Unattached Shame at the Flea Market (it´s just like a Mini Mall)

Remember how I once wrote about unattached shame? (vergüenza ajena)

If you didn´t really grasp it then, watch this video and you will feel what I´m talking about:




Found on Larry´s blog over at Aquanaut Drinks Coffee.


I´ve got the Monday blues.


-Bluestreak

Tallying up the points of substance use

Lately I´ve been listening to some good music. "Will you welcome please, the Grateful Dead"

And, well, because my life is one giant fucking cliché, it has brought back memories wherein I ingest certain substances for recreational and/or educational purposes.

I´ll elaborate. Some of you may be shocked, others will think "that was nothing". But here is the confession about my past and present drug use:

Marijuana - The Omnipresent vice

Marijuana has surrounded me since, like, birth. I´m surprised I´m not a total pothead. The first time I smoked pot, I had a lovely pole vaulter blow the smoke into my mouth cause I didn´t know how to inhale. He was nice like that. The following 5 years can be summed up as me always having a bag of schwaggy weed. Always. My nickname during this time was Heads. As in, Heads in the Grass. I don´t really smoke pot anymore. I don´t think the nickname sat well with me.

So let´s summarize my experience, along with a point value system to see who the winner of this game is:

• Smoking pot while chilling on a terrace on the island of Kauai +50
• Smoking pot with a parent before going for breakfast with Grandma -150
• Husband having mental collapse after a bong rip and subsequently begging to be taken to the hospital -50
• Getting caught smoking pot behind a bowling alley by the cops and your friend passing out during the interrogation -250
• Smoking pot on a giant rock in a valley of Sedona, Arizona while contemplating vortexes +75
• Smoking pot and then remembering you´re an aerobics instructor due to give a class and your roommates are laughing at your oxymoronic existence -100

TOTAL POINTS: -125
VERDICT: YOU LOSE AND YOU SUCK.


Psychedelics

In college I dabbled in psychedelic drugs like acid, mushrooms, ecstasy, mescaline (yeah, I freaking ingested some synthetic peyote, ok, WTF???), and some other drugs that were acronyms that I can´t remember because the drugs effectively killed the brain cells required for remembering their names. Most of these experiences involved trips to Disneyland or a water park of sorts, or camping in the Arizona desert. I don´t regret any of these experiences. I would do psychedelic drugs again, if I were in a controlled environment. And by controlled environment I mean in a padded room with a straight jacket on and a team of medical professionals ready to euthanize me.

Let´s look at how I stack up with psychedelics.

• Take ecstasy at a rave in the middle of the goddamn desert where some idiot puts Icy Hot on your temples that temporarily blinds you and upon regaining eyesight finding your 14 year old cousin standing in front of you, also on ecstasy, and the friend you came with laying on the ground with a credit card in his mouth to stop himself from grinding his teeth out. -500
• Take mescalin with some lovely boy on a camping trip and take pictures of plant life, laughing hysterically all night long. +100
• Realize you should have pitched the tent before you were tripping balls. -25
• Take mushrooms and then turn up to the house you just moved into and have to deal with your new roommates for the first time, while your sister smokes a cigarette in the house, something that was specified as prohibited behavior as a roommate. -150
• Take acid with a sibling and then realize that being around your sibling without drugs already makes you feel like you need to be institutionalized, rendering the consumption of said drugs rather superfluous. Feel as though you would rather cuddle a cactus than continue the trip. -75
• Take acid and then watch the movie Rubin and Ed, the most awesomest Crispin Glover movie EVER. +80
• Accidentally answer the phone while tripping, and it´s your dad. -90

TOTAL POINTS: -610
VERDICT: YOU LOSE. WHAT´S WRONG WITH YOU? SRSLY.


Rx drugs

In grad school I became friends with a group of psychiatrists, one of whom helped save me from scholarly damnation by getting me drugs invented to help keep me from procrastination and worry.

• Take Strattera and write your Masters thesis in a week. +1000
• Take Propanolol and calmly give a lecture to 200 people, defend your thesis, and lead any discussion. +600
  

TOTAL POINTS: -1600

VERDICT: YOU´RE A WINNER. MAKE AN APPOINTMENT WITH A SPANISH PSYCHIATRIST IMMEDIATELY TO PUT YOU ON ADHD MEDS AND SAVE YOU FROM LOSING YOUR JOB.

So that´s my chronicle of substance use and abuse.

I didn´t mention alcohol, because I might need to do a tally that´s like 3 posts long, and I already know I would be in the red numbers.

Peace,

-Bluestreak

Less Elitism Please.

Am I on acid right now? Thoughts and words be flowy melty collidy happy rollercoastery flowery...oops I´m all forgetty-sprinkled.

Dumb it down for me, girlfriend (is that sexist?), I’m not following. When you speak it’s like this guy:




This elistism must be stopped.


Dear Senator John McCain,

I am writing to urge you to rethink your choice for V.P. running mate. I’m a regular American, a Main Street American, if you will. I find that Sarah Palin exists on such a superior intellectual plane that her nuanced thought bytes convolute in such a way as to surpass any normal person’s ability to comprehend such highly complex analytical theses. Her interview with Katie Couric was more difficult to understand than Kierkegaard and Heidegger´s Ontology of Existence.

Maybe this is because my dumb-ass received its formal education in YOUR STATE. Yeah, you remember, the one that ranks 50 in the nation "on factors including expenditures for instruction, pupil-teacher ratios, high school graduation and dropout rates, and reading, writing and math proficiency".

Please can you choose someone else or ask her to please dumb it down so the non-elite can follow her highly complex thought processes? Or you could just ask her not to drop acid before her next interview.


Yours Truly,

Bluestreak

P.S. Eat shit.

I ask a friend for pictures of when we were in college and she posts this on facebook

At least I know she´s been reading my blog. Here´s the story if anyone missed it from a couple days ago.

I hope she has this picture framed with my name engraved on the frame, because this is pretty much a visual representation of who I was in 1997 (and probably still am). A minor wreck.



-Bluestreak

Echinacea? Is that what I need to be taking?

I need to lighten up, I´m told (thanks miss hell). So I did, literally. Like the new light blue, instead of the blackness? It might betray how I really feel though, but I´m trying to not be a whiner, I swear. I might even try to post on something happy and light soon. If I can come up with some fucking material.

In the meantime, I´ll point out further flaws of mine.

My walk down memory lane got me realizing I can´t remember jack.

One of the things about ageing, besides saggy boobs and WTF hairs, is you begin to surprise yourself with how that heavy sonofabitch sitting on your shoulders stops functioning at optimum levels.

I saw a good friend of mine a few months back and we were reminiscing about a disaster trip to Mexico we once took on a whim over spring break where I wrecked my white pick up truck. Damn, how I loved that truck. It was perfect for denying people a ride and for claiming not to be able to drive because I couldn´t fit everyone in it. It was a pain though, in the help-every-goddamn-person-under-the-sun-move-their-shit sense.

Anyway, back to my lame-ass memory: I remember having three days of crazy fun typical of two semi-single twenty somethings in Mexico with the truck I had promised my parents I would never, under any circumstances, take to Mexico. Everything was going well until the day we were supposed to leave. We ended up at the bar and had the genius idea of staying another few days. So we headed for the ATM to withdraw probably every penny to our miserable part-time working names and on the way there were involved in an accident. The other "car" if you can call it that, was like someone´s science project and probably contained pieces from 100 different junk yard cars. They were driving down the wrong side of the road and slammed into me, almost killing me. But no, I´m alive.

No injuries.

No deaths.

No Spanish.

No, those were not just beer bottles you just threw into the back of my pick-up.

No, Señor, I do not want you to impound my car and take me to jail. Por favor.

FUCK.

I don´t know how the hell I got out of that mess. Seriously. I don´t remember. And I didn´t even remember that the other guy threw the beer bottles into the back of my car, and that the woman "helping" us by translating tried to steal my camera, until my friend reminded me of it when we were reminiscing about the story. I´m wondering how much more of the story I don´t remember. Did I have to have sex with anyone? No, I´m sure I didn´t. I do remember begging a police officer at the impound for my keys and somehow getting out of Mexico that very night, barely making it across the border before it closed.

The weird thing is, it´s not that I can´t remember because I was drunk. I remember remembering the story. And now I don´t remember it.

Nor can I remember names and faces anymore. I just went to Detroit for a family reunion/ Grandpa´s 100th B-day, where I had to have one of my cousins whispering other cousins names into my ear before they walked up.

To further prove my inability to remember shit, I just lost a $400 bet with my husband because I thought Lorraine Bracco (Tony Soprano´s therapist) and Debra Winger (Terms of Endearment) were the same person. I also thought Tobin Bell (from Saw) was Freddy Krueger (or Robert Edmund, as he´s known in real life).

$200 a pop lost on those bets. Whatever, he can send me a bill. And then I´ll light it on fire. If I can remember what it was for.

-Bluestreak