Wednesday, February 20, 2008

plastic, a Honda motorcycle, and the a-bomb


Okay, for those people who I've been talking to about this (and you know who you are) here is my master 2am debating skills at work. I've been trying to argue this point forever, but I write better than I talk (even though inspiration struck at 2am which is when this was written) so here:

"Natural" products VS "man-made" products
The words "natural" and "man-made" have been made into opposites by the tree-huggers when they aren't. Anything man-made is inherently natural, which is defined as "of or from nature." That includes plants, animals, dirt, stars, fire, people, and anything that the plants/animals/people produce. Man (by "man" I'm including women ok?) is 'of or from nature', whether you believe that we were created by God or planted by space aliens or evolved from muddy primordial ooze. And with all our technology, we still can't create matter- that is to say, we can't make something out of nothing. Every synthetic compound and polymer and chemical was created from ingredients found in the earth. Where the hell else would we get stuff, besides the world around us? You may look at 2 brands of soap, Aveda and Lever 2000. Now, Aveda is described as "all natural" because it is made strictly out of "all natural ingredients" while the Lever 2000 is "not natural" because it contains "synthetic ingredients" not found in nature. But all the chemicals in Lever 2000 are nothing but elements, atoms, and other items from the earth arranged by man in a specific way to create something useful. It's synthetic, while inherently natural. And... what about the Aveda, the all-natural products? What exactly is it? It's a bunch of natural products... arranged by man... in a specific way... to create something useful. And it's all natural. Just like plastic, a Honda motorcycle, and the a-bomb. Some stuff may be synthetic, but everything in creation (and that includes our creations) is natural and therefore the word means nothing.

To all the people who have been contacting me through the internet so I can get them heroin- I'm not doing it. I'm scared, it could be a police conspiracy or you might be fucking FBI. I don't know. I just know I'm not buying dope for any more strangers who contact me through here or other places I hang out online. There's one person I will help out... but that person knows who they are.

$$ REPLIES $$

$ anon 1 $- yeah, everybody's got a different opinion about that.

$ heatherrreloise $- thanks for the support, but I doubt I can really stay clean. It's worth a shot though, no?

$ cindyb1 $- do you have any idea how much that fucking costs? I have no money and no health insurance- hell, I can't afford free detox, much less the level of medical care you're talking about here. Wow. Why don't I just get my blood changed like Keith Richards used to do before he went on tour? Seemed to work for him.

$ boston joe $- waiting for your call!

$ libby $- no, not that I'd want to even if I could.

$ anon 2 $- methadone will just drag this out

$ anon 3 $- HELLOOOOOOO, who the fuck are you again?

$ anon 4 $- I have the right to do whatever the hell I want.

$ anon 5 $- ummm..... not very creative. I prefer shit-talkers with at least 3 working brain cells.

$ anon 6 $- yeah, everyone has their own opinion on this.

$ jerome $- yeah, everyone has their own opinion on this subject too. Free speech kicks ass, does it not?

Sunday, February 17, 2008

"if they're dead, I can get the rest of their shit"

That's too much shit to reply to, but yeah. Appreciate all the love and hate and support and criticism and accusations and whatnot. Hooray for popularity/infamy! What I will say is that Greg ("the pimp" to use flamerese) is doing some sort of job in another town in Florida and will be back tomorrow. There really isn't much construction work right now in SoFla, because there's so much shit already built that no one will buy or even rent. Everyone is trying to get the fuck out of here cause living here costs a damn fortune, even in the hood. So no, my man didn't run out on me. He's contributing to the cause of Shelley and Greggie not being broke anymore. Hooray for "the pimp"! Also, I really am pregnant, don't much care whether you believe it or not, and am desperately trying to quit partying. I'm just stuck like chuck.

So I made it a whole 5 days with no heroin! Lil bit of booze, lil bit of pills (weak ones, just to take the edge off cause w/d is bad for pregnant bitches), tons and tons of weed- but no dope or coke or crack [the "majors"]. I was truly proud of myself. Then I fucked it up. The problem with me is, it's all or nothing. I'll stay clean for a minute, but when I "relapse" (I wasn't exactly in a program, so I dunno if it's a relapse) I don't just do 1 or 2 bags. I did 13
bags (1 buy and 2 "gifts") and woke up the next morning still high- for a little bit. Then I started slipping into hell. I was S I C K. Wanted to die, but I would never actually kill myself. Talk about it sometimes when I'm hurting real bad, but I'm too scared to do it. I don't want to go to hell.

I stayed clean (with the help of loricets and valium) the whole fucking day, and Thursday too. Friday I bought 3 bags and did 'em up real quick, resisting the urge to buy more more more. Right when I got it, I was shaking and dry heaving so I hauled ass to one of the "spots" around the city, more specifically the one by [you didn't think I was stupid enough to post the exact locations of the local shooting galleries, did you?] and I knocked first, but no one answered (it's not a person's house or anything) so I went in and I see this couple, Tony and Olivia, that I have known for a long time (I guess you could call 'em friends, it's more like we look out for each other on the street what with exchanging connections, giving each other free bags/hits, ya know, street friends). In fact, Olivia is one of the only 3 Dixie hoes I can stand to be in the same room with. But anyway they are both big-time junkies, way the fuck worse than me. WAY THE FUCK WORSE.

I open the door of the "spot" and both Tony and Olivia are flopped on the ground in weird angles, passed the fuck out, needles sticking out their arms. I thought they were both dead, I about had a fucking heart attack. And you know the first thought that went through my mind? "If they're dead, I can get the rest of their shit- it's obviously fire." I am a sick, sick, person, no? I got rid of that thought as quickly as it came and went over to see if they were ok. Both were breathing, both had pulses, so I shook 'em awake.

me: yo, baby, baby, wake up, you don't even know what you look like right now! you gotta get outta here!
olivia: wha? where?
me: you guys nodded out in [the junkie spot].
o: no fucking way what time is it?
me: about 11am
tony: bullshit! we got here at 7.
me: you know what, you are SO fucking lucky that it was me who found you. First off, could've been police. If it wasn't police, it would have been someone that would call the police over shit like that. If it was another junky, you would've been robbed. So you better be thanking god that I'm the one who found y'all.
o: [checks her bra and counts her dope bags to insure that I indeed didn't steal any] good lookin' out.
me: hey, you can look out for me?
t: give her one, hon

So I got a free bag out of it, and I almost ended up on the floor of the spot with the needle sticking out my own hand. The dope they get doesn't fuck around, and they won't introduce anyone to their guy because lots of junkies go through them and have to give them a free bag, and also it makes sure that they are always buying quantity from the same guy so he gives them free bags too. I gotta give props, cause that's selfish but it's good game (on the street-junkie level, of course). That was a run-on sentence. I like those :)

Lil Wayne- I feel like dying <-------very good song

So I did dope on Friday but not yesterday. Yesterday I suffered through and somehow managed to eat at a buffet- that one took a LOT of weed and xanax and I still only managed 2 small platefuls of some of my all-time favorite foods. Crab legs, cocktail shrimp, sushi, sashimi, teriyaki beef with noodles, hibachi, filet mignon- those are some of my favorite fucking foods in creation. And it was a buffet. And I ate a little bit of sushi, a little bit of shrimp, and some ice cream. THAT'S IT- that is so unlike me. I am a hoglet when it comes to seafood and steak (and sweets, and fried chicken, and fast food, and tacos, and Chinese food, and noodles, and rice with beans, and sodas, and beer, and chocolate or whole milk, and sandwiches especially ham and cheese, and pretty much every kind of food and drink hah).

Last night I had it real rough. I woke up literally screaming 2 or 3 times and had to take a percocet, and when I woke up for good around 7am I had a fucking seizure. Isn't heroin great? So today, I went out determined to get some, although I was much too sick to do a trick and I have no money. I started trudging around Lantana on 3 percocets and a valium and not feeling any of it when I started feeling real shitty so I went and sat by the railroad tracks so if I freaked out no one would see. Then I had another seizure. I came out of that, I had banged my head on the tracks and scratched myself all up in the rocks. I'm starting to forget why I ever started this shit. I had made it all the way to where my dopeman stays, and his truck was there, and I knew knew knew he'd front me whatever I wanted if he saw how I was looking. But I didn't go in. I went back home instead, took another couple percocets, went in a chat room and listened to sirius online.

I can't be a junkie anymore. It's not that I want to stop using heroin, because I really don't, especially when it hurts like THIS to stop. But I can't do it anymore. It's getting to be too much trouble. This past week I've been sick more than I've been well, barely able to sleep- and I'm right where I started because after almost a week, I stuck a fucking needle in my arm. Not once, not twice, but 17 bags. So now it's like the last week of hell doesn't even count, I'm gonna have to start the detox over, I would sell my fucking soul to make it stop. I don't mean "make it stop" like shoot 2 bags, and the pain goes away for a while. I mean "make it stop" like all of it. The shooting, the craving, the puking, the shitting, the pain, the obsession, the insomnia, the shakes, the depression, the screaming, the seizures, the all-encompassing NEED to fill that hole RIGHT FUCKING NOW. It needs to end, and it needs to end now. I don't want to go on methadone, because that'll just drag it out even longer. If I'm gonna be hooked on a drug, and get sick if I stop, and have to go get it every day and pay for it, then I might as well be on heroin cause I can at least enjoy myself when I'm high. I just want to STOP. I'll bring the percs down as slowly as I can handle, and keep plenty of marijuana on hand, and not drink, and not do coke (that would just be a bad idea altogether), and NO MATTER WHAT not do any fucking dope. I can do it. It doesn't matter if I can or not, I goddamn have to.

Shit talkers: ready, aim... FIRE! Can't wait to hear your feedback.

no life baby, we're rehabbed and we're ready
for our fifteen minutes of shame
you and i are on the edge and we're waiting to fall
raised to be stupid, taught to be nothing at all
we're taught to be nothing at all
i don't like the drugs but the drugs like me
don't like the drugs, the drugs, the drugs
i don't like the drugs but the drugs like me
there's a hole in our soul that we fill with dope
and we're feelin' fine
[no, I didn't write those lyrics and don't claim to- it was marilyn manson]

I am gonna get fucking clean, yes I am. No more wishing I didn't have a heroin habit, no more being sick for 2 days then shooting enough dope to kill a small elephant, no more "I'm buying a 50 now, I'll stretch it and quit when it runs out." No more! I'll probably still smoke weed, but I'm gonna ease off the pills until I'm not taking fuckshit! I am gonna goddamn do it! Yes! I have no other option! I am scared shitless, what a pussy I am! Doesn't matter! Pussy or not, here I come!


MICHELLE ANGELINA ****** is going to be clean, motherfucka!

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

fronts will be the death of me

5 days off heroin.

Listening to Lil Wayne, I think I like everything he's ever done, he's got an awesome voice.

I'm only drinking and smoking too much pot because I'm trying to get through the kick. I'm barely getting through. To all the geniuses who are telling me how bad booze is for pregnant bitches, look up how bad cold-turkey heroin kicks are. Kay? Lay the fuck up off a bitch. Quitting dope when I know I can get some whenever the fuck I want is hard. The big problem? I got dealers that will front. Fronts will be the death of me, especially with cocaine, but with dope it's hard too. Shit, when I call and say I have no money, it sure is nice to hear, "I got you" but it's bad in the fucking long run. Whatever. I'm sick as fuck y'all, so I'm out.

...hours later...

Okay, so I did some heroin. I got a phone call for a little scratch, and the wheels in my head started to spin. I did the date and asked him to drop me off at Winn Dixie so I could buy some needles, then I was gonna call the d-boy and get him to give me a ride home by offering an extra five bucks. No such fucking luck! My date was in a hurry, so he dropped me back where I'm staying and I immediately called dope boy #1, "Jose" [not a real name] since he lives right around where I'm currently staying. He was at work, and it was too early to call anyone else (10am) but I called anyways. Dope boy #2, "Lexus" was not answering, most likely cause it was early as fuck and I think he smokes crack. I called dope boy #3 ("Producer") not expecting him to answer, but he did and agreed to deliver. I went out, gave him my money, and proceeded to lose the shit on the walk back. Glory. Now I'm even sicker than before because I had the shit in my hand and now I have none, and I'm running up and down the street looking at the ground like a crackhead. Did I find it? Of course I found it. I'm a junkie. If I hadn't found it, I'd still be out there, re-tracing my steps. No fucking lie.

So, no needles, but I'm sick as fuck and couldn't care less. Up the nose it went, a bag in each nostril. It tasted like shit, I remember why I hate snorting, its so fucking disgusting, I'd rather jam metal through skin and tissue any day. But I was very happy to be snorting heroin rather than not having heroin at all, yes yes. I haven't sniffed any dope in years, and I forgot how slow it kicks in, and you don't get a rush off it, but snort 2 bags and wait 5 minutes and you get HIGH. Maybe cause I was like 5 days off, I got a feeling if I had a needle I would've overdosed. Lucky me.

One of my dealers keeps calling over and over to tell me that he doesn't have anything right now, he's waiting on his guy. He knows I have no ride, he knows I already hooked up, he knows I have no money, he knows it's raining and I can't get out. Yet, he keeps calling, "I'm still waiting on my guy, I guess I'll call you later." Ummm... yeah. Someone's hitting the fucking pipe mighty hard.

[[an edit to the above paragraph- he just called me back and apparently plans on driving over here and fronting me dope and a needle, although I asked for no such thing. You see what I mean about fronts will be the death of me? I wish my dealers didn't like me... wait... that's a big fat lie.]]

$$ Replies $$

$ derrick $- Nope, can't go to Miami. Trying fruitlessly to quit getting high, hell I'm closer than I was before. Enjoy yourself though. Take your sister, I know for a fact she wants to go.

$ anony 1 $- Yes, I know, I know.

$ anony 2 $- You know the best part? I can do whatever the hell I want and there's nothing you can do about it, ANONYMOUS.

$ wolf! wolff! $- see above

$ dee goldie $- see above

$ mike $- Yeah, I know, I know. See above.

$ anony 3 $- Hey, it's someone who understands that I can do whatever the hell I want and there's nothing anyone on here can do about it! Hooray for you, anonymous #3! Thanks for the props anyways. I don't understand what makes people that don't like my subject material read me EVERY TIME I UPDATE and leave mean comments. You'd think if my life sickened them that much, they'd stay the fuck up out of it. But, everyone's a bully on the internet. Not me. I'm a bitch, but I can't be a bully. You gotta really care to be a bully, and I don't really care.

$ jin $- If I can stay clean, I'm having the kid. If I can't stay clean, I'm getting an abortion. Yeah, whatever.

$ dee goldie $- Damn straight I deserve public answers! Stand up and use that First Amendment right! Freedom of speech, motherfuckers!

$ taxitalk $-Depends upon my limitations.

$ jerome $- Yeah, yeah, I know, I know.

Monday, February 11, 2008

a terrible person for eternity

So... I think I'm in trouble. I'm not gonna get into specifics on here, but I think I am in a whole mess o' trouble.

Drunk, yes I am pretty drunkish right now. But no h. I haven't done any heroin since Thursday- no, I'm not enjoying it. I have been drinking, not to excess, just enough to dull the sick. Also smoking tons and tons of pot, which is fun while drinking but it a poor substitute for heroin. Wish I had a drink, a real drink, all I got right now is a couple 24s of Natty Ice, last night I was slamming pina coladas with 151 floaters, that was delicious. But you know what, I'm sick. Real sick man, coming off dope sucks. But ya know what, I'm pregnant! Yeah! I can't belieive I finally admitted that on here! So I will quit shooting heroin, or I will be a terrible person for eternity. Go ahead bitches, I'm not scared of hell. This is my best shot, I would kill for some dope but am not doing any, so whatever.

To Derrick and Niina and Angela- sorry about Saturday, you know I wanted to be there but I was sick as a dog all day and couldn't have enjoyed myself, would've ruined y'alls time too. Hope Gretchen Wilson was good...

I can't download limewire could whoever put that send some mp3s to my email, I got google mail so it holds everything.

REPLIES:

dharmabum: OCD people are too easy to drive crazy, they're no fun at all.

ian: you don't get it yet, do you? I like the flamers! They add excitement to my online-life (which isn't nearly as exciting as my real life)

flamer with a brain: I'm a big fan of free speech dude, that's the reason I leave all the comments up because I like having the freedom to say whatever I want online and I want anyone who takes the time to read my writing to have the same freedom. Of course I like the attention, but that's not the main reason. As for the money thing, even McDonalds has slow days. I make money. Half the point of blogs is freedom of expression, and the other half is entertainment. I'm very entertained by stories of people doing very risky dangerous deadly shit, why shouldn't others be? I put some very personal shit up here on the interenet because it entertains me to write it, it entertains my friends, and it gives me a whole nother group of people to "associate" with, most of whom I'll never meet in real life. So what's wrong with being entertained? Shit! If you can't laugh at yourself, there's no hope at all. You may have a brain, but so do I. I know what my problem is and you aren't doing anyone any good by stating it over and over and over.

anony: I love the back-and-forth on these comment pages

anony: A truly well thought-out response.

anony: Who the hell are you arguing with?

fatal-rage: You are awesome! I'm gonna link to you.

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!" "