None Of Your Beeswax

July 23, 2016 at 4:20 am (Cosmic Encounters, On the road again...)

It’s great being thick as thieves with your little sister. She’s been my best friend for life, sometimes despite me treating her less than perfectly. She’s loving, forgiving, and a lot of fun. We take care of each other, because no one else will. Not like the special way we do.

When it comes to partying, drugs and alcohol, she’s from the “I learned it by watching you” school. We’ve enabled each other over time. In my heavy stages of alcoholism, she would go fetch beers for me, until she realized, before I did, that I was dying from it. She refused to buy me booze, a moratorium that exists today. And some days she’s the only reason I don’t guzzle half a gallon of bourbon. We are good bad examples for each other.

...and Beeswax is good...

…and Beeswax is good…

Weed is a different story. I kept her in weed when she was our mother’s caregiver. I would visit as often as allowed, living in the cabin and bringing stories of the big city. We developed habits, some okay, some not so good.

So when she had a cancer scare a few months back and quit drinking, I got her interested in medibles. It’s like having a drinking buddy in the house again! The best part? She hates to shop, so she hands me a wad of cash (or in this case her ATM card) and says, “You know what I like.” Then it’s up to me to cull the Leafly listings to see what the best bang for the buck would be.

It was the last of my days off, and she said, “I want something to come home to.”

I was off to the races.

In some ways medibles are as expensive as drinking. If you are a two-cocktail-per-night kinda person. Since drinking in a bar would have cost me hundreds of dollars per week, I always drank at home. Found high-octane things I liked and made them work for me. I do the same with medibles.

Like anything, doing the same thing over and over again gets stale. I used to buy the coffee cakes and chocolate muffins, but they made me sleepy and my feet feel dead. I graduated to indica tincture, a honey-like syrup I’d administer with an eyedropper. It was okay, but it would take half a bottle to get me anywhere near high. Then I discovered vitamin water, and it has been my go-to since.

After hearing about, then seeing the vapor pens I’ve been brandishing of late, Sister said, “One of those would be perfect for work.” I wanted to bonk her on the head and say “No shit ya dummy” but that would be too big-brotherly. So I just went into the Dispensary to my Hawaiian friend, and we hooked her up with an intergalactic traveling companion.

That’ll keep the smoke-smell at bay, but she wanted medibles as well. I needed to make a stop at Rain’s, and the dispensary across from her place had Vitonics. Vitamin water, here we come!

They only had the Level 2, which was about a day’s worth. I prefer the $20 level 3s, which I can milk for two or three days. I had a lot of running to do, and the day off, so I swigged the water and boarded the bus back from the Pearl to downtown. I perused the Leafly directory, searching for beeswax capsules. All my regular stores were out. (No idea why. Whistles, looking skyward.) So I began calling around.

Nobody had any. Shit! I had given my last packet to Sis earlier, because I “can always get more.”

Except when everybody runs out.

After several phone calls, I found a place on the far edge of Tigard. I called to make sure. “Can you hold them for me? I’ll be there in an hour.” I took another swig of vitamin water, dashed from the streetcar to the bus southbound, and was on my way to suburbia.

In the suburbs, if you want down to earth, talk with the gay teenagers. A youngster who politely asked if they could sit next to me, then helped with directions. After Googling the exact address, they were even more friendly. As they debarked, a friendly reminder. “Don’t forget. Alice.”

Alice was the name of the bus stop street, but the redneck across from me didn’t know that. The look on his face was priceless.

I found the dispensary, bought $50 worth of capsules, (fuck off, hoarders!) and was back on the bus in ten minutes. Thanks to rush hour, the ride back to town took ninety minutes. I was goofy-high from the water, and my phone was dying. I’d forgotten to charge it, and Dizzy was blowing it up. She kept me amused on the non-moving bus until the battery died.

I got home, and stashed the waters. Then made a discreet package of capsules, taffies and vapor cartridges to hide in my sister’s ‘Horsey Room.’ She’ll see it when she comes in for the post-work bong hit.

In my travels, I found three more bottles of 460 mg Level 3 Vitamin Waters. I told her this when I saw her the next morning.

She passed the ATM card back to me. “What else are we gonna do? Get drunk?”

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