This is an oldie but a goodie! I honestly can't remember if it was my Jr. or Sr year, I'm going to go with Jr, because some of us could drive. Actually, as it turned out our adult designated driver was drunk out of her mind so Craig drove up. It was Christmas time because it was a Toys for Tots concert, and we were well supplied with Bacardi 101. A little too much 101. We had the rum and pina colalda mix. I mixed mine like the true bartender I was destined to become. Unfortunately, my girlfriend in the back couldn't take quite as much. We stopped I think in marshall, where the girls helped her pee, you know, pants down, sit her down, pants back up. Some guys to carry her out. I didn't start to get really bad until somewhere on 495, at which point I couldn't feel my face. Had the bruises to prove it the next day where I continued to pinch myself anyway. Then the excitement really started. I had to pee. And we were following another car. I am pretty much in tears because I have to pee. Thank God, so did Jeff Strickler. So, I got out of the car. Got over the guard rail, and started trying to climb up the hill to pee. Jeff especially said it was funny to watch me get up a few feet and fall back. Finally, I gave up crawling up the hill and just flopped down in the ditch on the other side of the guard rail. Would still be there today if Shelby hadn't jerked me up and pulled me half way up the hill. During this time, the guys are helping my girlfriend puke. I missed all that action. So . . . we eventually hit the Cap Center where apparently Craig scores a dime bag in the parking lot. My mother, now relatively sober stays in the car with my girlfriend. Some how I'm seated between Craig and Jeff. The minimal rules in my mother's world were I could drink but not do drugs. And as I think we have covered, I really didn't. But you know, I had to pass the joint back and forth between the guys on either side of me. And honestly, every fourth or so pass I had a hit. During one of those occasions I turned around to blow a mouth full of smoke out, and my mother had joined us, and was looking right at me. Remember very little about the ride home, although I think we got side track, aka lost once or twice.
The next morning!! The was no possible way of getting out of school. I swear to you, I didn't even have a drink of water until late afternoon. It still ranks up there in the top five hangovers of all times!!
Let's not forget that Foreigner and KC lip synched. And while Hall and Oates were live, who cares!
Luckily, all I had was one hellish hangover and multiple bruises on my face. Just like the Halloween that went to pot. I was 19 maybe older before I ever, ever even tasted 101 again. And I can assure you, it hasn't been maybe once in 25 years!
How was that for an embarrassing personal experience??
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Should I Write or Should I Quit Now?
I used to be funny when I blogged! Where has all the sarcastic humor gone??? Even after just a few days I don't feel the torrid tales of my youth is really working out. It feels so Chelsey Handler, and she really irritates me!!! It is interesting, too, because on a certain level you would think she would be my hero/alter ego/ much older mentor--but I don't find any redemption in her work. It's all about making fun of herself or others. She has a show. She has book deals. Apparently I alone dislike her. I tend to compare her to Dave Letterman. In the late night war/world I have always been Team Dave. And there is no one who likes a joke at someone elses expense, better than Dave Letterman. And he certainly gets on rants about things, i.e. CBS, Jay Leno, Carson Daly. Sort of the lovechild of John Irving and Tom Robbins, but, and here is the real heart of the matter, Dave also has a very human side. You can tell people he likes, he can redeem his bad behavior and show compassion when the situation is called for. Dave was consistently a great fan of Warren Zevon, and when Warren was sick and dying, Dave gave him a whole show. Unheard of in the late night television world.
Chelsey, just wants to snarf, especially at midgets. For some reason that especially bothers me.
So . . . how do I have some humanity like Dave, but find a obviously sick audience like Chelsey?
I friend of mine suggested telling the tales of my salad days when I was green(for a lot of reasons) would be cathartic, no. I mean, I own them, most of them no longer embarrass me. When I get on a roll I really could make them funny. Just don't know if it's working for me. I mean, look at all the good material I'm missing. Michael Lohan is hungry enough to let Dr. Drew show his creepy love life, only to get out and get arrested again, and maybe again. That old Journey guy apparently buys Michaele Salahi a new Bentley. She should be calling her latest adventure the Valtrex tour!
See, which way to go? My blog needs a niche. What is my niche? Am I truly nicheless?? It's all so confusing. Why couldn't I just have something easy like those people in England who's husband talked whole sentences and stories, whatever, in his sleep and she taped them and blogged about them. Hundreds of people followed the blog. Matt Lauer interviewed them from England! WTF?? I can promise that if I kept going with my life it would be much more interesting than whatever that man said in his sleep!!!
Chelsey, just wants to snarf, especially at midgets. For some reason that especially bothers me.
So . . . how do I have some humanity like Dave, but find a obviously sick audience like Chelsey?
I friend of mine suggested telling the tales of my salad days when I was green(for a lot of reasons) would be cathartic, no. I mean, I own them, most of them no longer embarrass me. When I get on a roll I really could make them funny. Just don't know if it's working for me. I mean, look at all the good material I'm missing. Michael Lohan is hungry enough to let Dr. Drew show his creepy love life, only to get out and get arrested again, and maybe again. That old Journey guy apparently buys Michaele Salahi a new Bentley. She should be calling her latest adventure the Valtrex tour!
See, which way to go? My blog needs a niche. What is my niche? Am I truly nicheless?? It's all so confusing. Why couldn't I just have something easy like those people in England who's husband talked whole sentences and stories, whatever, in his sleep and she taped them and blogged about them. Hundreds of people followed the blog. Matt Lauer interviewed them from England! WTF?? I can promise that if I kept going with my life it would be much more interesting than whatever that man said in his sleep!!!
The Decade of my Discontent: Day Four--A Room of her own.
The Decade of my Discontent: Day Four--A Room of her own.: I have been really excited about writing again. Writing anything, good or bad, just doing something semi creative, using what's left of my b...
Friday, October 28, 2011
Day Four--A Room of her own.
I have been really excited about writing again. Writing anything, good or bad, just doing something semi creative, using what's left of my brain, and frankly it is a great way for me to unwind. But. . .
Virgina Woolfe wrote a whole book, A Room of Your Own. At the time I had to read it, it made intellectual sense to me, but I felt like people with great gifts just had the creativity pour out of them. Woolfe's perspective was that she was lucky. An aunt or someone had left her a small stipend that allowed her a small flat where she could spend her days thinking and writing--instead of being a shop girl or some other job that women were fit for in her day. I only truly understand it now, with two jobs, and lot's of responsibilities I never seem to complete. And a partner who probably has a right to complain that every evening after 14 hours away I sit down to the computer to try and write something relevant.
I also realize Woolfe actually really new her shit better than I ever gave her credit for. Creativity doesn't just seep out of great artist in any genre because it needs to come out. Great artist from past centuries, usually always had patrons or family, whatever that funded their lives. Van Gogh's brother, Theo, financed him even to the detrement of his own family, so Vincent could support his need for paint and canvas without having a job. On the other hand the financing was so little that today we have more self-portraits of Van Gogh than probably anyone else because he couldn't afford models. Picasso, was lucky enough to be an artist who sold work during his lifetime, allowing him to paint mistress after mistress, without really a steady patron of his work, allowing him to follow his own creative path. Jackson Pollock, after switching from Cubism to Abstract Expressionism found Peggy Guggenheim who commissioned pieces and gave him money in between. Diego Rivera was another artist fortunate enough to sell his work during his lifetime. His commissions didn't always please his patrons, but allowed him to focus to be the greatest Fresco painter of his or maybe even our time.
I suspect it is a little harder for writers. Fitzgerald was the toast of the jazz age, sold his pieces to literary publications if nothing else. Had his lifestyle been a little less extravagant he could have lived even better. Publishing his books didn't hurt, either. The sad statement of Fitzgerald is arguably his greatest work, The Great Gatsby, was never fully appreciated during his lifetime. And in order to try and keep himself afloat and Zelda in respectable institutions, he went to Hollywood and sold his soul attempting to be a screen writer. It was a lose, lose situation. His drinking absorbed a good deal of his brilliance and the lack of success pulled him further down into his alcoholic despair So it is very symbolic that he should write the quote of show him a hero and he could write you a tragedy.
Maybe every great artist has truly suffered for his art. And believe me, I can't compare to a mediocre artist/writer, much less the greats I have mentioned. I only now realize that as much as I want to express myself, I have no room of my own. I have jobs, and dishwashers to unload. I have people who would still like to spend time with me and I blow them off to try and write something no one probably wants to read. While I joke about having followers and selling my blog for a book deal which I could later leverage for the movie rights I'm mostly kidding. Yet, on the Today Show I saw a couple from England and the wife taped the conversations the husband had in his sleep and pasted them into a blog. Got to tell you, I truly think I have more than that.
The solution? I have a few. I have a couple hours a day in the car to conceive what I want to write about. I have two job, so one would think I could afford a laptop so I could spend time with my peeps and still blog. Or . . . the premier possibility, I could find my niche. Write something people really wanted to follow and read. And have a clear focus of where this is going!
I've had fun writing about my misspent youth, and I want to continue--to a point. But you know what I really love. Writing snarfy blogs about celebrities and wannabe's, and letting all my wit and sarcasm out!! I want to use cultural references that only the people I respect understand.
In the meantime, I'm just going to try and entertain myself and you.
Virgina Woolfe wrote a whole book, A Room of Your Own. At the time I had to read it, it made intellectual sense to me, but I felt like people with great gifts just had the creativity pour out of them. Woolfe's perspective was that she was lucky. An aunt or someone had left her a small stipend that allowed her a small flat where she could spend her days thinking and writing--instead of being a shop girl or some other job that women were fit for in her day. I only truly understand it now, with two jobs, and lot's of responsibilities I never seem to complete. And a partner who probably has a right to complain that every evening after 14 hours away I sit down to the computer to try and write something relevant.
I also realize Woolfe actually really new her shit better than I ever gave her credit for. Creativity doesn't just seep out of great artist in any genre because it needs to come out. Great artist from past centuries, usually always had patrons or family, whatever that funded their lives. Van Gogh's brother, Theo, financed him even to the detrement of his own family, so Vincent could support his need for paint and canvas without having a job. On the other hand the financing was so little that today we have more self-portraits of Van Gogh than probably anyone else because he couldn't afford models. Picasso, was lucky enough to be an artist who sold work during his lifetime, allowing him to paint mistress after mistress, without really a steady patron of his work, allowing him to follow his own creative path. Jackson Pollock, after switching from Cubism to Abstract Expressionism found Peggy Guggenheim who commissioned pieces and gave him money in between. Diego Rivera was another artist fortunate enough to sell his work during his lifetime. His commissions didn't always please his patrons, but allowed him to focus to be the greatest Fresco painter of his or maybe even our time.
I suspect it is a little harder for writers. Fitzgerald was the toast of the jazz age, sold his pieces to literary publications if nothing else. Had his lifestyle been a little less extravagant he could have lived even better. Publishing his books didn't hurt, either. The sad statement of Fitzgerald is arguably his greatest work, The Great Gatsby, was never fully appreciated during his lifetime. And in order to try and keep himself afloat and Zelda in respectable institutions, he went to Hollywood and sold his soul attempting to be a screen writer. It was a lose, lose situation. His drinking absorbed a good deal of his brilliance and the lack of success pulled him further down into his alcoholic despair So it is very symbolic that he should write the quote of show him a hero and he could write you a tragedy.
Maybe every great artist has truly suffered for his art. And believe me, I can't compare to a mediocre artist/writer, much less the greats I have mentioned. I only now realize that as much as I want to express myself, I have no room of my own. I have jobs, and dishwashers to unload. I have people who would still like to spend time with me and I blow them off to try and write something no one probably wants to read. While I joke about having followers and selling my blog for a book deal which I could later leverage for the movie rights I'm mostly kidding. Yet, on the Today Show I saw a couple from England and the wife taped the conversations the husband had in his sleep and pasted them into a blog. Got to tell you, I truly think I have more than that.
The solution? I have a few. I have a couple hours a day in the car to conceive what I want to write about. I have two job, so one would think I could afford a laptop so I could spend time with my peeps and still blog. Or . . . the premier possibility, I could find my niche. Write something people really wanted to follow and read. And have a clear focus of where this is going!
I've had fun writing about my misspent youth, and I want to continue--to a point. But you know what I really love. Writing snarfy blogs about celebrities and wannabe's, and letting all my wit and sarcasm out!! I want to use cultural references that only the people I respect understand.
In the meantime, I'm just going to try and entertain myself and you.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Day 3, What My Mother Calls" Disparaging the Commonwealth Attorney"
As I thought my Halloween blog was lost , my thoughts were focused on how to rewrite yesterdays. So this is kind of a last minute, hail Mary, grasping at straws kind of blog.
It was probably the fall of , I don't know, '98. I worked at a at one of Winchester's best restaurant, Violino Ristorante Italiano. It was probably the hardest restaurant job I ever had, hard in the sense that the service was very professional and the place could book up quickly. Made a lot of money, could have some of that today, but after a combination lunch and dinner shifts I frequently passed that cash back across the bars at T Jeffery's or my favorite, Sweet Carolines. And I particularly enjoyed drinking Sonoma Cutrer. Still my favorite Chardonnay, but $6 a glass, even in 98.
Enough about that. This particular night I had hung out for a few Rolling Rocks at Sweet Carolines. Actually taking it easy because my tags had just expired and I wasn't looking for probable cause. But, that's just what I got. Thought there might be a cop behind me so I turned the corner, down not too far from Handley. Probable cause was dead tags and whipping around the corner. And by a wet behind the ears cop who my father taught in school. Should have been a slam dunk!! But no. Have you ever tried to walk a straight line in an almost ankle length skirt with the only slit in the back--with Tony Lama cowboy boots?? (It was stylish at that time!) And it just got worse from there. Officers are under no real obligation to give you specific results of traffic stop breathalyzers. But they hand cuffed me. Had to remove every piece of jewelry down to my belly button ring, and my boots. Frederick County legal buildings could help scan for Reagan National. I don't want to bore you any more than necessary, but they monitor for 20 minutes, then administer the breathalyzer, the officer and I did those things--it probably took a little more than the 20 minutes to be finger printed and mug shot. Any way, I did blow a .006. Cop looked disappointed and sent me on to the magistrate. At this point I'm feeling pretty good about dodging a bullet, only to be told that the Commonwealth Attorney charges everyone pulled in with Driving Under the Influence and usually drops the charges to Reckless Driving. This is when I lost what little patience and good humor I it was at least 2 AM.
It gets a little complex from here, but I'll try and be succinct. The Commonwealth Attorney and his mistress, oops, I mean assistant had lunch several days a week at my restaurant, where they would test drive a convertible to lunch. Consume a bottle or two of wine, then return the car and go back to the courthouse. Needless to say the irony of this was not lost on me, even then. So I asked some questions, made some wondered aloud if this was the same guy getting drunk in the middle of the day in a rented car before returning to work. And of course, Officer Obie, taught by my father, apparently related some of my concerns.
Now it really gets sort of 6 degrees of separation. The mistress was the mother of my brother's long time ex girlfriend. Luckily for me, the girlfriend was now dating the assistant Commonwealth Attorney. I go see my family attorney, who actually wants to see the documents because who gets charged with a DUI when they aren't considered legally drunk. So again, slam dunk. But no! The date of my court case was during his trip to Florida, so he passed me down to the son. Who to make the whole story just a little more all worlds collide, I had spent an evening with during a scotch fueled 30th birthday celebration that I have done my best to forget for 15 plus years! Needless to say, the Commonwealth Attorney took a special interest in my little case. Pretty sure he set up a meeting with the assistant and my attorney at Sweet Caroline's where they drank pitchers and discussed what they could give someone with no previous record and and a breathalyzer reading of under the legal limit.
It would have been funnier if it hadn't happened to me. My attorney was $500. They suspend my license for six months, but suspended that also. Gave me two weeks in jail, and suspended that. Let's see, a $1500 fine which I had to pay another $500 of. But I did get stuck with 1 years unsupervised probation, and a substance abuse evaluation.The good doctor who did my evaluation also read the paperwork several times, not quite believing my story. He had some theories, blonde, end of the month, talking crap about the guy prosecuting me. He gave me some tapes to take home and return, signed off on just about the last piece of paperwork. I'm still not sure what exactly unsupervised probation is, but it was a whole year of worrying about it. Oh yeah, had to work with the DMV to get the Reckless Driving to Endanger Life and Property properly reported.
Again I'll try not to bore you with being released in the middle of nowhere, on foot, on the way back side of Winchester. Luckily, I cop took me to Sheetz where I called my ex boyfriend, Egan, who came and got me at 3 in the morning.
That would be the end of the narrative(although it could really benefit from Arlo on the guitar)--except, that commonwealth attorney has been in the news quite a bit lately. At first I felt vindicated. But you have to feel at least a little bad about a guy who is going to prison for 3 years with who knows how may guys he has put away. Actually started to fell bad and friended him on Facebook.
Night guys!
Bottom line--keep tags up to date!!
It was probably the fall of , I don't know, '98. I worked at a at one of Winchester's best restaurant, Violino Ristorante Italiano. It was probably the hardest restaurant job I ever had, hard in the sense that the service was very professional and the place could book up quickly. Made a lot of money, could have some of that today, but after a combination lunch and dinner shifts I frequently passed that cash back across the bars at T Jeffery's or my favorite, Sweet Carolines. And I particularly enjoyed drinking Sonoma Cutrer. Still my favorite Chardonnay, but $6 a glass, even in 98.
Enough about that. This particular night I had hung out for a few Rolling Rocks at Sweet Carolines. Actually taking it easy because my tags had just expired and I wasn't looking for probable cause. But, that's just what I got. Thought there might be a cop behind me so I turned the corner, down not too far from Handley. Probable cause was dead tags and whipping around the corner. And by a wet behind the ears cop who my father taught in school. Should have been a slam dunk!! But no. Have you ever tried to walk a straight line in an almost ankle length skirt with the only slit in the back--with Tony Lama cowboy boots?? (It was stylish at that time!) And it just got worse from there. Officers are under no real obligation to give you specific results of traffic stop breathalyzers. But they hand cuffed me. Had to remove every piece of jewelry down to my belly button ring, and my boots. Frederick County legal buildings could help scan for Reagan National. I don't want to bore you any more than necessary, but they monitor for 20 minutes, then administer the breathalyzer, the officer and I did those things--it probably took a little more than the 20 minutes to be finger printed and mug shot. Any way, I did blow a .006. Cop looked disappointed and sent me on to the magistrate. At this point I'm feeling pretty good about dodging a bullet, only to be told that the Commonwealth Attorney charges everyone pulled in with Driving Under the Influence and usually drops the charges to Reckless Driving. This is when I lost what little patience and good humor I it was at least 2 AM.
It gets a little complex from here, but I'll try and be succinct. The Commonwealth Attorney and his mistress, oops, I mean assistant had lunch several days a week at my restaurant, where they would test drive a convertible to lunch. Consume a bottle or two of wine, then return the car and go back to the courthouse. Needless to say the irony of this was not lost on me, even then. So I asked some questions, made some wondered aloud if this was the same guy getting drunk in the middle of the day in a rented car before returning to work. And of course, Officer Obie, taught by my father, apparently related some of my concerns.
Now it really gets sort of 6 degrees of separation. The mistress was the mother of my brother's long time ex girlfriend. Luckily for me, the girlfriend was now dating the assistant Commonwealth Attorney. I go see my family attorney, who actually wants to see the documents because who gets charged with a DUI when they aren't considered legally drunk. So again, slam dunk. But no! The date of my court case was during his trip to Florida, so he passed me down to the son. Who to make the whole story just a little more all worlds collide, I had spent an evening with during a scotch fueled 30th birthday celebration that I have done my best to forget for 15 plus years! Needless to say, the Commonwealth Attorney took a special interest in my little case. Pretty sure he set up a meeting with the assistant and my attorney at Sweet Caroline's where they drank pitchers and discussed what they could give someone with no previous record and and a breathalyzer reading of under the legal limit.
It would have been funnier if it hadn't happened to me. My attorney was $500. They suspend my license for six months, but suspended that also. Gave me two weeks in jail, and suspended that. Let's see, a $1500 fine which I had to pay another $500 of. But I did get stuck with 1 years unsupervised probation, and a substance abuse evaluation.The good doctor who did my evaluation also read the paperwork several times, not quite believing my story. He had some theories, blonde, end of the month, talking crap about the guy prosecuting me. He gave me some tapes to take home and return, signed off on just about the last piece of paperwork. I'm still not sure what exactly unsupervised probation is, but it was a whole year of worrying about it. Oh yeah, had to work with the DMV to get the Reckless Driving to Endanger Life and Property properly reported.
Again I'll try not to bore you with being released in the middle of nowhere, on foot, on the way back side of Winchester. Luckily, I cop took me to Sheetz where I called my ex boyfriend, Egan, who came and got me at 3 in the morning.
That would be the end of the narrative(although it could really benefit from Arlo on the guitar)--except, that commonwealth attorney has been in the news quite a bit lately. At first I felt vindicated. But you have to feel at least a little bad about a guy who is going to prison for 3 years with who knows how may guys he has put away. Actually started to fell bad and friended him on Facebook.
Night guys!
Bottom line--keep tags up to date!!
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
When Halloween Went to Pot
Disclaimer: The events I am about to relate happened a very, very long time ago. Halloween of 1980 to probably be exact. I may have had my share of alcohol, and some others' shares too, but I have never endorsed other drug use then or now. I don't believe in peer pressure, have with maybe one glaring exception never succumbed to it--you can't even get me to eat food I don't want! But, I was young in those days, and I voluntarily, very briefly wanted to try something other than cigarettes.
Having said all that, I had a very close friend that I'd known since kindergarten, my dad gave me his Dinner's Club card and sent about 4 of us the the Quality Inn (a real restaurant in those day) for my 16th birthday party/dinner. This guy and his date went with my boyfriend and I to our Jr Prom, and he might have joined us for the Senior prom, but by that time he had run into some difficulties with the education system, so he and some other friends drank most of the beer and generally destroyed the house before I even got back for the after party. The point being that for some reason he really, really wanted to be the first person to get me stoned. And he did. In the screened in porch of our old house on Randolf Avenue. And honestly, I had a blast. I can't be sure, but I feel like my boyfriend, the only one with any sense or ambition, just watched and drove. I don't know how long we cruised town, yapping out the window at random cars, and just generally doing stupid dope stuff (there really is a reason why they call it dope), and pretty much calling attention to our altered state and stupidity! It was so good, we went back to my house and did it again. The whole thing, wash, rinse, repeat while making an ass of ourselves. It was, without question the only enjoyable marijuana experience of my life!! I remember it extremely fondly, even now.
So coming off that first high experience, I was ready to give it another try. Hence the foundation for the Halloween party that was truly from Hell! It was at was a perfect October night. I went with my boyfriend, my best friend and an other guy I'd known since I was 5. I have no idea where the party was, but it was in the boonies, in and around someone's barn, very decked out for Halloween. The beer made the rounds first and everything was rolling pretty much as usual. Now where I got the drugs, I have no idea. The other four could have been helping out, but pretty much I think of Peter Fonda and his Easy Rider don't Bogart that joint. See, all I ever really did was drink, and he who could consume the most and still be vertical was the undisputed champion. The problem here is the group I was with either was they either didn't share the fine print with me that smoking wasn't like drinking, you didn't have to finish it, or they just didn't know anymore than me. I could be counted on even then to be a party overachiever. Oh my God, it was Nightmare on farmland way before Christmas pretty much from there on in. I think I flipped out quietly at first. Sitting on something steady with my head between my legs, but as my paranoia grew and the drugs really started to kick in, it sucked to be those guys!! It didn't take them too long to realize they needed to get me out of there--so much for their party experience. I think we may have dropped my girlfriend off on the way, but my friend Tommy followed us to my house, probably correctly expecting my boyfriend had more on his hands than he could handle. I suspect you could consider that my first panic attack. The guys got me in the house and Tommy got the hell out of there while the getting was still good. I laid on the living room carpet bemoaning how I was never, ever going to come down and I was going to be stoned for the rest of my life. Somewhere in the middle of that the compulsion to take a shower took over. Must have come from one too many Hollywood black and whites where they always throw the drunk in the shower and they miraculously become coherent again and promise anyone who will listen that they have learned their lesson and they will be riding the straight and narrow from there on in. One aspect of that idea was true. I can promise you without fear of lying or even forgetting that it was years, and some more years before I ever even took a hit from someone's pot. But mostly the result was I was just wet and sure I'd be stoned forever. Couldn't even begin to guess how long I was flipping out, but I guarantee you it was hours longer than any teenage boyfriend should have to absorb. He was a always a great guy in a crisis ! It probably isn't an accident that most of the men I have spent any time with have some odd sort of patience and a lot of tolerance! That's pretty much the end of that debacle. I eventually came down and calm down enough to go to bed, and the boyfriend was able to escape.
I want to reiterate that it was a very, very long time before I ever, ever had even one hit again. And even to this day I never volunteer to join in. Sort of like getting sick from something as a child and you never want to eat it again! But my favorite part, over the years I have witnessed several newbies who got the cliff notes and missed the fine print and were having an unpleasant experience. It is a look on someone's face that I can recognize at 100 paces. Although I will admit most of them took their medicine a lot better than I did.
Thirty years later I can assure you that on the very, extremely rare cases I indulge, I am nothing if not the one hit wonder!! Except on one other occasion, but it is a Christmas tale and I think I'll save it until then.
Having said all that, I had a very close friend that I'd known since kindergarten, my dad gave me his Dinner's Club card and sent about 4 of us the the Quality Inn (a real restaurant in those day) for my 16th birthday party/dinner. This guy and his date went with my boyfriend and I to our Jr Prom, and he might have joined us for the Senior prom, but by that time he had run into some difficulties with the education system, so he and some other friends drank most of the beer and generally destroyed the house before I even got back for the after party. The point being that for some reason he really, really wanted to be the first person to get me stoned. And he did. In the screened in porch of our old house on Randolf Avenue. And honestly, I had a blast. I can't be sure, but I feel like my boyfriend, the only one with any sense or ambition, just watched and drove. I don't know how long we cruised town, yapping out the window at random cars, and just generally doing stupid dope stuff (there really is a reason why they call it dope), and pretty much calling attention to our altered state and stupidity! It was so good, we went back to my house and did it again. The whole thing, wash, rinse, repeat while making an ass of ourselves. It was, without question the only enjoyable marijuana experience of my life!! I remember it extremely fondly, even now.
So coming off that first high experience, I was ready to give it another try. Hence the foundation for the Halloween party that was truly from Hell! It was at was a perfect October night. I went with my boyfriend, my best friend and an other guy I'd known since I was 5. I have no idea where the party was, but it was in the boonies, in and around someone's barn, very decked out for Halloween. The beer made the rounds first and everything was rolling pretty much as usual. Now where I got the drugs, I have no idea. The other four could have been helping out, but pretty much I think of Peter Fonda and his Easy Rider don't Bogart that joint. See, all I ever really did was drink, and he who could consume the most and still be vertical was the undisputed champion. The problem here is the group I was with either was they either didn't share the fine print with me that smoking wasn't like drinking, you didn't have to finish it, or they just didn't know anymore than me. I could be counted on even then to be a party overachiever. Oh my God, it was Nightmare on farmland way before Christmas pretty much from there on in. I think I flipped out quietly at first. Sitting on something steady with my head between my legs, but as my paranoia grew and the drugs really started to kick in, it sucked to be those guys!! It didn't take them too long to realize they needed to get me out of there--so much for their party experience. I think we may have dropped my girlfriend off on the way, but my friend Tommy followed us to my house, probably correctly expecting my boyfriend had more on his hands than he could handle. I suspect you could consider that my first panic attack. The guys got me in the house and Tommy got the hell out of there while the getting was still good. I laid on the living room carpet bemoaning how I was never, ever going to come down and I was going to be stoned for the rest of my life. Somewhere in the middle of that the compulsion to take a shower took over. Must have come from one too many Hollywood black and whites where they always throw the drunk in the shower and they miraculously become coherent again and promise anyone who will listen that they have learned their lesson and they will be riding the straight and narrow from there on in. One aspect of that idea was true. I can promise you without fear of lying or even forgetting that it was years, and some more years before I ever even took a hit from someone's pot. But mostly the result was I was just wet and sure I'd be stoned forever. Couldn't even begin to guess how long I was flipping out, but I guarantee you it was hours longer than any teenage boyfriend should have to absorb. He was a always a great guy in a crisis ! It probably isn't an accident that most of the men I have spent any time with have some odd sort of patience and a lot of tolerance! That's pretty much the end of that debacle. I eventually came down and calm down enough to go to bed, and the boyfriend was able to escape.
I want to reiterate that it was a very, very long time before I ever, ever had even one hit again. And even to this day I never volunteer to join in. Sort of like getting sick from something as a child and you never want to eat it again! But my favorite part, over the years I have witnessed several newbies who got the cliff notes and missed the fine print and were having an unpleasant experience. It is a look on someone's face that I can recognize at 100 paces. Although I will admit most of them took their medicine a lot better than I did.
Thirty years later I can assure you that on the very, extremely rare cases I indulge, I am nothing if not the one hit wonder!! Except on one other occasion, but it is a Christmas tale and I think I'll save it until then.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Day One--The Lawn Mower Incident
So remember the new focus of my blog is like cooking all of Julia's recipes in a year and blogging about them. Only in my case, I've decided to share an incident, usually involving some sort of imbibing. I thought about a chronological blog, I thought about starting with the worst and work in descending order. Finally I though let's start with something fun and see where it goes.
So a year or two ago I was hanging out with a bottle of Pinot on a Sunday night, and you know the worst sound is that last drop hitting the wine glass! I was on the verge of doing some drunk dialing that would have surprised at least one old boyfriend. Fortunately, I got both distracted and couldn't manage to find the number in the phone book. While I was still letting my fingers stumble through the yellow pages, I was interrupted by the current flame who was not at ALL pleased I had managed to suck down the bottle. While this discussion was going on he reminded me that the lawn mower was still in the driveway and it was beginning to rain. And specifically told me not to go after it! Catnip to the intoxicated!! So while he was looking for a jacket or something, I went out for the mower. Now my driveway isn't really steep, but it has a good incline, and the mower was half way up the drive, sheltered by a tree, but facing sideways instead of up or down the drive. So first I had to manuever the mower out of the tree, and that went pretty well. It was already half way up the drive, so that didn't seem so daunting. Unfortunately, I was good and hammered and the mower was harder to push than I imagined after I got it pointed up the drive. You might see where this is going-- after a 10-15 feet the mower became stronger than me and a backward motion began. Now, the mower was pushing me backwards down the drive, and maybe it ran over me a little. Wound up laying on the concrete driveway next to my car tire with the mower as my new best friend. No serious injuries. Some pretty patches of scrapes from the drive way. Sort of scrap/burns on both my wrists. This is about the time my boyfriend found me, and he was even less pleased about this new complication than he was about the bottle of wine. One of my favorite parts is that he came on the scene was I was already down, and his take on the back scraping was that I feel with the mower into the pine tree. People die that way he said. Rolling backwards, drunk with a mower isn't the picture of health either, I might add. To this day I don't think he believes I slid down the drive and skid across the concrete. My friends saw all the battle scars and I bet the easy money was 10-1 he scraped me up. Being battle weary as well as drunk by this time, I was ready for bed. Mostly fully dressed. There was dirt and pine tree debris well into the next day. Now, I don't generally drink like that anymore. All my rowdy friends and I have settled down. So I thought the whole thing was hilarious. Every time I told the story I laughed my ass off. I got a few strange looks! I did try to explain that since it was no longer a regular occurrence I could enjoy the irony of using the mower for the first time in my life, on my lower body and wheel well of my car! But there is another antidote to the saga. That year for Christmas we sold wine bottle holders that were reindeer laying on their backs with the bottle pointed toward their mouths. I never, ever sold a reindeer without telling that story. My only real regret is that I didn't get on. Would like to put it on the mantle as sort of a little token of that Sunday night. You know, like collecting a snow globe from the places you travel. All I got instead were scares on both wrists from the down ward slide!
The beauty of this adventure?? No drunk dial, I didn't really hurt myself when the mower ran me back over all the way down the drive. And if we ever get those reindeer again, it's going with my snow globe collection.
All well that ends well in this adventure. I've never had to move the mower again!
Good to be back guys, first thing I've written this year!!
So a year or two ago I was hanging out with a bottle of Pinot on a Sunday night, and you know the worst sound is that last drop hitting the wine glass! I was on the verge of doing some drunk dialing that would have surprised at least one old boyfriend. Fortunately, I got both distracted and couldn't manage to find the number in the phone book. While I was still letting my fingers stumble through the yellow pages, I was interrupted by the current flame who was not at ALL pleased I had managed to suck down the bottle. While this discussion was going on he reminded me that the lawn mower was still in the driveway and it was beginning to rain. And specifically told me not to go after it! Catnip to the intoxicated!! So while he was looking for a jacket or something, I went out for the mower. Now my driveway isn't really steep, but it has a good incline, and the mower was half way up the drive, sheltered by a tree, but facing sideways instead of up or down the drive. So first I had to manuever the mower out of the tree, and that went pretty well. It was already half way up the drive, so that didn't seem so daunting. Unfortunately, I was good and hammered and the mower was harder to push than I imagined after I got it pointed up the drive. You might see where this is going-- after a 10-15 feet the mower became stronger than me and a backward motion began. Now, the mower was pushing me backwards down the drive, and maybe it ran over me a little. Wound up laying on the concrete driveway next to my car tire with the mower as my new best friend. No serious injuries. Some pretty patches of scrapes from the drive way. Sort of scrap/burns on both my wrists. This is about the time my boyfriend found me, and he was even less pleased about this new complication than he was about the bottle of wine. One of my favorite parts is that he came on the scene was I was already down, and his take on the back scraping was that I feel with the mower into the pine tree. People die that way he said. Rolling backwards, drunk with a mower isn't the picture of health either, I might add. To this day I don't think he believes I slid down the drive and skid across the concrete. My friends saw all the battle scars and I bet the easy money was 10-1 he scraped me up. Being battle weary as well as drunk by this time, I was ready for bed. Mostly fully dressed. There was dirt and pine tree debris well into the next day. Now, I don't generally drink like that anymore. All my rowdy friends and I have settled down. So I thought the whole thing was hilarious. Every time I told the story I laughed my ass off. I got a few strange looks! I did try to explain that since it was no longer a regular occurrence I could enjoy the irony of using the mower for the first time in my life, on my lower body and wheel well of my car! But there is another antidote to the saga. That year for Christmas we sold wine bottle holders that were reindeer laying on their backs with the bottle pointed toward their mouths. I never, ever sold a reindeer without telling that story. My only real regret is that I didn't get on. Would like to put it on the mantle as sort of a little token of that Sunday night. You know, like collecting a snow globe from the places you travel. All I got instead were scares on both wrists from the down ward slide!
The beauty of this adventure?? No drunk dial, I didn't really hurt myself when the mower ran me back over all the way down the drive. And if we ever get those reindeer again, it's going with my snow globe collection.
All well that ends well in this adventure. I've never had to move the mower again!
Good to be back guys, first thing I've written this year!!
Monday, October 24, 2011
Beverley Thompson Warrick shared Decade of My Discontent's status update.
Have been thinking a lot about blogging again guys! Have sort of a new gimmick. You know how Julie cooked all of Julia's recipes in a year and blogged about it. My current thought is to write one crazy story, from my past every day?? A little personal, but I'm thinking the stories of my misspent youth would make a perfect gimmick. Not to mention turning the blogs into a book and selling the movie rights! What do you think??
- Kimberly White Clem likes this.
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