Category Archives: Drugs

Ixnay the Equilatay, Eh? Second thought, pass the mickey.

Oh, god. I was so wrong about how my night would unfold. I think I’m still drunk.

It was 4:20 pm when I decided to just randomly text GayBoy. Our exchange went like this:

“We should get drunk this weekend.”
“Should we? What do you suggest?”
“I hear alcohol works.”
“People do say that. What type?”
“I’m cooking fish later, you want some? So, big btl wine?”
“I got cider and tequila at home?
“That sounds like trouble. So, you want fish then? If so, bring a baguette.”

So, he brought the baguette, a bocce ball set, a mickey of good tequila, and a six-pack of cider.

“I can’t drink tequila straight!” I argued. “We need to mix it with something.” He dismissed this as the whining of an ignorant child, but provided orange juice in case I really “want(ed) to be a sissy”.

Unbeknownst to me, it turns out that not only can I do the salt-lick/shot/suck-on-lime tequila drinking straight, but I can do it very… very… very well. Like, none of his hissing and teeth-grinding after sucking back a shot. More like, “Oh, that hit the spot. Another?” Continue reading

The Requisite Quarterly Drunken Posting (Hicc)

So, I’m drunk. It’s been forever and a day since I’ve drank and blogged, so you’re owed, dear reader, you’re owed.

Of course, there’s about 60% chance that this posting will suck, but I’ve given you the “I’m drunk” caveat and I’m good if you are. :) Mm, wine!

It’s a cheap and dirty Californian Burgundy. I know, “They have Burgundies in California? It’s a region, you know… Burgundy? Like, in France? Hence the name? Like, French?”

I know, I know. I know. Hey, it’s $6.99. It’s probably one of those proverbial 99-cent bottles of wine from the great Sunshine State. Whatever. It’s all right. I find, sometimes, that life’s just so much simpler if you opt to lower your standards a notch or two, and open your mind. There’s only something wrong if you choose to notice it, right?

So, I says: Fabulous. Tasty, that. I had one of the lofty government liquor store employees recommend me something tasty and light that would work with sauteed salmon. I say it works with getting drunk, that’s what I say.

I decided a second ago that I needed candles and some music, so I’ve opted for Elton John Live in Australia, and lit four candles. And I had a moment… just then. On my quest, I flicked on the light and caught my gaze in a mirror. And this toned, getting tanned face was looking back at me. My face has been lost in an overgrown bad haircut for more than a month… and I’ve lost about 15 pounds in that time. Tonight, wow. It shows. I hadn’t seen that yet, and I cycled 30km today. And to catch myself off-guard, you know?

Maybe you don’t. When you’re in a process of change like I think I’ve been in, just hitting it hard, and working to lose the weight — not relying on a diet plan or something like that to get you through, but sweating hard for six, eight, ten hours a week on top of full-time work, doing the whole “I cook and clean for myself” thing, and maintaining a life, a blog, all that, you get absorbed in life, you know? Months go by when you’re conscious you’re changing a bit, but all it takes is something completely new to enter the picture and you suddenly realize how much change there’s really been from then to now. A haircut shows new face angles you’ve not noticed, or a new outfit betrays new hot curves. Doesn’t take much. But it can blow a mind, baby.

So I’ve had my moment. Sure, I’m drunk, but I hope I remember it. Heh. Or else I get a two-fer and I have the same epiphany when I wake up and get sober. “Holy shit! I’ve lost weight!” Awesome. A two-fer! On a Saturday morning on a four-day long weekend? Fuckin’ a, I’ll take a two-fer. :)

Ahh, well. Here’s a promise I make you, readers. I’m stewing on a few heavy, heavy postings. To come in the coming weeks are possibly an entire series devoted to Teen Sex in America Today… or at least my take on it. That will segue into a story or two on the state of AIDS in the world today. I may tackle a sociological story on the demise of the tradition of abdication of femininity of Albanian women who wish to become the clan leaders for their family, a really interesting change in society that’s brought entirely about by media and the new chicks in the spotlight worldwide, an interesting story I’d like to weigh in on.

And, fuck, I can’t forget the long-awaited rise of gay marriage in California, now, can I? More importantly, but less covered, is New York’s decision to start legalizing the recognition of gay marriages performed in states where it is legal. Performing one isn’t legal yet in NY, I don’t think, but they’re opting to legally recognize ones performed elsewhere, so that’s fucking huge, man.

It’s been a really important month in sex and politics, but I’ve sort of needed to take some mental time off.

Tonight, drunk though I be, I feel really, really keen to start tackling some of the harder stuff.

The sex with teenagers thing in America, man, that’s just so depressing, and so very, very scary, and why the mainstream media isn’t covering it more when there’s four months before an election just baffles the fuck out of me. And I’ve been holding back, because when I let go on it, it’s going to be in several back-to-back postings. It’s important. When one in four girls who are 14-16 has an STD under an administration that has pushed abstinence-only education, something NEEDS to be said. 25% of mid-teens are carrying an STD, and it’s not a major issue?

HELLO? Scientists in Antarctica are given condoms on the government dime when sex with coworkers is considered sexual harassment, but kids aren’t taught about condoms in school? Like, what the fuck? Sure, the Wii is fun, but I’d much rather be playing with the cutie from Biology, you know what I’m saying? Can’t get drugs, can’t buy booze, but the bodies are there in the offing? “Duh.”

So, all right, I’ll be tackling that very, very soon. Fuck it, this weekend, even. It’s time, man.

I digress: Before my decision to drink a bottle of red wine (I have a glass in front of me still), I had cycled around much of the fabulous city of Vancouver this evening. About 30k. Gorgeous. It’s the night before a heatwave. In fact, it’s nigh on midnight and all my windows and doors have been open since eight, and it’s hotter now than when I came home. Still, I love me a heatwave and have a notion to do a long, long ride when the bitter hot-hot-hot kicks in tomorrow afternoon, after I scoot around town for the fine fixings for a great weekend from an assortment of farmers’ markets. I can’t afford big things, but I can afford locally-grown organic lettuce and farm-fresh potatoes, and isn’t that something fantastic right there?

I get to babysit a friend’s cat tomorrow night, which is really to say I get to babysit his Wii. My centre of balance is apparently dead centre, says Wii. I rock. Methinks I’m getting drunk again. I mean, if I’m dead centre anyhow, right? I’ll just make sure I move that glass coffee table to a galaxy far, far away…

Fuck, now I want to watch Star Wars and visit galaxies far, far away. Sigh. Great cheap red. I think it’s a hallucinogenic. God knows we loves our hallucinogenics.

My drunk ass needs to be elsewhere. But I feel fantastic! It’s going to be a fun few days. Ahh, cheap red wine, how doth my cheap ass love thee. Expensive red wine I also love, and can appreciate, but I just know how to slum when it’s necessary.

And, believe me… everyone needs to slum it some of the time. It makes the rest of the time feel spectacular. Still, for $6… I bet I feel richer than you right now. It’s good to be me. You have yourselves a fabulous weekend. I might be getting lost in the world a little. Shouldn’t we all?

The Existential Fall-out of just a Little Date

Three or four weeks ago, I had a date I’d been both excited about and worried about. He seemed like a really great, sweet guy with a big brain and a love for life, but I also knew he was overweight, and, personality wise, virtually a carbon copy of an ex I quite liked a couple years back.

The date disappointed me a whole lot of ways, mostly because I wasn’t really myself there and came off a little, I don’t know, bitter and whiney. It was a bad weekend for me, ‘cos it’s when my hand had blown out a little and I couldn’t even hold a fork. Going on a date was the least of my worries, and probably wasn’t wise, but I guess I exuded my stress, and I really hate it when I do that.

I suspect he probably read the stress wrong, and that’s too bad, because it didn’t have much to do with him. Had the date gone well, though, I’m almost certain I would have taken a pass on anything further with him. One, his similarities to my ex included the faults too, and, two, because he was morbidly obese. While I’m still obese, I’m fighting the good fight.

I’ve lost 37 pounds, but have about 50 to go, if I’m being honest. I cannot, I will not, get involved with anyone who does not exercise and who eats and drinks to excess. I would fall into old habits and then the self-loathing would return and I’d be back in the same vicious circle that got me in this jam.

Somewhere on that date, the thought of not wanting to fall into vicious cycles occurred to me, and I began to feel pretty badly about thinking that way about this fellow.

When you’re the person who’s been, you suspect, “decided against” on the basis of your fitness and eating, and you know what it’s like to think, “But you don’t even know me, I’m a fantastic person…” and then the table turns and you’re the person doing the deciding against…

It’s a pretty nasty head trip. I felt like such a hypocrite. Such a nice man. But I’ve fought so hard to lose my weight. I still lose battles against things like chocolate and butter and other delectable things I just love, love, love, and I know my weakness. Because I’m weak, I need someone that’s strong and living the healthy life, too. It sucks to think I’ll have to make the same kinds of judgements that once would hurt me.

But there comes a point on the journey of self, when you’re closer to a newer, better you, a better life, a better outlook, when you have to reevaluate those who are in your life and those who you choose to partner with, because your needs have changed as a person and you’ll need people who can better accommodate those. There’s no sense going into brave new worlds as a person just to find yourself the same old kind of people who enabled you to be that person who’s now in your distant past.

It’s one of the reasons I’m not too keen to get involved with men right now. I know I’m not feeling like myself–too tired, too stressed, too overworked–and the vibes I put out are wrong. I know things will sort out in the next few weeks as my money settles down, work picks up, and I get a handle on my energy levels. Besides, the kind of man I attract will change exponentially in the coming weeks and months.

I know that sounds really arrogant to say, but I don’t think it is. I know I have a lot to offer a man, hell, you know it too. I’ve always been told by the men I’ve been involved with that I’m an awesome girlfriend. Generous, doting, sexual, great cook, funny as hell, all those things. Right now, I don’t exude that. It’s the biggest surprise ever when a guy finds out how much I have to give, because I come across more guarded in life. Less so now, and that’ll continuing to lessen as weeks and months continue to pass.

When life gets hard for me, I do what I call “turtling”. I develop the hard shell, proceed slowly in realms of trust, and become very much an entity of and for myself. It really doesn’t make for being Little Miss Girlfriend. That’s a fault of mine I’ll be fighting to change until the day I die. I do not like my defensiveness and my urge to protect myself and not reach out in hard times. It was bred into me, though, and you know how hard it is to change some of our familial legacies.

So life is still hard for me, very. I may be constantly improving myself and making positive changes, but I still feel like life is as hard as it’s ever been, so my defensive modes are still in place, something I never realized until I had that date a couple weeks back.

Now it’s yet another thing I need to start working to consciously improve. Welcome to life, hey?

I still haven’t figured out that date yet. There was just such a strange swirl of headtrippings for me, everything from old hand issues and the emotional baggage that came with, to a very sudden realization at the end of a two block walk that left my companion huffing and puffing, and flashbacks of me having been a huff-puff girl, but knowing I’m so not her anymore, and never want to be again.

I have another date next week, but you know how things change. I’m amused that it’s with someone who doesn’t even live in town, and being the psychoanalytical type I am, I’m thinking “Gee, Steff, what’s this? You’re consciously going after someone you wouldn’t have to see often? Tired of having to actually work in relationships, are you?”

I mean, there’s a whole other way to look at distance relationships, and I’m so fervently opposed to them on principle, that my willingness to try a date out with this fellow just leaves me thinking “What the hell are you thinking?”

But, really, I know: Getting laid intermittently while keeping my me-time. Really. It’s a cop-out and I know it, but I also love it.

Of course, if the date should flop and I’m left to myself and masturbation, that will keep life simple and manageable, too. But if it works out, then who knows. All I know, is, it’s just a date, that’s all.

(This is why we say we’re “keeping things simple” when we don’t date, eh? Geez! ;)

A Detour: Acquisitions

Normally, I tend to write about sex on this blog. At the beginning, though, I had said it would be frequently about sex, but occasionally I might write about something else that was possibly inappropriate for my other blog.

So. This is one of those times. Certain people read my other blog.

Some of us are fortunate enough to have steady, reliable drug dealers. Now, me, I only do dope. I’m mostly well-behaved. Recently, though, I had a stoner concert to attend and thought I should acquire some… inspiration. I found out then that my formerly regular dealer is, get this, on “hiatus.”

“They give you those, do they?” I asked.

“When you ask ’em nicely, yes,” he said.

Deciding that This Concert was worth the effort, I figured, “What the fuck? Let’s see what I can do.”

So, without ado, I decided to negotiate an acquisition on the streets. I headed to Vancouver’s primo chemo district to get me some cheebah. Now, keep in mind, I’ve done this once in my life. I’ve somehow always had connections — a variety thereof. Buying on the street has never been required.

How does one tactfully approach someone and, essentially, ask, “Say, are you a dealer?” Why not just tack onto that, “And hey, I have a family of four that needs killing. You up?”

But this is how you do it. Find a way to observe the street for a few minutes. Walk up it, then down it. Make note of who’s stationary, and better yet, leaning on a wall. Find a way to keep an eye on the scene for a few. Who stays put? Who crosses a sidewalk to talk to someone, then crosses back? Do they use hand gestures? Do they keep looking around, twitching?

Dealers.

Now you walk back towards him/them, and making eye contact, you raise your eyebrows.

That’s it. You’ve done it. Easy as pie. Now: “Holdin’?” “Whatchoo need?” “Weed.” “Yup. How much?” “20.”

Next thing you know, you’re holding two dime bags. Go home. Get happy.