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 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!!
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?
I came across this Elton John quote in a Vanity Fair article about John Galliano (after Galliano said a bunch of awful slurs while drunk and pilled out.. or something) that made me think ELTON JOHN deserved his own Cokehead Moment of Remembrance.
The writer says, “I was talking to Elton John, who has been sober for 23 years, about Galliano, and he said, “I still hear stories from the people who had to put up with me when I was an addict. I’d been up for days on a bender in a London hotel during the worst of my days. I was trying to get some sleep, but couldn’t because it was so windy outside. I phoned my office and told them to call the meteorological office to demand they turn the wind down now! And I was serious.”
This just proves that too much coke AND too much Elton John can make you crazy. I don’t want to even think about getting zooted and having Rocket Man come on since that song unfortunately makes me think of dogs ‘red rockets’ for some reason and also it’s really fucking annoying.
Though I did like when Elton told Lily Allen “I could snort you under the table” so I wish he wasn’t such a stuffy old bitch when it comes to drugs — I’m guessing he kicks out openly drugged up guests at his infamous parties but maybe that’s not true???
I am trying to distract from an impending amphetamine come-down by googling pictures of Stevie Nicks’ nostrils: the two most career-defining features on a lady since Dolly Parton’s Grand Tetons.
Stevie may have always had ‘wide receivers’ (according to my photographic research), but her famous coke addiction can best be chronicled by the ever-widening nostrils, that, if not clogged by mountains of Colombian currency, could have been used to sniff out any and all victims of a potential “Landslide.”
Unfortunately for Stevie, though, she chose to ingest her coca the ‘natural’ way (i.e. – refusing to switch to Fleetwood CRACK) and decades of abuse burned a hole in those legendary caverns that only surgery could repair.
You might think that’s sad, but fuck you: I think it’s kind of cool. Her face has its own roadmap of wear-and-tear from going BUCK(ingham) WILD in the 1970s, when she earned her reputation as the Bad Bitch With The Best Blow.
She fearlessly kept jars around her neck, baggies in her shoe, and the rest in her nasal storage lockers, but if there’s one thing to mimic from Stevie Nicks’ adventures in the snow, it is her philosophy that one needs to simply drink more when they get too coked up, or snort more when they get too drunk.
I’m also down to continue the nose-gap trend, because I’d rather my face have black holes than blackheads, and that way no one can ever pressure you into getting a septum ring.
I used to do uppers a lot at my last job – not even because I was tired but because I was really, really bored. I would sit in the office and (usually) wait for people to leave before hoovering lines of coke at my desk, but once or twice did it in front of my co-worker because I knew he wasn’t a snitch. I also offered him a line, though, so it wasn’t rude, and even though he said no and that he “took work seriously” (…you’re a maintenance man, but whatever) it never occurred to me that the REAL reason I was nervous at work was not because of his or anyone’s opinion, but because being on coke didn’t/doesn’t make me want to talk to people.
Eventually I realized that playing in the snow puts me into my own head too much – like being stuck inside a snow globe that never stops shaking – and it’s really hard to talk to people when they want you to do fill out paperwork while you’re orbiting Mars.
The point is that whenever I would take Adderall to achieve a similar high, I was chatty like a lonely housewife telling a telemarketer all about that night’s lasagna, and I never dreaded answering the phone, seeing people walk into the office- or, you know, working.
This whole ramble of a post is mostly just for me to remember that a little coke sometimes is fun but relying on a bag of white nose clams is NOT going to make me productive or social. In conclusion: Adderall is magic.