I could see the lack of line from three blocks away. This bodes well. I was cruising on the last of my pain pills, and hadn’t been eating. A Memphis Mafia sounded wonderful, but spending $5 at Winco sounded more prudent. Fuck it. Rain had been talking about how she’d been craving a super-sized glazed doughnut. I might drop a full $10 and it will be dinner for us both.
The line had been non-existent from three blocks away, but by the time I arrived there were fifteen people crowded around the entrance, lining up through the exit door. A friendly panhandler pointed this out to people, and I ended up behind three hot girls with exotic haircuts. I eavesdropped as they discussed what to buy. After musing about how the cashier had just described the ingredients of a Cock-and-Balls to an eight-year-old, I offered suggestions to the one closest to me, a black girl with one side of her head shaved. We discussed Rappers Delights, Memphis Mafias, and all the other options. They were still debating when I was called to the counter.
“I’d like a Memphis Mafia and a giant glazed doughnut, please?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We’re out of Memphis Mafias.”
Shit. Time to invoke the Voodoo Diet rule.
As I gathered my cash, I had a flash of brilliance. “Do you have any buckets?”
“Let me check…” She went to the back. I turned and looked at the line, it was halfway down the block. My timing could not have been better if I’d really wanted a doughnut.
She returned with a five-gallon bucket. Inside were roughly 30-50 slightly mashed-up doughnuts. “Large ones are $10.” I gave her two fives and headed out the door.
“Hey, what’s that?” I heard a guy yell behind me. “Is that normal?” I had fantasies of being a weed mogul coming for his weekly payoff, a bucketful of black market doughnuts. Dad’s voice told me to put a spring in my step. Dad’s been in line fifteen-twenty minutes, and needs a Coor’s Light. If he knew how much his family and friends were about to cost him, he’d really hate me.
I made my way past the Dirt Urchins, who knew what was in the bucket. “Spare one of those, brah?” My negative grunts brought some snotty comments, to which I did not respond. I’m not giving them first pick, and I certainly don’t want their grubby hands picking through.
I stopped by the Mothership, offering a share to Festus, who took ONE. “Dude, take a couple.” He showed remarkable restraint. I took my bucket and made for the bus.
I took the back corner of the bus, not wanting to advertise my carbohydrate-filled bounty. As we pulled up to the main time point downtown, I saw Rain getting on the bus. It was rush hour, and seats were hard to come by. She took one near the handicapped section.
I texted, “I’m sure if you asked nicely the bald dude next to me would move over.”
Nothing. Her phone was in her purse.
So I pulled out the MP3 and cued Slipknot, about the time she pulled out her phone. Mine rang, it was her. “Hello?”
“Hi babe,” she said. “I’m on the bus.”
“Me too,” I said.
“I’m at Burgerville, you must be on the one in front of me.”
“So am I. I think you’re on the one in front of me.”
She turned her head, and we made eye contact. Yes, the bald guy would move over and make room.
“Ooh, you got doughnuts!” She said it low. I popped the lid, and what was on top? A giant glazed doughnut. “And you got one of my doughnuts? I love you, Charlie Chan.”
We sat in the back of the bus and ate about half the bucket on the way home. Upon arrival, I picked through and took a few of my almost-favorites, and left the bucket in the kitchen for scavenging. The kids and my bro-in-law should take care of the rest.
I think I’m good on doughnuts for a while.
I’ve been hating on fireworks for years. I guess it’s becoming my nature to be a cranky old man, due to time constraints and all, but I have good reasons for not liking 4th of July. I’m as patriotic as the next guy, I just don’t want to breathe chunks of air, or have my house burnt down.
So what did I do last night? Attend a fireworks display.
When a lovely lady asks me this, I’m usually tripping all over myself saying yes. And when the lovely lady is a relative, you try extra hard to say yes with as much enthusiasm as possible. (Authentic, of course.) But when “no” is a better answer, or “a qualified yes” perhaps, well… That’s when proper word usage is important.
You see, TJ called not only in the middle of bug extermination week; Saturday was the fifth anniversary of the day Rain and I first hooked up…
After visiting Angel, it was time for responsibility. I don’t avoid responsibility. I try to make it work for me. To make it fun. That’s pretty much my life’s mission, to make fun out of misery. So why should visiting a hospital be any different?
Rain had been in the hospital for a couple days. I hadn’t heard from her, but that’s not uncommon when she loses her phone. (Which also isn’t uncommon; she loses an average of two phones a month.) When she called and left a room number, I figured I should investigate. The hospital is in the swanky part of town, it’s a hot gorgeous day, girl-watching should be at a premium.
Plus, I can peek into my girlfriend’s medical chart and see what’s really going on…
Angel: “Sorry, thought I told you. Friday was my last day. I’ve been transferred to Southeast.”
Me: “I knew you were thinking about it. Sigh, guess the only sweet chocolate I taste is this fine blunt here. I’ll hold out as long as I can!”
Angel: “I miss you. We’ll meet up soon.”
I knew it was coming, but I’d hoped she’d procrastinate, be overridden by management, etc… Fact is, after nine years downtown she was tired of the faces and places, and wanted a new view. They moved her to Eastport Plaza, which is not the white trash capital of the world, but not as diverse as our fine downtown.
I would be reminded as I caught the MAX, on my way to say hello…
Ten years ago today I went on my first and only Craigslist date.
For the longest time we told the kids we “met at the mall.” Which is true, but we met at the mall after lonely hearts ads were answered on CL. May Day was full of protest; crowds marched the streets, the black-hooded dingleberries played on the freeway, people were maced, I believe. I didn’t know and didn’t care. My new friend and I were looking for a safe-feeling place to get to know each other. We cared not what the rest of the world was up to. Make love, not war! was the theme of the day.
That tryst turned into one of the most intense relationships of my life. I’ve never cried harder than when I was told it was ending, though ending the relationship was the right thing to do. I grew up a lot during that relationship, and I hope someday I can share that level of intimacy with someone else. I’ve considered her one of the true great loves of my life. You know who you are.
This was brought back with such force in part because of TriMet. They rerouted the #15 NW 23rd Ave bus, it temporarily stops where I get off downtown. As I headed to the Flower Shop, I saw the #15 and hopped on. I was curious.
“Have you been on this route long?” I asked the driver.
“About three days.”
“Is there still a market behind Montgomery Park?”
“I don’t recall seeing one.”
“Next to the car wash?”
He remained quiet, so I decided to ride along and see for myself.
I had three days off last weekend, in which time almost all of the women in my life ignored me. Coincidence? I think not! It was a grand conspiracy to keep me from two of life’s favorite things.
Or maybe not.
I tried calling Meg after finishing laundry Friday morning. Get the responsibilities out of the way, so the fun can begin. Starting early, I was at the laundromat by 10 AM. Had the joint to myself, in more ways than one, and finished about 1 PM. I sat in my chair for a second, and awoke at 2:45. Shit, I must hurry if I want to get Meg’s errands ran by 4 PM. I called, but she didn’t answer. I tried two more times. Oh well. Maybe she fell asleep.
I’d been spending time with Stevie, mostly when her son was at school. We all got along great; her son loved when I brought Angel over for a puff and a laugh. I envied his experiencing puberty living in a downtown apartment, explaining to Stevie that country raised Jesus-freaks are just as susceptible to life’s misfortunes as street rats from the urban core, while typically growing up with a more open mind.
This was subject to debate, as was most everything with Stevie.
If this were autumn, we’d be calling the weather Indian Summer, so I guess we’re on the cusp of Cowboy Springtime. The days have been sunny, the nights cold and clear. The young girls are sporting sundresses. Young boys are sporting other things because of such. I watched two teenage boys and a girl share two seats on the MAX. I thought they were going to do it right there, then the girl made a joke about an open sore and it was like an ejection seat. They spoke of condoms after that.
The lovely ladies of the ’80s era were out in force. (I saw fetish gear in the store NOT close to Club Sesso.) Even co-workers who don’t usually drink were out tearing it up, looking for a little ‘strange’ on a cool almost-spring night.
My friend Stevie has been hanging around. Nothing is going on, but it has the feeling it could. Her son has a robust social life, with many activities keeping him away from home. I’m still in a weird place about Rain, and not looking to complicate things. So I be careful what I say and keep my hands to myself.
But, but. But it’s been three months. My brokenhearted martyrdom of celibacy feels more pointless every day. To quote Van Halen, “Everybody wants some. I want some too!”
I’ve been having a good time. Last week’s road trip, then workplace-shuffling have me floating on a never-ending space-cruise. Running errands for Meg. Tell me where to go and when to be there. I’ve been going up to Stevie’s for smoke breaks. It keeps her in weed and calm. When I told Meg about it, she reacted like a raging ’60s housewife. She ranted for a minute, then said, “Why do I mind, anyway?”
I was charmed.
So, when I was all devil-and-angel at Stevie’s, thinking naughty thoughts while peacocking over Meg’s sudden jealousy, my phone goes off. It’s Rain. “Where are you? At your little frenn’s house?…”
I was ready for a walk. “Where are you? I could meet you at Pioneer Square?”
“Meet me at Starbucks on 4th.” Done. I got right there, and of course Rain was nowhere to be seen. I’d pulled out my phone and was dialing when I saw her walking toward me. I had to laugh. “What’s so funny, Redman?”
“We should coordinate more often.” She was wearing my favorite little red dress. I was wearing the infamous red shirt. We were dressed like teammates.
We walked and talked. Saw Festus, who got a hug. (From Rain, not from me.) I saw a Green Line approaching. “Want to get on?”
“You want me to come over? I suppose we could. I could get some clothes.” She looked at me sideways. “Or something.” She started to grin, and I felt all funny down there. We got on the train. I folded her coat and set it on my lap. She rested her head and slept while we rode. Every couple stops she’d stir, I’d give a reassuring shoulder stroke and she’d drift back off. I started nudging about two stops from home, and we were off the train and walking.
We stopped at the Kwik-E-Mart, where Rain had bought doggie bones for my blind mutt. At home, I entered first. When more motion was detected, Doggie was up and at the door. Her tail was straight out and NOT wagging. Then she caught Rain’s sexy scent of cigarettes and perfume, and that tail was moving like a blind man’s cane during the 100-yard-dash at the Special Olympics. The Bone of Bribery insured that the dog would not give a shit about me for months, once she realizes Rain isn’t behind me.
We retreated to my room, locking the door. She removed the red dress, the thigh-high boots too. I pulled slippers from under the bed. I smoked a joint while she smoked a cigarette. She wanted to “show me something on my phone.” I watched as she flipped through the apps, glancing at pictures and phone messages. She wasn’t particularly nosy, but she saw enough to know I didn’t have anything else going on at the moment. We e-mailed pictures to each other, she made a surreptitious home movie of me reclining next to a devil’s trident, smoking with my reading glasses on. She showed it to me. “Don’t think I didn’t think about you. I knew where you would be, and what you would be doing. I thought of you every time someone blew their nose…”
“Aww, it’s cold and flu season. You must have been thinking of me all the time.”
“You know it,” she said.
We talked, honestly but not too seriously. She confessed things I may or may not have known. I played close to the vest, but at one point, as she leaned over my bed, using it as a table to scratch her lottery ticket, I said “I have missed the view.” I stood behind her as she swayed her hips back and forth. I rubbed her back, kissed her neck, and whispered a provocative question into her ear.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Ten o’clock. We got about an hour.”
“So I been here for six hours and you just now hitting on me?”
“Oh, uh, yes.” She gave me that smile, and we were like newlyweds. I could remember few times as passionate as that hour. We took a couple minutes too long. The last train had left the neighborhood. So I rode with her on the bus back to Old Town. Our arrival was met with a police barricade; some drunken jackass had broken INTO to the county courthouse, bus service disrupted. Since I only had two buses left to get home on, I asked Rain for a pass walking her all the way across downtown. She was cool with it.
As soon as I was rolling, I texted her. “Thank you for a most excellent evening. I’ve missed you.”
“Back at ya, Outie.”
I felt better about things, and not just because I got laid. It was an honest, uncomplicated encounter, and we parted without acrimony or uncertainty. I will likely keep on the hunt, but following my gut. I’ve showed restraint, and for once it seems like I’m getting results. I’m being treated the way I want.
And I’ve reconnected, albeit at a distance, with Rain. I love her and miss her, even if I can’t handle always being around her. If I can’t have my version of a dutiful house-mouse, I can at least have an old friend who probably knows me better than anyone these days, and will still come crawl into bed with me once in a while just because she misses me.
She STILL didn’t take any clothes with her…
“They are just like my old ones. Nike Air Monarch, black, size 13 4E. My last pair were good for five-hundred miles, I figure.”
She was grinning.
“And don’t start singing that fucking song!”
“I would walk five-hundred miles;
And I would… aughh!”
When I find something I like, I stick with it. It’s the bane of all my girlfriends’ existence, I’m sure. My “look” changes about every ten years. My clothes, a little more often, but only because I have a bunch of the same kinds of things.
Pocket tees have been a staple since 1990. I wore sweatpants for twenty years, but switched over last year to denim jeans. I do have a pair of camouflage cargo pants for when I feel like going back to my outlaw hillbilly roots, but I wear them as laundry pants most of the time.
Bottom line, stuff wears out. It was time to refresh.
I get comfort from the damnedest places.
I’ve been living alone for a couple months, maybe three. I’ve asked Rain repeatedly to come get her stuff, while trying to resolve mixed feelings. I want her, and want it to be like it was when it was good. Realistically, that isn’t going to happen, or it would have by now. I’ve given her deadlines, which have come and gone, so today I took a little more of my freedom back.
I moved some of her stuff into the driveway.