Have you ever watched the Emmy's stoned?
It's freaky.
Now, now. I am not some pot head. Not at all. In fact, every time those around me blaze up, I abstain. Pot has never been my thing. It makes me vewy vewy sweepy and pretty damned paranoid. All I want is Nachos Bell Grande, Pintos and Cheese and some shut eye. After I've convinced myself that no one is laughing at me.
But since I got zip, zilch, zero sleep on Saturday night/Sunday morning, I figured drastic measures needed to be taken to ensure my sanity today.
After an emotional outburst due to rampant hormones and severe lack of sleep, I knew I needed to
>>>>>coooooool o-u-t. <<<<<<
So Mo got on the horn and H went for a drive and BAM-O! 3 hours later, I had a few deep pulls on a bowl from the comfort of my pretty blue couch.
The Emmy's were boring at first. But they got damned interesting/scary after that. The "In Memoriam" part made me bawl like a little girl with a skinned knee. Even though they were all pretty fucking old. The part with anchormen freaked me out. That wasn't even Tom Brokaw. It was some body in a suit with an over-sized Tom Brokaw rubber mask. It was so obvious. Did you see the way the face was contorting whenever the mystery man was speaking? And the freeze frame of Peter Jennings in the background was starting straight into my soul. It was saying "You're next if you keep it up."
Ari Gold was robbed! I told that to everyone who would listen, which was no one.
Now this reefer had some strange effect that made me squirm and giggle a lot. I felt trapped in my own skin. I just wanted peace. I just wanted sleep. I crawled down the hall on all fours and slithered into bed like a sleepy snake. No TV. Just darkness illuminated with a blue glow from my speakers. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same procession of odd shapes that took me back to my childhood. Like little flashes, over and over. It would flash every 3 seconds. I didn't freak out too much. I knew it would be ok. I felt in control.
And then I slept. Very well. For once.
This weekend, she was an odd one. It all kicked off with Throwdown Thursday. Sandy's birthday and her sister's going away party was all wrapped up into one package of fun. I called the future roommate to join us and he was a willing participant. We waited on him to come over and then we headed over to Cactus on Rush. It was drizzling, so the whole party moved itself inside. It was packed. Some dragon-breathed dork wasted no time in coming up to hit on H and I. As soon as he touched my shoulder and breathed his fiery breath into my face, I threw up a little bit in my mouth and beat a hasty retreat. Yeah, my drink was full, but I needed another.
Sandy was in not-so-rare form. I delighted in pulling out my camera and shooting some photos. I won't post them all, because I am sure some will be totally Sandy vetoed. And since she is out of town and not here to defend herself, I won't do it. But enjoy these, why doncha?
Sandy makes her move on the new roommate. I would LOVE if they dated. It would be ever so awesome to wake up to Sandy's feet pattering down my hall. I would hear her making french Toast and bacon and then I'd hear a slight "tap-tap-tap" as she brought me breakfast in bed along with the Sunday Sun Times and some Calla Lilies.
Sandy's ultimate birthday present.
Well, hello!
Did you just take a picture of my ass?
It turned out to be a damn fun night. We left Cactus around 11 and went to Durkin's. Got bored, went to the Apartment. Lame as always. I sat on a bed and got hit on by the tallest Asian man outside of Yao Ming. Then we shuffled off to Big City Tap. No one was using the dance floor, so we just stood in the middle of it and willed people to talk to us.
Daddy and H busted a few moves while Nick and I watched in horror.
Some hazy memories later, we decided we were damn hungry so we drove to T-Bell for some late night munchies. Well Daddy did, no one else partook. And now that I think about, Daddy was pretty drunk. Why did we let him drive? He could have killed someone. Some random pedestrian crossing the street in front of Irish Oak, just walking to his car parked in the McDonald's parking lot, a Honda Civic with a "Vote Kerry" bumper sticker and hand cuffs hanging from the rearview, on his way back to Schaumburg to his townhouse on the wrong side of the tracks, eager to get home and go to bed so he can wake-up and download more kiddie porn to his work computer over at CareerBuilder.com.
Nice work, Daddy. Shit! He could have killed me. I was in the "death seat." But at least I wouldn't have to be pretending to work right now.
We didn't make it home until 2am. Barely. They ate their taco fest and I went to my room immediately. I did not pass go. I did not collect $200. So I did not witness any transgressions. The new roommate already got broken in. If you know what I mean. And as Shaggy once rapped "it wasn't me."
HARD. TO. WAKE. UP. FRIDAY. Dragging ass all day. So much so I couldn't go out Friday night. H and Mo concurred. We got a whim of going out around 12am, but as the minutes ticked by, we lost our drive. Actually, Mo and I peeled ourselves off the couch at 10 and took a shower, but when we emerged, H had a steely look of determined laziness, so we got comfy and stayed in with a bottle of wine. It was some much needed girl time.
The next day, H and I steeled our intestinal fortitude and made our way to Ikea. GOING TO IKEA IS A SOUL-SUCKING SEIGE. Yes, it is chock full of Swedish bargains. You can decorate a room quite nicely. You can make your place look like The Real World for bargain basement prices.
But buyer beware:
You will never spend less than 3 hours in Ikea.
You will get lost at least 3 times.
You'll get a hankering for a Swedish buffet, but quickly change your mind when you get a whiff of the Swedish meatloaf.
You'll second guess your choices.
You'll put shit back and then realize you really do want it.
You won't know where the hell to find a cart or an escalator.
You'll get frustrated trying to find what you are looking for on the bottom floor and curse out some guy named Esteban when he no habla ingles and can not tell you where the second part of the dresser you want to purchase is located. Shouldn't it be right next to the first part? Or would that make too much sense?!?!?!?
You will most definitely groan at the length of all 45 check-out lines.
See, you can only go to Ikea once a year if you want to keep your sanity intact. But oh no, H and I have to go back to pick up that other dresser part and maybe to re-decorate the bathroom I will be moving into. So now we will have a boys bathroom (my former small one) and the girls bathroom (complete with plenty of space and a jacuzzi tub, which in a year and a half, I have never used. Time to get some Mr. Bubble!)
Fuck it, let's go to Target. The thought of driving back out to Schaumberg and wasting yet another Saturday makes me want to head butt my monitor HARD.
I am listening to Dane Cook right now. I think I love him.
SO. That night, H and I decided it was time to get cra-zay. She got her nails did and a new top and I just watched her spend her Benjamins in envy. We got all glammed up and headed over to her friend Pat's. He had purchased a 5 foot Nitrious tank. When we entered, I saw a bunch of dorks waving balloons around. I'm sorry, did I stumble back to 1996? Am I at a Pearl Jam concert? Hello?
Nitrious is gay. I passed. Sorry. I can do without the WA WA WAS and losing more brain cells. Pass the vodka.
Ok, confession time. I have been really boring lately, so I hope everyone who knows me in real life no longer reads this. I have been pretty down lately. Feeling kinda empty and sad. For one night, I just wanted to feel something else. I wanted to be happy and care free and devil-may-care. So I went Emily Valentine and took some X. Now I have only done this once before in Vegas. I am so not a druggie. I feel stupid and immature even typing this right now. I mean, who does that?!?! What intelligent, mature person doses? It was stupid. I have no valid excuse other than I wanted to see if it would be as awesome as the first time. And it kind of was. I felt like the QUEEN OF THE WORLD. It was like being drunk, but I remembered everything and was in control of my actions and body. I was amped up to go out. I wanted to dance and dance dance. I wanted hugs. I wanted to spin around with my arms outstreched. So I did. We didn't go out until 2am. Is this normal? Am I crazy? Who goes out at 2am? This isn't Ibiza, Spain. But I followed the leader. We went to Spy Bar. I felt ALIVE...
but I looked EVIL. Thanks to my glassy eyes and the cherry covered lollypop tounge.
I sat at a VIP table and watched everyone dance and I was perfectly content. But as I came down, I realized the contentess and happiness was a hollow victory. I didn't do it for myself. I took a drug that did it for me. And that made me feel pitiful. Pitiful and VERY AWAKE. We closed the place down and came back around 5:30am.
A 50 pound Pit Bull that thinks he is a lap dog. Precious. The guy begind me is 5'1, has the face of a 12 year old but he is balding. He followed me around everywhere I went. I wanted to push him down and run away.
Mo and Forrest
My only moral victory all weekend was getting in cab when I witnessed a few people doing coke. DOING COKE AT 6AM ON A SUNDAY MORNING.
Um, bye. See ya. I'm out.
I could not sleep. All day. See beginning of this entry. So in order to fall asleep, I smoked pot. So here I am. 28. A working professional. Not some frat boy on Spring Break. Rolling and smoking pot in a matter of 24 hours.
Sometimes you have to experience things to know they are not for you. And sometimes people are smart enough to know things are not for them without even trying them.
Enough introspection. Time to laugh!