Here’s a basic overview of my night:
() Pulled a Dennis Reynolds and definitely bought a bunch of crack
() Smoked it off tin foil, carefully making little foil nests for the runaway rocks like a mama bird protecting its young
() Became fascinated by the yellow liquid that sizzles and turns into smoke like an egg yolk frying in a pan –> THIS IS YOUR BRAIN ON DRUGS
() Found a planet in the foil residue like a goddamn space explorer
() Stopped smoking for a minute to tweet at Neil Degrasse Tyson about my discovery
() Finished up the bags and talked to my best friend about how crazy buying shit during the ‘crack epidemic’ would’ve been, via PAGERS and PHONE BOOTHS, when now you text from a phone that remembers your fucking finger print. (BTW if you ask Siri for coke she just looks up the nearest rehab for you instead… Robot bitch)
() Ate half a Xanax bar for my drug dessert / comedown
() Decided to post on this stupid blog as time, and my heartbeat, are starting to slow down
I told my best friend that I would give my Vyvanse prescription a rating and do a post on it, so this is for you, _____. (For your anonymity, you are “blank” — just like our minds after no sleep + too many stimulants — cuz I’m SUCH. A. GOOD. FRIEND.)
Anyway, I had a great week after getting diagnosed with ADD and handed a Vyvanse prescription, which I like to think of as “Adderall Lite” or the new Vyvanswer to all of my motivational problems. It’s not as strong as Adderall, so it gets a 4 out of 5 pill rating from me, but if you take enough of the drug you start to feel vyvacious and vyolently productive, like your magic pill is growing a giant beanstalk of motivation that you can eagerly climb for miles. And as you go higher you suddenly remember that it will be very challenging to keep up with yourself on this climb without another magic pill. So you Vyvanse like nobody’s watching and keep going, up and up… until it’s time to slide into the comedown where you are pricked by the beanstalk’s thorns, unless you remembered to be armed with your battle Xanax.
I think of Vyvanse as Adderall’s love interest who is totally ignored in the movie until she takes off her glasses (bottle cap) and kisses you (dissolves in your system). Then she (it) kind of takes your breath away — (literally, if you eat the whole bottle) – and everyone looks at her (Vyvanse) with a newfound respect, like ‘Where was she this whole time?”
High Vyv on this med, Big pharma. I see a lot of potential in her.
First of all let me just say that it’s still shocking how Brittany Murphy died from pneumonia or, like, a moldy house??? and not an overdose. She was a true original that way – playing a pillhead like Daisy so convincingly and then dying young HERSELF… but not in the way that everyone would assume. She made ASSes of U and ME in death, and that is original af.
Anyway, this pillhead of the week post is dedicated to her (RIP) and Daisy in “Girl Interrupted”– who just wants the fucking Valium, asshole.
Daisy is creative in where she stores things – her pills, her poop, whatever – and hides pills in her teddy bear like the adult child that she is. (That we all are.)
Earlier this evening I was enjoying a nice walk that SHOULD HAVE been relaxing : it was right by the water and my Xanax was just starting to kick in, when I sat down on a bench to collect myself for a few minutes. All of a sudden a police cruiser pulls over, parallel to the bench I’m on, and this pig is just sitting there like he’s stuck in the mud, watching. So I let a few more songs play in my headphones as slight paranoia began to set in, and then thought – WTF am I worrying for since I left my dank ass stank ass weed in the car?
I then remember the half bottle of prescription drugs in my purse for which I have no prescription, and I start to wonder: are drug dogs being trained to smell Xanax and such now?
I searched this concept: Reddit had some thoughts, and a lot of google searches pulled up message boards basically saying that while drug dogs (aka the only non-hateable cops) CAN be trained to sniff out your pretty little pills – they probably don’t. Or at least only do because the cop motions them to bark if you seem sketchy / non-white. What a shitty world we live in. (… Partly why Xanax is so fucking necessary).
Once I started walking away, the cop car moved, too, so I hope his dogs at least get a treat for alerting him to such a criminal as myself. It’s not their fault their owners are dicks.
I blew some uppers earlier so my sense of self-importance blew up, too, which is why I’m starting this post by quoting my own tweet:
I was high when I wrote that (I mean…fucking obviously) but the thought has some merit if you think about cocaine enough (as I definitely do)…
The number 8 is considered lucky (which EVERY coke user is — to be able to afford that shit) and an 8 BALL – either the toy or the drug – is magic.
And I don’t like playing pool but guess what? I bet I would like that shit on cocaine!!
Winona Ryder is the true representation of a glam movie star in this day and age: the quaalude / barbiturate addiction she would’ve had if she had actually lived in the “Girl, Interrupted” 1960s is, in 2017- Xanax / and whatever designer benzos that spray-tanned Hollywood docs are placing in Wino’s shaky, pale hands so she can sedate herself enough for one or two interviews a year plugging her show. (“Stranger Things”, if you’ve been living under a rock).
Things HAVE been stranger for Ms. Ryder in the past, like her iconic arrest where she was caught with stolen clothes and pills on pills on pills. But the druggie part of that incident has been forgotten about since they were all legally prescribed, and no one seems to mind that she does her, like, two yearly interviews seemingly strung out like a pull-apart chunk of Xanax string cheese. Benzodiazecheese.
Courtney Love claims Winona ‘ruined’ her sobriety by offering her benzos at a Hollywood party, and I believe Courtney. Not that she was ever seriously trying sobriety, of course, but that Wino WOULD stockpile chill pills to hand out to her Hollywood hos, even after run-ins with the law. Because she’s a bad bitch and rules (including that one has to age) do not seem to apply to Ms. Winona Ryder.
SO SAY FUCKING ‘THANK YOU’ NEXT TIME, COURTNEY,
There is no one who enjoyed themselves more white in the 1980s than Mr. James Brown (RIP).
And even though he was a wife-beater and probably pretty despicable person IRL, in my favorite interview of all time , James celebrates all the fun of cocaine: being so spacey that you can’t listen / answer questions, not understanding the concept of an ‘inside voice’, and singing obnoxiously like there’s no tomorrow. Which for a lot of people there isn’t. So why not forget the horrors of life and blow some coke?