Colorado Trip: New Year’s 2017

Luckily, I was able to convince the wife to let me go alone to Colorado on a real trip for New Year’s. I was able to find a room to rent for the long weekend, and I had many delightful items on the agenda.

The trip was uneventful. It wasn’t like a saw a UFO or anything cool like that…

Obviously, the goal was to get my hands on some quality, legal wax. While perusing at a local dispensary, I found some wax extracted by CO2 rather than butane or a rosin press. I had to have it. The taste is excellent, and the use of the wax is interesting. You just squeeze it out. No dab tool required.

You got to try it!

The next morning I get a phone call:

“KC.” The mortgage guy said.


“You don’t make enough money to keep the house by yourself. Neither you or your wife do.”

I was devastated. I wanted to keep the house for many reasons, but one of them is that the address starts with 7107. If read right to left, numerically, says “Holy Oil.”

No joke. Just try it.

But that’s a silly reason to stay shackled to such a big responsibility, so I can let it go.

About that time, my host showed me some paperwork. Texas wants $2 million dollars for a license to sell CBD oil.

A license.

It’s never going to be about helping the sick for them. They are going to crush the industry before it gets started and then blame the industry for failing.

Texas IS big oil.

Texas IS the private prison system.

Texas doesn’t want to change. Even if they pass a law, the medicine will never be affordable, and the use of cannabis will never be accepted by family and doctors. Texas has too much riding on cannabis’ failure to let it succeed.

Get out while you still can.

Due to all of this information, New Year’s Eve morning, I went looking for apartments in Colorado Springs. I was able to get a tour of one of the two units left at one of the only apartment complexes in town that had any availabilities. Apparently, everyone wants to move to Colorado. I found a 3 bedroom, 2 bath for an affordable rate. It wasn’t impressive, but it had all the essentials, and it was an apartment in Colorado. I signed the papers and paid them.

The apartment is mine. I’m doing it. I’m moving to Colorado!

This decision is not easy. In addition to most of my family disowning me, my wife has decided not to follow me to a safe place. It makes me sad, but there isn’t really anything I can do about it. She has to make her own decisions and live with the consequences, as do I.

I am excited about the move. This was the best trip, yet, and I think it’s neat I finally found a town to land in. For those that are shocked by this, don’t be. I have been talking about moving to Colorado for the past six months. Nobody listened. Nobody. Even some of my friends needed to be reminded. I guess everyone thought I was kidding or just crazy.

Fuck all that noise.

I hope everyone has a safe and happy new year. You may not be moving to Colorado, but stay strong. Maybe your day will come soon.

Soon, I will be writing to you from the free zone. Hopefully I remain an encouragement to those stuck behind enemy lines.

Wagen, over and out.




Being 16

Turning 16 was awesome. In the week surrounding my birthday, I got a cell phone, an ’89 S-10, a driver’s license, and a job at AMC Theaters in Humble, Texas. I was “all the way up” and “nothing [could] stop me.”

It was also the year I tried alcohol. I liked it almost as much as I liked cannabis, I just hated the hangovers. There is no hangover with cannabis. If there is, it’s more tolerable than alcohol.

I had been using cannabis since I was 14. I supported my medical needs by mowing lawns. I also had enough to buy some video games, musical equipment, and skateboards…all of them were outlets growing up.

At 16, I ramped up my levels. Instead of buying a quarter or half-ounce at a time, I graduated to one to two ounces per transaction. I started to gain a reputation, especially among my peers.

One associate came to me and said, “Somebody came to me the other day and asked if I knew who had weed. I told them that you always had good quality weed, even when everyone else was dry.” Part of this was because I had local connections in Dayton, but if Dayton was dry, I had connections in Houston. Most of my peers didn’t.

It makes good sense.

When I would go into Houston, I used it as an opportunity to turn my Ebonics (gangsta slang of the impoverished areas) and Spanish up full blast. I knew some interesting people. Some flexed up, but I never really had any problems. Years later, I found out that they didn’t interact with many brave, middle-class white people, so I could get places that my white-racist, under-achieving, middle-class white people couldn’t. This was a HUGE advantage in the black market.

I didn’t “deal” in the traditional sense. No. Due to some critical thinking, I had other ideas. What I would do is go to my dealer and ask for low prices. I would pick up 2 ounces of top-shelf…I mean stuff that makes Colorado and California top-shelf look like dirt…for $65 dollars. Then, I would go to parties and get everyone high and discreetly share my connect with people I trusted.

I remember a few parties where I rolled some fat joints, and the joint would just take off through the crowd, one or two hits were enough to get most people “blowed” or really high. We called it “2-hitter-quitter” instead of “top-shelf.” The latter likely adopted from the alcohol industry.

I would have to pass 20, 30, 40 people and walk up to who was holding the joint and say, “Hey. Could you please hand the joint to me.” I didn’t care how old they were. I could care less if they thought they were tough because they played high school sports. Some would spark an attitude with me. I’d say something like, “That’s my weed your smoking. Hand it over so I can hit it a few times.” They would, and I would often give it back.

I’m not a monster.

Taking people’s cannabis virginity and lighting up a whole party was called, “killin it.” I would even say this to adults.

“What have you been doing today?” They’d ask.

“Killin it. What about you?” I’d respond.

I think some knew, but most did not.

Fun times.

“Donde esta la mota?” — Spanish

“Where da weed/kill/bud at?” — Ebonics

Wagen, over and out.


My First Truck (Sort of)

I have been wanting a truck for a while. My first vehicle was an ’89 Chevy S-10. It was a good truck, but it was my dad’s hand-me-down. Either way, it was all good, until it was totaled after a short 3-month ownership. I have own cars ever since.

About a year ago, I hopped in a friend’s truck to go to the store on an errand. We left the women at the house. He turned the music up loud, let me hear the pipes, and he had a Republic of Texas sticker on the back. When we got back, I told my wife, “I’ve never wanted another truck until I rode in Eric’s.”

She wasn’t about that life. I am not sure what’s wrong with a truck, but that country/hoodrat/farmer/hunting/camping/mudding life ain’t for her. Fair enough. You can’t force people to have a good time.

I didn’t have anything to do yesterday, so I went to the local Nissan dealer (they have always been nice and treated me fairly) and said, “I want a truck.”

“Do you know what make and model?”

“I have a few I am interested in looking at, but I am a 30 year old veteran from Texas that has never bought a truck. I plan to change that soon.”

“Cool.” My salesman (Isaac) said.

He went and grabbed some paperwork, and sat next to me.

“Before I let you drive a few, I need to know what you are looking for.”

“Well, if I am going to get a truck, I want 4 doors, the ability to tow, go offroad, and I want bluetooth.”

“Cool. Let me see what we have.”

They put me in a smaller truck. It was ok. It was cheap, but it wasn’t that impressive. Next, he brought out the $55K Titan. I loved it, but $700 a month for 6 years was just a bit too much.

“Look man, this has been fun, but I am going to go to a few other dealerships to see some different models. This is my first truck and I want to make the right decision.” I was still interested in seeing some Chevys and Dodges.

“I understand. What if we looked at some used trucks? Do you have another hour or so?”

I was really tired, but I didn’t have anywhere to be. Plus, this meant I got to test drive more trucks.

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

We went to the used lot. He explained the pros and cons of buying used and new trucks. I was shocked at some of the stuff I learned.

“The good thing about buying used is that we are just going to go out on the lot, and if a truck catches your eye, let me know.”


I walked toward the trucks, and almost immediately spotted a 4-door, Z-71, 4×4 Chevy Silverado with a small lift. I didn’t know much about trucks, but I have yet to hear anyone say anything bad about a Z-71.

“Let’s take a look at this one.” I said, calmly.

He had to jump it, but we were able to get in and fire it up. I immediately heard the pipes and the engine. It sounded nice. It felt like a truck.

As soon as I turned out of the driveway, the truck just felt like an extension of me. I could tell that the previous owner had WAY too much fun in this truck, and I felt like it was my turn.

We got back to the shop.

“What do you think?” He asked.

“Let’s look at financing options.”

They had trouble getting more than a 48 month loan because the truck had 95K miles on it. I didn’t like that it almost had 100K, but I was assured by the salesman that trucks don’t really break down like cars. That’s one of the reasons they are more expensive. They are work-horses.

After about 45 minutes of waiting, I went to the salesman and said,”Whatever comes back, I’ll take it. I have never wanted a vehicle as much as I wanted that truck.”

He said, “Come with me, really quick.”

He asked me to clarify, so we discussed it.

“I won’t tell finance that. I am hoping they can get you a 60 or 72 month term to bring your payment down. I am glad you like the truck, but let’s see if we can get them to come down on the monthly.”


About 15 minutes later, he came back and said, “We were able to get a 60 month loan.” He slid a paper to me. “How does that look for a payment.”

“It’s more than my car, but doable. I will just stay in and cook more. I want this truck.”

“Cool. Let’s sign the papers and get you down the road.”

We did. It was a good experience. I left the dealer, pipes and radio blaring. Sitting up high in a V8 Silverado with nothing but me, the road, and my dreams. I felt like a true Texas boy.


Oh, and who the fuck wants to go mudding?

Wagen, over and out.