Monday, August 13, 2012, 5:15:13 AM
Moved to Weed, CA and eventually bought a 50cc scooter, 45mph top speed. Had to get a motorcycle license. Rode it for two years. Even drove it to San Diego to meet my mom, slowly. And back. When I left wingnut-Marilyn's I rode the bus to Weed to the Greyhound station there. Right after I got off the bus I noticed the station was closed and would open in a couple of hours. I needed cigarettes so I wondered how far I was from a gas station.
Across the street, in front of this nice white house this pregnant girl, Claudia, I think, was getting into her car. I shouted, "Is there a store nearby?!" She saw my shirt and replies,"Yup, do you want a ride? That's where I'm going."
Claudia gave me a lift to South Weed, a major I5 exit with a truckstop and restaurants. She told me, "Afterwards go back to that white house with all the prayer flags, they're really traveler-friendly." Hippies, I thought. After buying some cigarettes I hiked the mile or so back into town and went and knocked on the door. Amelia answered. She lived there with her boyfriend Corey who was a janitor at The College of the Redwoods nearby. I told her how Claudia had said they might let me crash there for a night or two.
Amelia politely invited me inside. We went down to the basement where Corey and other friends were toking up. I introduced myself, explained to them the happenings of the day and how I was headed back to Texas on the bus. And I also added, "I do have a really interesting story to tell everyone, may I? First I explained how I wasn't actively working it anymore, but the story still held value. Everyone was all ears and smiles in agreement throughout my presentation. Once again, instant automatic friends.
I got to walk around and explore Weed without my heavy bags, I felt like I was flying. It turns out Weed, hold on. I guess I should talk about the name of the town first. The name of the town of Weed has absolutely nothing to do with marijuana. A long time ago this lumber dude named Abner Weed realized that the Mount Shasta winds dried all the lumber super fast. The mill in Weed became super famous and successful back in the day. You can look up more details later if you want.
Anyway, I was welcome to sleep in the basement(which was trashed and you had to wade through it.) The very first morning I jumped in on cleaning the dirty basement for them and everyone was impressed. These generous souls ended up letting me stay three weeks until I found my own residence in Weed, CA. Me! Mr. WORLD PEACE THROUGH MARIJUANA! It was so meant to be.
I found a studio for $350 on CL and I walked into town to check it out. The white house was on the college side of the I5. I walked under the highway and spotted a cool pun. A sign saying, "WEED LIKE TO WELCOME YOU TO OUR TOWN."
After turning right on Main Street, across the street next to the Spirit gas station was the little Weed Chamber of Commerce building. Right next to that was a city owned vacant lot just filled with years of trash and debris. I got a little closer and I heard running water. There was a creek under all the overgrowth! I couldn't believe they didn't have that space cleaned up and pristine. That's where all the tourists stop and that's the dirty image the town gives people? For shame.
Anyway, at the bench there in front of the chamber office I met this guy Rusty. He offered me a hit of town and I explained to him about the studio I was planning to move into for $350 a month. I had already put a $50 deposit on it and everything. Rusty tells me to hold on and he calls someone on his cellphone. After he hangs up he points up Main Street and tells me, "Do you see that yellow building next to US Bank? Before you go see your studio go there and talk to Deborah." He didn't give me any more information. I didn't need any. I'm used to going wherever I end up.
So I walk up to the building and it says Black Butte Saloon. It looked like a closed down bar or something. There was a door on the right with mailboxes and stairs going up. I went up the stairs and knocked on the door of room #6 that said manager. Deborah answered. Deborah was a cute plump older lady with huge mammaries. I asked her if they had any vacancies and she said someone had just moved out the day before and there was a room available, that I was in luck. Black Butte Saloon had hotel rooms over the bar and they still rented them out.
It was a small room with a sink and fridge. The bathrooms were down the hall and Deborah made sure to keep them clean. This is where I began peeing in a jug. I still do it to this day even though I live in a house with full amenities. I think peeing in a jug is damn luxurious, convenient and practical. I totally conserve water this way. When it gets full I empty the bottle into the toilet. That's like over 15 pisses to one toilet flush. It also prevents splattering up around the toilet with pee. I'm tall so I usually sit down when I pee(like a girl) in someone else's toilet. It doesn't get much more anti-splatter than that. Plus, my bottle is portable, toilets are bolted down. I can pee in any room in the house and I don't get anything dirtier. Pissier.
And if someone pisses me off, I can go pour a gallon of piss in their car, or something, hehe. So don't piss me off. There's advantages to everything. I hope I never accidentally drop one. That's why I make sure to only use those iced tea jugs with handles. I'm sure to write PISS on it so nobody ever has that accident. Piss resembles tea.
Cleaned up the dirty creek spotlessly and they even put my picture in the paper.
Frank's emails from 4-25
I became the karaoke wizard at the bar at the bowling alley. I figured out how to make my own karaoke videos of songs that I knew and wanted to sing. Weezer, Ween, Dead Milkmen, NOFX. I would even take requests from other townspeople. I was a hit at the bar, and I didn't even drink. A shot of rum once in a while, but that's just the Puertorican in me, hehe. I'd rather toke and smoke and shoot pool. Actually, they should rename the town Speed. Weed is the dark side of the mountain.
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