So recreational marijuana use is legal in Oregon now, and though it's still in kind of an uneasy gray area, there are now four or five pot stores in Douglas County, that I've seen. A Black Friday ad for a store in Roseburg, our biggest city, even recently advertised a "Free Four Foot Bong" as a door prize.
I'm not sure what percentage of local residents partake of it, though I haven't and I thought most others hadn't. Until I had a rather amusing and interesting awakening a few months ago at a meeting of the Umpqua Community College Gay-Straight Alliance Club. (Though the Umpqua students might be a special case, since there was a shooting there October 1st that everyone is still very shook up about.)
I walked in to find maybe six or seven others sitting in an empty classroom, having various conversations. On the blackboard, a girl had written "Free The Female Nipple," in a very pretty cursive scrawl. It was always the same girl, and she did that for every meeting. She had also made up the position of "Cannabis Officer" and gotten elected, a few weeks earlier, after inquiring whether there would be any "420 Friendly" baked goods at the next fundraiser. (It had taken me a few minutes to remember that "420" was shorthand for weed.)
As I walked in, another girl came in behind me.
"Do you have any on you?" Captain Cannabis asked the other girl eagerly.
"No, I don't carry," the friend replied, emphasizing that word. It reminded me of the way gun owners use the word "carry." People who were likely on opposite sides of the political spectrum used the exact same word, with the exact same emphasis. I thought that was rather interesting. You always know what's most important to someone when they use the word "carry" with special emphasis.
"Why make yourself a target?" she went on.
I think, though, that she was not telling the complete truth. When I had first met her the week before, she had grabbed my hand, examining it closely and measuring it against hers. "You're so dainty!" she declared, fascinated. My hands are small, but I don't think they're that interesting.
It reminds me of the old cliche that someone who is high will be fascinated by their own hand. I guess extremely extroverted people are fascinated by other people's hands. She might not have been carrying because she had just used it up.
Another guy nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just get out of school, get your homework done, and then..."
"Oh, no, I always write my papers while high!" yet another dude chimed in.
"There's a picture of Ruby Rose topless," a trans guy, whom I'll call Adam, said, showing me on his phone. "I LOVE Ruby Rose!"
I may lose readers for this, but I don't care for Ruby Rose. Tattoos and an accent are treated as sexiness cheat codes nowadays, which is rather lazy, if you ask me. But I kept my opinions to myself, since the rest of the world goes crazy for her.
"But if any of you bind with ACE bandages, I will hurt you!" he exclaimed, addressing the room in general.
Someone asked why, not knowing that it's not safe, and soon Adam was lifting his shirt. The binder looked rather like a little tank top to me. The discussion of medically safe binders then turned to packers, artificial penises that one could pee out of, if you selected the right one.
"I had one that was over three hundred dollars," Adam said. "I could pee out of it, it had erection rods so you could fuck someone, it even had erection rods inside of it, so you could get fucked while you're fucking someone! But then I tore it right between the balls and the shaft," he said in disappointment.
Apparently, the PeeCock is of shoddy quality. And apparently, you can't use it or repair it once it's been torn. Personally, if I felt the need to stuff my pants, I would have seen if I could take a hot glue gun to that thing, but I wasn't about to offer to do that for someone else's urinary prosthetic. He can glue his own package back together.
I'm also a little confused as to how one tears something like that, especially in the place that it's customarily worn in. I'll bet it had something to do with the erection rods, though I really don't want to know for sure.
Then Captain Cannabis showed us her new nipple rings, and everyone started talking about what piercings they wanted to get next and whether they would accidentally come out or not (apparently the back of the neck is a problem area).
"That sounds so painful," I remarked. "How can you guys stand it?"
"The endorphins afterword are addicting," Adam explained.
"Oh," I nodded.
This is going to be great for our image. Yes, the gays are just like everyone else, I thought, Just like straight cisgendered people, they're all a bunch of nice, friendly...weirdos. At least, if you're in Oregon. Everyone's a weirdo in Oregon.
My own weirdness is just probably not as visible. Except maybe on this blog, of course. :)
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