My Stoned Tenant

Logan is off drawing all night before his final review and while I sit here alone. I left a particularly pathetic message on Mhana's phone inviting her to invite me over. Upon chatting, we realized that such an event sounded like a lot of effort, and so we would each separately write blogs instead of having actual human contact.

So I guess now is as good a time as any for an Uninteresting Update.

Logan's Portfolio. This is generally what Logan is up to--his site is woefully out of date, but it will give you an idea. Note that he's creative, so, don't let all that creative spelling throw you off :)

I'm doin' my law thing. Today I got hand recognition access to the court house. Which makes me feel really cool even though I'll probably only use it three times all year. I also am doin' my landlord thing. If you didn't know, I have a house in Keizer which, up until last week, was inhabited by a bachelor. Not an eligible bachelor. Not a Bachelor of Science. No, this was a bachelor. The kind that leave a distinct funk of pot and B.O. in your once drug-free home.

This kind sir failed to give me notice of his departure until I called nagging him for the rent. I hied up to Keizer the very next day to clean the place and find new tenants. Luckily I caught him in his filth before he could take off. Imagine if you never cleaned your toilet or your shower and you had a shot glass collection and you liked to smoke pot and your backyard was your personal ashtray and your curtains were made of brown flannel bedsheets. That's exactly what I found.

He was so sheepish about the state of the house that he obeyed my sassy landlord orders to dust and pick up used q-tips and cigarette butts. While he made a trip to the county dump, I found his bong. Yes, his bong. Sitting stained and sticky in my garage cupboards.

It was the first time I've held a bong. It smelled bad, and looked awful, and was clearly meant to be hidden. I set it in the middle of the floor, waiting for him to return. The bong had its intended effect and he behaved even more like a whipped puppy as I had him dusting ceilings and removing his velcro...for lack of a better word... "curtains." It was kind of hilarious. Several days of airing out the house, and it almost no longer reeks of 4:20.

But even after he left, I found traces of pot everywhere. Tell me, what IS the point of keeping it in the freezer? And why is it that the garbage bin looks like it is full of yard work but smells like it's full of hippies? Was he growing his own? In my garage??? Every time I found a trace it would set of a light-blub.

"Ah, so that's why his rent was always late."
"Oh, maybe he was dealing. That explains why he could pay me after his legitimate business tanked."
"He was pretty fat. I guess he had the munchies."

I couldn't even be all THAT mad at the guy. He was so pathetic with his tail between his legs and his sad, stoned eyes. After breathing down his neck, the house wasn't even all that bad, and he acted like I was the coolest landlady ever. If it hadn't been a violation of at least 30 provisions of his lease, his behavior might even have been legal. This is Oregon, after all.