I already wrote about police doggos and if they could smell pills or not, but I recently found a note in my phone from Oct 4th, written in a Xanax haze after boarding an Amtrak train that goes:
“Did I make this up or did the police dog make a whimper noise when I walked by him to get on the train and the guy checking tickets said ‘wait’ before I went down the escalator and looked at something to the left and said ‘Ok now you can go’ like did the beeper say ‘Drugs not bombs’ or something?”
… First, “Drugs not bombs” would be a pretty good campaign slogan in the future for Bernie Sanders’ great-grandson but I’m pretty sure that was my mind’s way of ripping off that saying: “Drop acid not bombs” and that doesn’t really apply here.
Second, I DO remember hearing the police dog make a noise, and the guy who had already checked my ticket definitely looked at something for confirmation to let me go – and may have also looked at the cop holding the doggo but I don’t know because I was too scared to make eye contact…
Mostly I’m wondering if every time that the cops have made the decision NOT to stop me after a K9 agent rudely announced my smell (of weed or my pills/powder du jour) — this was because I smelled like drugs and not Anthrax? Whatever it is, I’m not complaining, I’m just hoping that the drug dogs we are all so afraid of (and I see everywhere) are usually just bomb dogs.
They were all over Penn Station, but I’d much rather see a German Shepard than this:
Which is just unnecessary. And, although being arrested next to a dog that might be ordered to attack you would be scary, by far THE funniest way to get arrested would be by horse cop, which led to me finding this beautiful image:
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.
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.
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,
Sitting here in a Xanax haze, I’m randomly thinking of my most ‘extreme’ flirtations with heroin – because I’ve done it enough times that I have to categorize my junkie moments by “extreme” (see: having it shot into my fucking VEIN) and “not so extreme” (snorting little lines in my bed and drifting away dreamily like Dorothy in the poppies).
And I realize that, even though I don’t get hungry on dope, and would puke up anything I did eat – a lot of these heroin memories bizarrely involve food and/or restaurants. The time that EMO-REDNECK shot me up when I was 18 and somehow crazier than I am now, I tried to put something in my stomach to avoid the unavoidable nausea, and ate a few pretzels. Then hours later, as I still felt the heroin high melt through my body, I met his sister for dinner at Red Robin…. and felt, well, AMAZING. (I have never since experienced such a delicious burger, but no- Californians, I have never been to “In N Out”)
And the LAST time I did heroin – this past April or May (I honestly can’t remember) – I threw up five times, one of which was at my work desk in front of the Jimmy Johns delivery lady and my coworker (who both sweetly pretended not to notice). I grabbed the trash bag of my vomit and ran out of there like Usain Bolt, deposited it into the bathroom trash and then purged whatever heroin* toxins were still left in my body.
*OR Fentanyl , since the shit I had smoked off tin foil that morning was a bad fucking batch… and everything is a ‘bad batch’ these days… Remember- HEROIN CHIC IS NOW FENTANYL FINE
Starting off this blog calling out my fellow millennials for being too barred out !!! Y’all are popping like 10 xans at a time and gonna be blaming your future life failures on Bernie not getting the nomination instead of a crazy tolerance to benzos that leaves you falling asleep on mom’s couch until you’re 35 and/or dead in the tub as you Instagram your Lush bath bomb and accidentally sink to the bottom just like the damn soap
Like really. MY XANAX DEALER HAS A WAITING LIST and I just fucking need them for comedowns after I’ve been (kinda) productive !!