Because I Got High…

March 24, 2013 at 11:11 am (Cosmic Encounters)

OE800Spring fever has taken a new persona this year. After noticing patterns forming the past few years, I hoped to learn from history instead of repeating it.

For example, I frequently get the urge to drink in the springtime. I don’t know if it’s because the cherry blossoms smell like Olde English, or because I start celebrating my birthday in January when I drink, or because I am restless from wintertime boredom.

This year I suffer from none of those afflictions.

I do have a smidgen more time on my hands, thanks to schedule cutbacks at work. A three-day weekend, and a 3 PM report time on Sunday? Feels like a vacation. Got my chores done early on Saturday, had a date with Rain that may or may not happen, and Meg in housecleaning mode. As I juggled and rationalized, mistress or girlfriend, it occurred to me that I could travel toward where they both are, and whomever should respond first will get the most attention.

Away we go!

I love springtime, as much as I love autumn. The graceful aging and rebirth of the seasons. I’ve mentioned the scents of springtime. I don’t know why it triggers my thirst for Olde English 800. I’ve figured out that it’s not the drinking, but the wanderlust and rebellion and self-destructive streak that I’ve so tried to suppress or dispose of altogether.

Thanks to OMMP, I have found alternatives to drinking. FAR SUPERIOR alternatives to drinking. I can have a piece of cake, or a couple pieces of candy, or an eyedropper of tincture and be a mellow fellow without drinking myself into a smelly, slobbering coma. It’s fun to sit on the bus, staring out the window while society shifts and wiggles all around you. Wanna ride along?

hot busToday’s adventure starts at I-205, where the #14 Hawthorne bus departs. I like to catch the bus at the beginning/end of the line, for optimum seating and access to any openable windows. On a Saturday, the bus can get unbearably crowded, and the drivers like to crank the heat up, figuring that it will make rowdy passengers sleepy. No, it makes them nauseous. Being able to crack the window a bit keeps me from turning green, and I don’t freeze upon departure. When bundled up for rain and 20 MPH winds, the bus doesn’t need to be 85 degrees.

It’s a quiet run this morning, mostly cart-people heading to Freddy’s or the Dollar Store. About halfway to town I stop at the Cannabis Cafe. Hidden amongst the bars, liquor stores and quaint boutiques is a reefer-man’s paradise.

The kids all know me by name. I haven’t had to show ID in months. They stash the last servings of my favorite medibles, and treat me like their favorite creepy uncle. They were having their anniversary party, and offering free milkshakes and medicated cake to anyone who wanted to partake.

I sized up the freebies. “What’s the cake?” I asked.

“Lemon-blueberry Pounded Cake.”

I was familiar. Quite familiar. I snagged a piece.

“Would you like some milkshake?”

“Yes, please!” I took my snacks to a nearby couch and sat, nibbling and watching an unplayed video game. Hi, Super Mario and all your mushroom friends! The cook laid out several servings and went to do a little medicating of her own. I casually wandered over and took an extra serving of cake and shake. No sense fucking around…

An hour later, I felt the grin growing. I hopped back on the Hawthorne bus. Next stop, downtown!

I went to Meg’s, since my date (Rain) either forgot or was indisposed. I left messages, then dropped in on Meg. A beer from the downstairs market for her earned me a coffee/energy drink in return. She watched me lift off into outer space. As she readied to get back to work, I gave her a peck on the lips and scratched her kittie’s ears. I was too revved up to sit indoors.

As I walked down the street, shades on and smiling in the sunshine, I saw the trolley. It was heading toward South Waterfront. Rain had talked of checking apartments down that way, so I might as well do a dry run. If she still wants to go, I will know what to expect. (She’s also talking of moving to 160th & Burnside. I know what to expect there, and am hoping for anywhere but.)

I tooled along through the West End, past PSU. The 7-Eleven I worked at during Y2K has gone bust. Store is vacant, for rent signs up. (Couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch, if they were the ones that fired me before meeting me.)

I forgot to look for the old KUFO building, something I always did. (Ever since I was rolling by and saw Marilyn Manson’s limo idling outside.) It’s gone, like most of the memories. Few remember the fun times at KUFO; only that they turned to shit and killed the only good radio left in Portland. I have to follow Facebook to know when my bands are touring.

I got near the river, and saw the tram. Ooh! I jumped off the streetcar and fell in with the three-generation families “going up the hill.” My TriMet monthly pass was fare enough. I found a spot at the nose, and AWAY WE GO!

tram view

The lurching and the falling-off-the-end-of-the-world feeling: spectacular! I grooved on the floaty feeling. Gazed into bedrooms, seeing nothing of prurient interest. Kids squealed, Daddy’s ears popped. Grandma could use a glass of wine now. I slipped away from them and LOOK AT THAT! Here comes the trolley to take me back. In and out, up and down in about half an hour.

The trolley took me back through Northwest. I texted Meg, asking for permission to use her bathroom. Her permission earned her a couple puffs of Grape Ape Platinum Kush, a pat on the bum and another scratch on her kittie’s ears. I took the Hawthorne bus back home, getting absolutely nothing done the rest of the day.

And it was perfect.

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