-- My weekend, as I've been telling anyone who has inquired, was uneventful
but relaxing. Yes, I consider recreational drug use relaxing.
The only thing I did worth noting over the weekend was drop a hit of E
by myself on Saturday night, and then smoke up with a bunch of friends
on Sunday night.
When I've taken E before, usually it's not hit me unless I've taken a couple. But I was bored on Saturday night, so I decided to drop one for the hell of it. Much to my pleasant surprise, it hit me, and it hit me pretty good. I started grooving to the Go soundtrack, which is the only CD that I can now get to work on a semi-regular basis in my stereo. I was doing that and playing NBA Live while waiting for the E to hit. After I really started to feel it, I kept on playing Live while sucking on an Altoid. Eventually I started to get really lonely, though. E is a really social drug -- you feel like talking to people when you're on it -- but since Ray conked out on the couch, I didn't have anyone to talk to. I didn't want to call anyone I knew, b/c I didn't want them to know that I was up on E and think I was really weird and a big loser (God, why would they ever think that?) So I decided to call strangers; while I was practicing dunking with Shaquille O'Neal, I started calling the 1-800 Directory Assistance to get 800 numbers. I think I got the idea b/c I was pondering calling phone sex lines, but realized it'd be a really bad idea to do that. So I started to call airlines, asking how much ticket fares cost to certain places. I called Lufthansa to ask about Amsterdam, JAL to ask about Hawaii, and I even called American Airlines to ask how much it would cost to fly to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan (only $519! Quite a deal).
That cheered me up a little, and then I went outside to have a cigarette and smell the flowers. I started to have a conversation with myself in my head. I realized something fairly deep -- I'm really dependent on other people to make myself feel good. I remembered in fifth grade when I moved to San Diego, I started a new school about a month into the term. When I lived in Houston, I had attended a parochial school where there was one class per grade. Suddenly I was in a big public elementary school with lots of students, and I absolutely hated it. I went home and cried the first few nights because I was really miserable. It was a real culture shock for me -- not only was I in a different city, but the school environment was totally different. We would change classes for reading, or for math, and all the games at recess were totally different! Instead of soccer, people played 4-Square and Butts Up. When you're 10, your life revolves around school, and your social life is all about recess. People actually break danced during recess. At my old school in H-Town, you couldn't even wear shorts or a hat.
So I'm miserable, and I'm begging my mom every night to transfer me to the school that was attached to our new church. But during lunch of my fourth day or so at my new school, this kid in my class, Jeffrey Lacsamana, was walking past me with a few friends. He sensed that I wasn't happy here, so he stopped and asked me if I was thinking about transferring or something. I said some noncommittal answer, and he replied, "Well, I hope you don't. You're a cool guy." And then he walked off with his friends.
Dood, I felt so much better after that. I remember going home and telling my mom that day that I didn't want to transfer anymore, and that I really liked my new school.
So anyhow, you can see the whole correlation there between the approval of others and my sense of worth, right? I hope so, b/c I don't wanna explain it.
After that realization, I got my socks wet walking through a puddle, so I took them off and started walking on the park's cool grass. It felt so cool and fresh. I never walk around barefoot, so I haven't walked on grass since...I dunno, a long time. I put on my headphones and started having a mini-rave party with myself, listening to After Dark with Jason Bentley on KROQ. It was all pretty damn phat. I highly recommend E, so long as you don't mix it with heroin and wind up dead like poor Mark Tuinei.
Sunday night Das stopped by Drug Dealer John's place and picked up some green, so then a bunch of us smoked up, including Ray's cousin Jo, who was trying it for the first time. Paul lost a golf bet and had to take eight tokes of bud. He took four, and then felt really sick, and yakked later on. I couldn't believe that shit -- homeboy gets sick off of herb! What a waste. Oh well, guess he's not a real man like me. Ray and Jo went to Rite Aid and then to Del Taco (it took us about 30 minutes to figure out who was going to go and who was going to stay at the house), and it was a little nippy out so Das and I sat in Ray's car and talked. We were laughing and having a good time and shit. Oddly enough, I can't remember anything that anybody talked about last nite. (Memory loss after smoking up? How odd! ;-) The only thing I do remember is when I was sitting in the car with Das, we were freaking out b/c we thought Das and Jo were taking forever to get back. We though maybe they got lost in Cerritos or something. Then we saw a car's headlights as it pulled onto our street, and we thought it might be them. It was just a red Bronco that kept going down the street. I made the comment that it might be them, if they took the wrong car and forgot which house Ray lived in. Das said that it wasn't impossible considering Ray, and we both laughed.
They eventually came back, we all gorged on Del Taco, and this morning before lunch I had to take two fat dumps in order to feel better. The End.