Friday, February 1, 2008

game-playing and ghost-going yellfest

My intention tonight was to address something serious. I had all the words carefully thought out and pre-written in my personal notebook, so I would be able to convey my feelings exactly. Why? Because this is my blog, because I can write whatever I want here and people can either read it or ignore it (no skin off my back, either way). A blog starts off as a diary- just because it's accessible to the public doesn't mean anyone is reading it. But once you have readers, however many, a blog becomes a newspaper. It reports the "news" that the writer deems worthy of discussion: current events, celebrity gossip, sexual adventures, their kids, their job, the weather, wedding plans, chemotherapy, drug addiction, prayers and Bible verses, ANYTHING! And it's not just reporters who write newspapers now- any schmuck with internet access can do it! Wowzers! Even broke bitches who can't afford their own computers (ya know, like me) can go to the library or community center and use their 'puters for free and spend an hour (or more!) writing YOUR news, knowing that at least a few people will read it. Aren't blogs great? I'm in love. And out of all the blogging sites (warning: shameless free plug ahead), Blogger (this one) is the best hands-fucking-down. Hooray for Blogger! Hooray for all the reporters who use Blogger!

Anyways, I don't have the notebook where I wrote down what I wanted to post tonight. Also, I don't think I can get the words out- hell, I'm not even sure if the paragraph above this one makes a lick of sense. I guess I'm gonna hafta re-read it when I sober up a bit.

I am fucking blitzed.

First, I shot 2 bags of incredibly powerful dope, but I missed the vein and ended up with a big ol' lump. Even with the inadvertent skin-pop, I felt it a little bit- that's how strong this 'ron is. Then I smoked a whole bunch of hash. Then I ate three hydrocodone-10s (loricet). Then I smoked a whole bunch more hash. At this point, I high but still relatively okay. Then I went into the bathroom and shot 2 more bags, this time getting a perfect vein on my foot, which doesn't kick in as quick since the foot is farther from the brain than hands or arms. It took about 20 seconds, then kicked me right in the ass. Booooooooossssssshhhhhh... then as I was thinking about being able to stand up and get out of the bathroom, the loricets kicked in.

"And you... are... outta here!!"

So, maybe I'll write what I wanted to write next time. Usually I don't get this high, but I'm fighting with Greg tonight so I don't really give a damn. He's not around to make me feel like shit for being dopesick or nodding or whatever. He will buy a bag of pot, roll a joint, walk down the street with me sharing the joint, get stoned, get ME stoned, and then 15 minutes later he's pissed off at me for being stoned. I love the man, but jeez. I was working today but not making much money, I couldn't get any dates which was weird cause it's been a really good week and usually Friday nights are good since that's when everybody gets paid. But Greg was convinced that I was running around smoking (and spending money on, and sucking dick for) crack cocaine. Just cause it's the weekends, he practically EXPECTS me to start basin'. Retard! I haven't touched a stem in a long while, and definitely not today, he's just a suspicious asshole. So he told me to "stay with my stupid fuckin' crackhead buddies" and shut off his phone. I made money and attempted several times to call him (I left like 3 messages) but he wasn't gonna turn it back on apparently. Two can play at that game, bitch! I know Greggie well enough to know what he'll do. He will be pissed until about 9 or 10, then he'll turn his phone back on and call me and try to get ME to apologize to HIM. Then he will pick me up and yell for an hour about "stop playing fucking games, Shelley! I've had it with these fucking games! You're just a game-player and I'm sick of games. Michelle- no more fucking games, okay?" Then he will smoke a bowl with me (more on this later!), let me do a shot, and we will go to sleep with him making random threats about ditching me forever next time I "go ghost." Instead I found a place to stay and shut MY phone off. What, is it only okay when he does it? That's just gay. I'll call him in the morning with money and dope left (I have 4 at the present moment, technically I am allowed 1 more tonight and 1 for a wake-up and I'll still have the right number left over) and all will be forgiven, after the game-playing and ghost-going yellfest. Whatever, I've been through worse. I'd rather fight with my Greggie than not be with him at all. Was that the most codependent statement ever written? I bet there's worse.

Well, I'm gonna go smoke a joint. If I'm gonna get blitzed out me mind, I might as well stay blitzed out me mind. Oh, and I was gonna say about the bowl. Greggie's birthday was last week, and he's a big pothead, and he broke the mini-bong that the two of us had been using for the past few months so we were restricted to joints (he doesn't like cigars). So I went into the Muslim-run kwik-stop-type store that I refer to as "my store" (because I am friends with all the employees, I have credit there, I get discounts, I can hang out in front all day and the police won't bother me, etc) and looked at their display of glass and pyrex pipes/stems/bowls/bongs. Finally I seen the perfect one for my man. It was an elephant with swirly red and yellow and orange and his truck curled upwards. You put the pot into the bowl in the middle of the elephant's back, you put your mouth on the curved-up trunk, and the carb-hole is right above the tail (butt-hole instead of carb-hole). It even has eyes and white tusks. I handed it to Greg and he opens the bag and goes "cool" at first, like he didn't really like it. Was probably thinking, "why would my girl get me a glass miniature elephant? why not just a bag of pot or a blowjob or a new bong or something?" Then he smiles, a real smile I could tell, and asks, "is this a pipe? wow!" Then you could tell he loved it once he figured out he could smoke pot out of it. He even named the elephant Pot-Dumbo, P-D for short, pronounced Petey. We both agreed that Petey is way better than the last bong, the one he broke when it fell out of the camper about a month ago. Crash! Oops! But it all worked out, because if he never broke that bong, we never would have been pipe-less and I never would have bought Petey. Greggie said I'm the only person who bought him a birthday present, including his mom and his ex-wife. Poor Greggie. >_< It makes me super happy that he liked that elephant bong- the whole reason I bought it was to see him smile when he seen it. Hooray for cheesiness!

Here's a joke:
A famous modern artist was asked by a gallery to paint his interpretation of Custer's Last Stand. He agrees, and a month later all the art muckety-mucks of the community gathered for the unveiling of the painting. The artist pulls the cloth off the canvas to expose his masterpiece: a fat brown cow with a halo over it's head in the foreground, and hundreds of Indians having sex in the backround. No one knew what to say, until finally one man spoke up.
"Excuse me, but could you please explain the imagery for those of us naive about modern art?"
"Of course!" said the artist. "My work represents the first thought that I believe went through General Custer's head when he climbed the hill into Little Bighorn: "Holy cow, look at all those fucking Indians!" "


7 comments:

dharmabum said...

joke is good, missed vein sucks, pipe good, going ghost-drives OCD people mad, hit vein..extra good--lorcets- ya ya,

good day in all-right

shaun

ian said...

looks like all the flamers left you alone. thats cool. now i can enjoy your posts without the retarded comments.

flamer with a brain said...

[Hoho, not so fast there Ian, master speller and all-around moron. Beat up any free-speech-users lately?]
Just wanted to say that this is the saddest post I've seen here. Shelley, if giving that little bong to the guy you hated a month ago felt so good, why not use that brain of yours and follow the thought-trail? As in, if being nice to one person feels good, why not take the next logical step and be nice to everyone all the time, including yourself?
The fact that you couldn't get any "dates" might alert you to your declining attractiveness. What to do when no one will buy your sexual favors anymore?
Might want to think about that for a bit.
Maybe get a place of your own and live as you see fit instead of in a van down by the river? (You realize you are basically Matt Foley now, right?)
Maybe quit the drugs and get a job helping kids or someone else who needs your kindness more than a guy whose mom won't even get him a b'day present?
As for those writing juvenile insults against the "shit-talkers" here, some of whom clearly care more for this girl than you do, read her comment about enjoying the attention. Just like some have said repeatedly. You think she'd publish this shit if she didn't crave attention all the time?
She's got you hook line and sinker.
Ain't it funny how a "flamer" like me can write and think rings around the great protectors of decency here?
"thats cool"
Have you ever even read a book?
They're free at the library, help you learn how to use the language, teach you how to think and live a fun life without paying a fortune every day for drugs that merely postpone the truths you're running from, and so much more.
Anyhow, you go back to Jerry Springer and have some fun.
"thats cool"
Damn, now you can't enjoy her posts due to this "retarded comment".
How you gonna feel when Shelley od's and you realize that you've been cheering on her suicide here?
"thats cool"
At least you were entertained, right?
Betcha can't wait for the next tale of shooting up in a public bathroom. Maybe this time she'll catch the uncut bag and you'll really have some fun reading her obit!
I'm all for smoking pot but the rest is pure nowheresville. If it kills your body it ain't good. I've been there and I know.
Good luck, Shelley. You proof pretty well if you really are that high when you write these posts. Haven't been here in a month and there's only a few new, short paragraphs. Seems the drugs are taking their toll. Why not get off the treadmill before death or prison forces you to? That's where the merry-go-round ends, believe it. You kick or you're forced to kick.
Try the self-determined route; trust someone who's been there, it's a lot easier...

Anonymous said...

--FOR "FLAMER WITH A BRAIN"--


If you're so intelligent, and so well qualified to give "life" advice, then why not back up your opinions with a little personal background from your OWN life?

Since you don't mind typing out such a long post, I'm sure you won't mind detailing
your "experience" with drugs?

You claim in your writing that "you've been there"..OK. Then what were you using and for how long? What attempts did you use to get and stay clean? How has drugs impacted your life and career? (I'm assuming since you're such a smart person, that you must have one)

I'm being serious here, why exactly do you care so much? Is someone that you care for addicted to drugs?

I'm not calling you out, or "shit talking". I just think if you are going to be so vocal about your views, and make the many statements that you did (such as being a better person), then you should include statements of a more personal nature about your own life, otherwise you are doing nothing more than giving a baseless and empty point of view.

Who knows, maybe you'll even help someone.

Anonymous said...

i know you are but what am i?

Anonymous said...

otherwise you are doing nothing more than giving a baseless and empty point of view.

So where is the info about your life? And I wouldn't call it a "point of view" to state that Shelly is a loser. I don't know what other opinion you could have of a lying junkie prostituting attention whore.

fatal-rage said...

blah.
you dont know me. in fact i live in canada. but Ive been reading your journal from time to time. what is it that makes reading other ppl's junkie journals so interesting? I guess its the same reason why we write about our experiances.
because we just fucking like it.
-Nicole