sneer and kept going.

Weird Steven was not amused.

He bolted outside, out of camera range. He returned with a bicycle. He put the bike in the back of the store, went outside again. He returned with the beer and one bag of chips. He put the beer out of reach, went to the back to secure the bicycle. As he returned to the front of the store, the Beer Thief returned to the store. In his hand was a hammer-handle, or a piece of rebar wrapped in brown tape. According to Weird Steven, it was hard.

“Where my bike at?! Where my fuckin’ bike at?” He began hitting the displays on the counter. Weird Steven emerged from the back of the store. He pushed past the thief to get to the phone.

“Get out! You can have your bike back when I get all *my* stuff back!?” He began calling-

WHACK WHACK WHACK! The thief ran behind the counter and started hitting Weird Steven on the back of the head. Weird Steven dropped the phone, and a crazy look came over his face.

He grabbed the bathroom key, which is attached to a metal bar that looks like a horse-femur. “TRY TO ASSAULT ME, YOU BITCH!?” Weird Steven went after him, like a chef with a meat cleaver chasing a chicken.

But not before stopping to log off the register, like a properly trained employee.

When it was all said and done, The Thief made off with a $1.49 bag of chips. It cost him a bicycle, and will net him an armed robbery and assault charge, if we ever catch him. Thanks to surveillance footage (which kept this from becoming an urban legend) we know what he looks like, and can nail his nuts to the wall legally. If we catch him.

I’d rather let Weird Steven get ahold of him off-camera… “YOU BITCH!”

Since we can’t count on Windex and boxcutters all the time, I made a trip to the surplus store. On the off chance we ever have to remove blackberries, I picked up a machete for each of the stores. I am declaring Iranian Law for two things:

If you steal from us, it will cost you your hand.

And: Female adulterers must be stoned.

So, any female adulterers? Come on by. I’ll get ya stoned…

What? It doesn’t work that way? And I have to go to work?

Bah humbug!

Christmas was good this year. Nobody got arrested, at least in my family, and we weren’t so broke that gifts came from Dollar Tree and the day-old bin. In fact, one of the busiest parking lots I saw on Xmas Eve was the Dollar Store in Southeast Portland. (Because nothing says love like…) We didn’t go overboard, but everybody got something nice.

We celebrated on Saturday night, since Saturday is the one day everyone has off. (Except Sis. She shovels horseshit for a living, and the damned horses wouldn’t hold it in for her. Damned heathen horses.) Rain hinted around that she wanted to be invited, but I’d rather spring her on the family another way. Sis already did a ton of work getting dinner and the house together. To have to dress up and get the house up to “standards” for a potential sister-in-law? The stress would have been too much. Sis sitting around in a housecoat drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade is a tradition I don’t mess with. Relax, kid. You’ve done enough.

We cooked a 21-pound turkey, and opened presents while its “juices settled.” Bro-in-law got four boxes of candy. (See what happens when you say “I don’t know, surprise me?” SURPRISE!) Niece got video games and girly stuff only near-14 Y/Os would understand. I was gifted a new Mr Coffee. The one in the kitchen has been working in limited capacity for about fifteen years. We’ve replaced it before, only to end up using it again. I guess Sis figures the only way I will replace it is if she buys me one exactly like it. Cool. We are a bunch of coffee-hounds.

Coffee. It’s what’s for breakfast Christmas morning. Actual Xmas day was a work day for me. 9 AM-7 PM. Oh, and because that’s not enough Xmas spirit, could you give lunches after your shift? Sure, why not? I am already up for martyrdom. Tack on a sainthood?

I had not entered the alarmed store before. This could be interesting. (Being a closer, the alarm is always off when I arrive. I set it when I leave.) I opened the door, expecting a chirp or tone or something. Nada zip zilch. I tapped in my alarm code:

“BEEP BEEP BEEP System engaged! You have thirty seconds until SERT teams break down the door and stand on your neck at gunpoint-…”

Oh shit. I quickly re-entered my code, and all fell silent. Well, that was fun. Someone forgot to set the alarm. Way to fuck with me, whoever you are! (Update: It was Dr T, who was appropriately contrite.) I settled in for a long, quiet day.

I could not find a radio station that wasn’t overloaded with Xmas music, so I sat in silence most of the day. I read the papers from the last few days. Played on the internet. There was an average of 26 minutes between customers. I had a lot of time to piddle around. My second customer looked like an Asian hippie from the ’70s. Pat Morita meets Tommy Chong. He said, “I’m going to get some hot water to make my instant coffee.”

“It’s a quarter.” We sell coffee, not enable the circumvention of buying it.

“I don’t have a quarter.”

“Sorry.”

“WHAT? You’re not going to give me WATER? Well, fuck you, you fat motherfucker! NIGGER!” He stormed out, ranting and yelling about how he was going to call my manager. If he’d spent a quarter, he could have gotten Master P’s phone number off the receipt.

Wait? Did he just call me the N-word? Cool! I texted Rain, informing her of my newly found complexion. I have arrived!

Rain came by for a visit, made a cup of coffee and invited me over for an after-work visit. The present she offered was something she knew I could not refuse… A kiss, a wink, a promise. I resented feeding my co-workers more by the minute.

Things went well until about 5 PM. All of a sudden downtown was inundated with stumbling weekend warriors, doing the zombie stomp between establishments. Two… dumb shits for lack of a better-descriptive term, took ten minutes choosing and spending $2.25. That’s it. I locked the door with five minutes to go. I will open if the potential customer doesn’t look like trouble.

Nobody came to the door until well after closing time. Weird Steven had declined a lunch break. (Bless you, sir.) I locked up and went to the Nightclub Store to give Elmo a half-hour lunch break. It was like the Mothership of the glory years. A nonstop parade of tweakers and dirt-urchins, at least one shoplifting and two prevented. Didn’t take long for this place to turn to shit…

Rain texted me: “How soon you done? Coming over?”

“Ready to snap. Not mad at you. Just hating people right now. Gave co-worker half-hour lunch, it’s been an hour now.”

“Chill dude. It’s only 8:30.”

“It’s after midnight in my mind.”

“Well come on over and let me ease your mind.”

The offer I couldn’t refuse.

She met me at the door wearing nothing but a Christmas sweater. Minimal wrapping on my present: It’s a green thing, right? I spent a few minutes with another kind of green thing, and soon I was a different man. Where *did* that Grinchy old bastard go…?

I kissed her goodnight, made for the bus and was headed home in a matter of minutes. It was like the buses were put there for me exclusively. There were maybe five people on the whole ride. I went home to a happy family, a grinning dog and turkey leftovers. I made a meat/gravy/stuffing soft taco kinda thing, and went to bed early. Now it’s time to do it again.

Messy TexMex, and a Buffet New Year!

Of course, I went to Netflix to see if it is available. Here are the results when not signed into an account.

Signed in? It took me to Clint Eastwood’s profile. Do you feel lucky, punk?

Go ahead, make my day.

“Do they have my beer?” She likes a certain type of inexpensive malt liquor which has recently been among the brands listed as “troublesome” by the OLCC.

“Nope, nothing even close.”

“Pick up a sixer at my mom and pop store, and I’ll pay you when you get here?”

“Sure!” It was a lovely night for a walk, and there was no shortage of things to look at.

I was about to go on my second date of the night. I’d hurried through Saturday chores, freeing up the day. It was sunny and brisk out. I’d made loose plans to drop in on Meg sometime in the afternoon. I’d brought her a bottle of rum the day before. When I asked what she was up to Saturday, she replied, “Sluttin’!”

I should pick up my pace.

After a few days of little or no contact, I heard from Rain. “I’ve been going through some shit. They’ve repossessed my furniture. I don’t even have a bed now. Red, can I borrow ten dollars for coffee and cigarettes?”

I could do that. I told her I would stop by on the way to Meg’s.

Knowing I’d be in no mood to tolerate drunken Santas without a buzz, and SO not wanting to drink, I ate some space-candy. It crept on me as the MAX flew toward town. I waited for Rain to come home, sitting on a bus bench near J-W Field. I watched a bum and a hooker argue. I’d seen the bum around. I knew the hooker. Oh what fun…

I called Rain, who had gone off in search of a free turkey. Her phone went directly to voicemail. Oh well. If she stands me up, I still have my ten bucks and I’m due at Meg’s. No losses so far…

As soon as I hung up, my phone Rang. It was Rain. “That was weird. I just tried calling you, and got your Captain Crunch thingy. Where are you?”

“A block away.”

“I’m waiting to let you in…”

I was greeted with a kiss hello, in front of the neighbors and everybody! We took her pull-cart of turkey up to her room.

Wow.

Rain had been making payments on a snazzy furniture set, but through a series of, ahem, mix-ups, she fell behind and the rental company came and took everything. Including a TV, nightstand and Blu-Ray player that weren’t theirs. Now lawyers are involved. Oh, drama. I looked at the clutter,

Rain was embarrassed. “I don’t want you to see my house like this.” She started crying.

“Hey, now. It’ll work out. Besides, I don’t come to visit your house.”

She wiped the tears away. “I’m going to take a bath. I haven’t been here for a couple days. Would you make up a place so I could lay down?”

I busied myself making a sleeping area in front of her remaining TV in the bedroom. I kicked back, and soon she came in, wearing an animal print teddy. Rowarr! She cuddled up with me, and soon an hour had gone by.

Meg texted me, breaking the moment. “Where are you? I passed out and just woke up.”

I texted back. “Still running errands. Will call you in a few minutes.”

Rain snuggled up to me. “What’s up?”

“Friend is looking for me. I should go.”

While she was in the bathroom, I slipped a $10 into her bible. As I got dressed, she called from the bedroom, “I see what you did there. Putting that dirty money in my bible…”

“Hey, what we do isn’t dirty. I showered before I came over, and you just got out of the bathtub!”

She cackled as I kissed her goodbye. Off to Freddy’s, then to Meg’s.

* * *

As I walked, I saw the herds of Santas. It was Santacon 2011. There were ten to twenty outside each of the worthy West Burnside bars. The Matador was well-represented, but the Marathon Taverna had the hottest. I think some of Santa’s helpers from Fantasy Adult Video must have dropped by. I snapped pictures.

I texted Rain. “Thank you for a lovely afternoon. I had such a good time. I like it when it’s just you and me, and we can chill without a bunch of craziness going on.. Hope to see you soon.”

As I walked, the phone rang. It was Rain. “I’m glad you did. I did too.”

“Did what?” The space-candy was working…

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. So did I. Thanks Red. I love you…”

“Mmm. You should see all the drunken Santas on Burnside. There are a million of ‘em!”

“I know, I saw. Wait, where are you?”

“I’m by the freeway, walking.”

“Look up,” she said.

“Huh?”

“On the bus. GET ON THE BUS!”

The TriMet bus was pulling away as the light changed, and I saw Rain’s beaming smile as she waved. I also saw the dozen or so people standing next to her, checking out who had shown her a good time a few minutes before.

“I’ll get off at the next stop. Want to come downtown with me?”

“I have a friend expecting me. I’m bringing her beer. It’s why I had to leave.”

“Oh. Okay, then. I will talk to you tomorrow then. Goodnight lover!” She clicked off, and I turned the corner toward Meg’s.

* * *

Meg answered the door, looking resplendent. “Sorry I fell asleep.” I handed her the six-pack of Milwaukie’s Beast. “You been out humpin’ around?”

My blush must have said it all.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she laughed. “Were you up there seeing her again? I noticed you were up that way…”

“Yeah, she was having a rough day.”

Meg, thankfully, isn’t jealous of anyone. She grabbed my hair, stuck her tongue in my mouth and gave me the what-for. “You’re such a slut.”

“Thank you.”

After getting a little more relaxed, we walked to Everyday Music. I perused the $5 CD section, and saw Teena Marie’s Greatest Hits. I bought it for Rain, who had freaked out when looking for something on Google and had seen that Teena Marie had died. (The BREAKING NEWS headline was a year old. She figured it out after much weeping and gnashing of teeth.) It was a five-dollar long-shot, but she might like the CD.

Meg and I stopped at Whole Foods for high-priced, high-quality munchies, then returned to her room for smoky treats and America’s Most Wanted. We smiled like partners-in-crime as she took calls from her boyfriend while I flirted with Rain via text message.

* * *

“Coming by? The coffee is so fresh it says ‘Hey baby!’ when you pour it…”

Rain laughed. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. You got a cigarette coupon for me?”

“Yes, dear.” I’ve been getting Camel promo coupons by pretending to be a smoker. My womens LOVE the dollar packs of smokes. “I also have a Christmas present for you. Don’t get too excited. It ain’t that great.”

“What is it? Edible panties?”

WTF? “No! Eww. Who wants a pussy that tastes like fruit roll-ups?”

“I have some,” she purred. “The strings are made of licorice.”

“That’s like eating the wrapper before the candy bar. I’ll have my beaver ala carte, thankyouverymuch!”

She laughed. “As you wish, sir. So, what’s my present? Your dick, so I can practice my sit-and-spin?”

Whoa. “You can have that year ’round. It *is* a present that comes wrapped…”

“Would you like me to bring you a big plate of pussy- I mean BBQ chicken?”

“Nah, I’m good. But all this talk does have me craving one of your box lunches. Mmm, honey muffin…”

And so it went. We flirted until she showed up. I gave her my last Camel coupon, and she promised to make my head spin on the next lunch break. It’s the best part of my complete and balanced diet.

About 3 AM I received a text from Rain. “Redman, I love you. That CD was the sweetest! How you remember stuff like that? That went straight to my heart. Loves you, my huk of a man.”

I texted back: “I’m guessing you meant ‘hulk’ or ‘hunk’? Huk sounds like something you’d do after six cans of Hurricane.”

“LOL. HULK. **”

I’d rather be thought of as Hulk than Santa, especially if it involves growth-spurts that cause the ripping of pants.

As long as nothing turns green….

Most folks do the New Year’s resolution thingy after a month of gluttonous debauchery. I’m cutting to the chase this year.

I’m not making any loud proclamations that will come back to haunt me if I fail. I choose not to share these plans, other than to say they exist. Will you notice anything about my behavior? Probably not. I hope not. It’s my goal to be a better human being, and hopefully I am doing that already. This is more of a fine tuning, so I feel better about myself on the inside.

The past few months have been a lot of fun. I was able to do things I’d wanted to do forever. I will not revel in the glory of accomplishments, but I will hold them dear to my heart and think of them when I’m down. I’ve spent time with people far from my usual social circle, with enlightening results. I’ve been with women I’m not worthy of, and too good for. (Middle ground, please?) I will love them in their own way, for far different reasons.

But… I have to be true to my school. My brain and heart are what I have to answer to. I usually come up with good answers. This time I’m going to think hard about the questions before I ask them.

May the year 2012 be a bit less bipolar for us all…

Someone borrowed $20 from me the other night. Said she was sick and needed medicine. Okay. Called to check on her later. “I’m feeling much better. Come over?” I went, nobody answered when I arrived.

Three days later, a phone call. “Sorry, I fell asleep and when I woke up I felt awful. I’ve been sick in bed…”

I sorta forgot about it, until the other night. I was chatting with her, and she went on about how she’d taken that $20 I’d loaned her for “medicine” and put it into a video poker machine and won $150. Cool! Where’s my $20?

At the predetermined time, I show up and nobody’s home. I’d just checked before coming. Hmm…

Yep. Uh-huh.

Then I get a text message: “Have money order, can’t cash without ID. It’s worth $20, give me $10 for it?”

I could use ten bucks. “Okay. I’ll take it to my bank.”

Friday night, we have a date. “Can I have some laundry money?”

“Sorry, I’m low on cash right now.” I wasn’t, but I’m not telling her that. I want to hear tonight’s story first.

“Okay. Come on over anyway.”

Earlier in the day, the Nephew had asked me to get some things for him on Amazon. He left a wad of allowance money on my desk. $140. I took the money downtown and deposited it into my account.

As I put the deposit receipt into my wallet, an evil plan began forming. I stuck the deposit receipt into a pocket where it would easily fall out.

It’s time for our Friday date, and “something comes up.” A lot of somethings have been coming up lately. I get the excuse of the day. As I stand in her bedroom while strangers mill about in the living room, I drop the deposit receipt, showing the $140 deposit and resulting balance of $147.69 in my checking account, into her bedside trash.

I left her. Not mad, just said goodnight while she was whispering something to some Freddy Krueger-looking dude that arrived with her friend. I expected her to call in five minutes, wondering where I’d gone?

No call, just a text asking me to bring her Taco Bell. Yeah, I’m feeling all Steppen’ Fetchit right now. I had my props in place, and my lie ready:

“Hey, remember that ten bucks you promised me for cashing your money order? Well, when I heard about that, I bet my last five bucks on a Keno four-spot Special Play and won $140! Too bad you didn’t call back and finish our date. I’d have probably left most of it on your dresser. Oh well, thanks. You did me a favor. I deposited it and paid my credit card bill down. Will try to remember to bring you a taco next time you want to see me.”

My plan felt like evil genius, but I didn’t feel right about it. Then I got to musing about how funny it would be if I actually played her birthday and won something. So I played the aforementioned Keno combination. I shopped for dinner, and checked my ticket:

Sorry, not a winner.

Oh well. I played one more, just in case. Sorry, friend. There goes your “laundry money.”

When I awoke to a lovey-dovey text message, I assumed she found my bank deposit slip.

I texted, “I’d love to come by, but I’m broke. Had to deposit money to make auto-bill pay. What time?”

She hasn’t gotten back to me yet. It’s been about eighteen hours.

Yesterday, December 10, has always been a big day in my life. It brings lots of warm, fuzzy blurry memories.

I doubt I’ll remember it as the day I’d had all I could stands, and I couldn’t stands no more…

I am now Green Card approved.

I first smoked marijuana in 1975. I loved the hippie mystique, the euphoria, how it slowed the world down so I could soak it all in. Until recently, I scoffed a bit at those who said pot was a good pain medication. It takes your mind off the pain, but having an actual analgesic effect? Pfft.

Then I tried edibles.

It gives me the positive effects of opiates without addiction worries or drug hangover. Sure, it leaves ya goofy, but so does Vicodin. Vicodin gives me stomach issues. Brownies make me hungry.

“Freedom isn’t free, there’s a hefty fuckin’ fee.
Freedom costs a buck oh five…”

The government has learned, “If ya can’t lick ‘em, join ‘em!” Now the state of Oregon is the biggest weed dealer around. After receiving an offer I couldn’t refuse, I decided to get my state-sanctioned medical marijuana card. There’s a rubber stamp on my butt that says, “Gov’t Approved!”

Getting the card was an adventure. I don’t have cancer or AIDS, and am hardly wasting away. Providence is my medical provider, and when I asked my doctor about it, she hissed and spat and said “We don’t do that sort of thing here!” (Slight exaggeration, same result. She said no fucking way.) Being a religion-based charity, I took what I could get. Opiates. But I digress. Sorry, weed makes me ramble sometimes…

My first contact with the clinic involved a phone call. The receptionist asked a few questions, then said I should come in with $35. If I am denied, there will be no further cost. If approved, it would cost $250. I made sure the Platinum Card was in pocket and went for my screening.

The young lady was polite and professional. She copied my ID, looked at my medical records. She set aside the part where Providence would no longer give me opiates because I’d tested positive for marijuana. She took items relating to my arthritic back and knees. She made copies, ran my credit card, and set an appointment on my ex-mother-in-law’s birthday.

“You’re charging me? But what if I’m denied?”

“You would be given a refund, but at this point no one has ever been denied.” Her reassuring smile said, “Relax, dude. We’re cool…”

When it came time for the appointment, I felt the need for a symbolic gesture. I took along a “special cupcake” and munched it as I walked down the hill toward the clinic. It would be the last time I illegally ingested marijuana. I’m going to miss you, naughty thrill…

The clinic was empty when I arrived. A different receptionist took my info, and I waited. Soon the lobby was full. A dude in a wheelchair with a mohawk and pierced nose sat next to three southeast barfly/moms. A “normal” looking couple. What looked to be a Desert Storm veteran, young and angry. We waited. I was the first called.

A nurse took my vitals, glanced over my medical records. “Okay, wait in the hallway, the doctor will see you in a few minutes.”

A husky dog wandered the clinic. In all, a chill vibe. There was a bit of ruckus coming from the lobby. I heard a rising voice.

The doctor called me in. A young fellow, younger looking than my daughter. A few perfunctory questions, then he asked, “Have you used edibles before?”

“Yes, I have,” I said. “I kinda scoffed at the pain-killing properties of weed until I tried it that way. It works as good or better than Vicodin, and no pesky complications like nausea, addiction…”

“Very good! Tinctures and oils work well too. We have classes on all those things, and education is included in your clinic fee. Please take advantage of all our amenities.”

He signed a couple forms and sent me to yet another room. The receptionist I met the first time sat me down, and she completed my State application. I was only half-done. I still had to get the “card.” That required a visit to the State of Oregon building by Lloyd Center. She gave directions, made copies. Another commotion came from the lobby. Mister Desert Storm was mad that he had to wait a few minutes, and was yelling at the intake person.

My receptionist rolled her eyes, smiled softly and said, “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

Mister Desert Storm was a crewcut white guy about 6’5″, 230 pounds, with a Henry Rollins intensity. He did not like to be kept waiting.

My receptionist was an African American gal, about 25, maybe 5’4″ and 100 pounds. I watched things unfold on the security monitor by her desk.

Desert Storm: “IVE BEEN HERE FOR THIRTY MINUTES AND MY APPOINTM-”

Receptionist: “You need to calm down right now or you won’t be seeing ANYBODY! Everyone is being taken in order, and you have no special dispensation. If you raise your voice again you will not be served, and we will let the other clinics know you are a troublemaker. YOU NEED TO BEHAVE. Are we going to continue to have a problem, or would you like to sit down, be quiet, and be seen when it’s your turn?” She may have been small, but her voice had authority. She was the lock on the door between him and his green card…

“Okay.” He hung his head and sat down. It was the last I heard of him.

That was pretty much it for the clinic. I have a resource to learn about cooking and making hash oil. I should take advantage of it, in case this whole ‘night clerk at a c-store’ thing doesn’t work out.

Next stop, State of Oregon Building.

* * *

I gave myself an extra hour to get to work. Supposedly one pays a fee, gets some paperwork stamped, and becomes a legal eagle. How long could it take?

Oh shit, I am number 23 in line. I was flanked by a couple of young guys; one had commuted from Ashland, the other lived in northeast. He was a survivor of a motorcycle crash and suffered from debilitating back pain.

There were folks from every walk of life. It reminded me of the customer service line at Fred Meyer. Old people, young people, ‘hood rats, bikers. Folks with walkers and in wheelchairs. Everyone looked low income. It did NOT look like a party.

I got to the window after about ninety minutes. By then there were fifty people in line behind me. Paid my fee. The nice lady returned with copies of forms. She red-stamped three of them. “Keep this on you whenever you’re in possession, until you get your actual card. This copy goes to your caregiver, and this copy is to be kept at the grow site.” She passed them through the bullet-proof glass.

We’re done here.

So in summation, I am now legal to walk around with a pound-and-a-half of weed. That’s twenty-four ounces. The average ounce of weed is about the size of a six-inch sub. I won’t have enough pockets!

I won’t have a pound-and-a-half of weed, either.

My consumption hasn’t changed, other than eating it on weekends. I haven’t had so much as a whisper of an urge to do pills, and I get enough of a drunken body high from edibles that alcohol may *truly* become a thing of my past. (I’ve been okay there anyway.) Having a crutch that won’t kill me that I can control? Not priceless, but reasonable at $500. I paid for it using inheritance money from my Mormon uncle. He wouldn’t have had so many concerns about “drugs” if the law hadn’t frowned on them. (Viagra was his best friend late in life.) The fact that it’s legal medicine would make him proud that I didn’t blow the money on *just* drugs this time. My mom, his sister the Jehovah’s Witness? She’d still disapprove. She’d think I’d cooked up an elaborate plot to get the State of Oregon to say it was okay for me to smoke pot. “Not in my house, you don’t!”

At my house, we’re still low-key. We don’t grow. I have a black thumb. I know an old hippie with a green thumb, who grows the finest hill weed available. He brings me candy and cupcakes, and a little baggie with skunk-covered globs of vegetable. The weed that turns to a flower in your mind. A little dab’ll do ya.

Why did I bother? In time, due to circumstances beyond my control, I’d be caught with a pipe and a small amount of weed in my possession. Traffic stop when I’m in the car. Bank gets robbed while I’m depositing my check. I look like a guy that did something somewhere. Mostly cops are cool with me. I’ve been “caught” twice in 36 years. Both times I handed the officer my weed. He ran my name, dumped it out, told me to smoke at home, and sent me on my way. If he’d wanted to be a dick, he could have ticketed me $500 for the weed and $500 for the pipe. Cha-ching! In theory, I’m already getting a potential savings of 50%, should I end up in that situation. As one ages, insurance becomes important.

Now, as December 10 rolls around, I am once again a good boy. It’s typically a wet, rainy day. This year the sun will be out, my heart will be happy, and I will celebrate quietly.

Probably riding on a bus to somewhere, sunglasses and headphones on. Listening to Pink Floyd or Tool, and smiling that stoopid smile.

Maybe I’ll take a walk through the woods for old times sake? Aah, happy trees…