Should I Change Names?

I just spent the last two and a half hours outside reading chapters 28 and 29 of The Walking Dead: Decent. Then when I realized I was going to begin reading the 6th book, hoping to get the 7th on my birthday; I figured I might as well post a posting that I never post.

I’ve been legally allowed to go to a store and purchase up to one ounce of marijuana, and posses up to eight ounces in my residence for about 3 weeks now. Have I? No. Because really, finding a fob is more important. And I’m an adult, I can choose one over the other. Apparently companies that choose to can still drug test for THC. Which doesn’t really make seance to me.

I understand that you don’t want someone to be drunk at work, but they can not legally fire you for being shit faced off hours. That being said, if I want to smoke pot when I get home and don’t work for the next 2+ hours, I should be able to.

And senate bill 301 in Oregon, which I just literally found out about might make that a possibility.

But that is not the post of this post.

The 402 (Lincoln, Nebraska) that became a 253 (Puyallup, Washington) when I was 14 years old and turned back into a 402 area code when I was 29 years old has just developed into a 503…apparently Portland has two area codes either a 503 or a 719. Should I change the name to my blog?

I’m only 150 miles south of my friends and family and I’m okay with that. It’s no longer 1,625 miles and a two hour difference. If I want to call my friend at 7pm, it’s fucking 7pm. I no longer have to be like, “Well it’s 11 here, so it’s 9 there.”

For the most part I love being back in the Pacific Northwest. There are things I can complain about, but all in all they are small things that can be fixed.

I no longer have to worry about 2 inches of rain in one hour or tornado’s. No, we got volcanoes and earthquakes. And an earthquake, unless you’re around a bunch of tall buildings without current engineering standards you’re fine, it’s not like the ground is going to split and you’re going to fall into it.

And volcanoes, If one goes off in my lifetime, well I guess I’m fucked; but I don’t see that happening.

Tornado’s, now you can live in Lincoln and be like, “Oh we’re fine,” But when you have a unfurnished basement of dead cockroaches and no cable TV that shit fucking sucks. Especially when you’re in a wheelchair and can’t easily get down, or up, a large set of stairs.

And I made this post with nothing to say, so…I bid you adieu…I’m going to go play Fallout 4.

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Whoa Man, Did You See That Man!

Blast

I’m in the mood to tell you a story, a story that once happened to me; it might not be a gripping story, but a story nonetheless.  And it lets me practice using words to describe a story that makes the reader feel like he or she is there. One morning I was bored, so I was re-reading my own blog and I came to two different conclusions: When I’m typing something for awhile I’m bound to make an error in spelling and/or grammar, which sucks. And my stories, some of them are kind of entertaining, I hope; I was there, you weren’t…so your perspective is not the same as mine.

As most of you know by now a video came came out, Fallout 4…I like to play it, and spend a lot of time doing so, So much that I have yet to beat it or even take advantage of the DLC’s. I’ve downloaded Nuka-Cola the day it came out, have I played it yet? No. Why? Because I’m too worried about making sure all my settlements are built up.

I more or less spend too much time doing all the extra shit, not playing the main story line.

Anyhow this game has a system of scraping junk that you can turn into building material. One of the many things that you can scrap is a board game, a board game called Blast Radius. And this is where the idea of this story came from.

This actually happened to me, just because the video game reminded me of it, didn’t mean I’m making it up.

At the time in my life, if you read my other posts you might know some of this already, if you haven’t…Matt Hasselbeck was still a quarterback for the Seattle Seahawks and I lived in a town called Puyallup. My friend Marcus lived with me, he had a girlfriend; the two of them were popular and liked parties, because of this it was not uncommon to walk into my apartment and see twenty people walking around talking to one another even though two people lived there.

Marcus was…I don’t know if you would call him Mexican, because he wasn’t. He was born in America with a mom who has German roots and a father who he never met…from what I was told he was a guy from Mexico.  This gave Marcus that dark skin look as he stood around five feet six inches and was about two hundred pounds. He had six piecing in his face, more often then not those holes were taken up by alternative looking jewelry. Something that you could buy at Hot Topic, seven to eight years ago before the store became all “preppy hippsterish”

Two in each ear, the one in back being a larger gage then the one in the front. One in his tongue and one in that spot above your chin but under you mouth, he often liked to wear a curved piece of sliver jewelry in that piecing. Something that came out of his face and came to a point as it made a U shape as it ended under his chin.

He would often rock a mohawk too…which was not that often in all reality, but when he did his hair was dyed some unnatural color, such as blue and the mohawk was held up a foot over his hear with Elmer’s glue as it was separated into several spikes that were all perpendicular from the top of his head.

His girlfriend on the other hand, his girlfriend at the time was pretty cute. She was bigger then most girls that Marcus went after in the past. Which shocked me. She was not fat by any means, at least not according to most people. One day we were having a conversation and I said, “You got to love them, who cares if they look like they were in Playboy; you’re not trying to make other men look at her and be jealous of you, you’re trying to be happy.” Marcus somehow got into the idea that a chick standing at five foot three and weighting 150 pounds was fat. “Who cares if she has a stomach, all girls do; you shouldn’t be asking yourself if he thinks she is hot, you should be asking yourself if she makes you happy.”

She was about five foot two and came in at about one hundred and forty pounds with blond hair and blue eyes, which I found super attractive until she started trying to change the rules in my house and…Marcus was “pussy-whipped,” so anything she said was how it was. I just moved out shorty after.

My best friend Eric still lived in the same house around the block from my parents, but I was now in an apartment with a roommate. He hung out at our house a lot of the time.

Eric was your typical white boy with a drinking problem. Eric stood around five foot eight and at the time weighted about one hundred and thirty pounds. There was nothing too special about him, just picture a white dude with brown hair and blue eyes.

My other friend, from pretty much the entire time that I lived in Washington, was this guy named Dmitry. Dmitry worked out a lot and was the typical strong dude that all the women wanted to sleep with, and according to what I’ve heard from a few women he is not that tiny either. Dmitry moved to America from Lithuania, USSR at the time, in the early 90’s. His first English word(s) were, “Shut up,” which I find funny when he told me he started school and the teacher would be telling him to do something and all he did was say, “Shut up.” 

He even thought me how to say, “Bitch ass,” in Russian, which was great when you’re a kid in ninth grade.

Dmitry is about five foot eleven and one hundred eighty pounds with enough arm muscles that you would assume he can pull a car with a rope. He has blue eyes and blond hair, but now a days shaves it all off making him bald. Every now and then rocking a goatee, which is weird because it comes out red. He is also that one friend, that one friend that smokes pot every two hours on the hour.

Which I feel bad for…the second time I smoked pot was his first time smoking pot, which is another different story if I remember to write it. A year later you came to find out that he would smoke the same about of pot in 30 days ad it took me to smoke is 365 days.

My apartment manager, Marilyn, lived right next to me, she had a grand-son named Ryan who also hung out at out apartment more often then not. Ryan was the youngest of us, he was super skinny at one hundred and fifteen pounds with long brown hair, down to his shoulders. He loved rock music for the eighties and at the same time loved music that was in the same genre as Slipknot, Mudvayne, or Trivum.

He often looked like he was in a mid 90’s grunge music video. Which to be honest didn’t fall too far out of reality when you stop and think that Seattle was just a 50 mile drive north of us.

It was a rainy night, like most nights in Western Washington. I had the downstairs apartment. There were four apartments per building, and these apartment were built in the early sixties so the kitchen was practically the same size as the family room. If you went into the family room you would get to the back door. This door went out onto a massive patio that was more or less blocked off from anything.

The patio was a good twelve feet long and thirty feet wide, this is where we had a pool table and a ton of plastic chairs for all the smokers, which was 90% of most parties we had. When you went outside at looked straight you saw a hill, you were on the bottom of that hill, so that was blockage. There was also a wooden fence separating my backyard from Marilyn’s backyard, the fence went from the apartment to the hill, witch was only about twenty-five feet. Opposite of that, on the other side of the lawn was another wooden fence, this one only went from the side of the apartment to the end of the patio before getting to another hill that dropped about five feet into the parking lot.

Because of the fact that I was one the first floor the balcony of the apart above me, that was the same size, covered my entire patio. So even if it was raining, we were not it in.

That night we had about seven people in the family room smoking pot or drinking beer, seven people outside playing pool, smoking cigarettes, and drinking beer. Emily on the computer being a YouTube/music DJ. Ryan, Dmitry, Eric, and I were sitting on the kitchen floor drinking beer and passing around a glass bong because Eric got the ingenious idea to play quarters.

Dmitry is one of my only friends that like Heineken, I’ll drink it and all; but like most of my friends I stuck with PBR, Rainier, MGD, Budwiser, Blue Moon, or even Icehouse.

We’re sitting there bouncing quarters against the kitchen floor trying to get it to land in the glass cup of beer. Rap music is being played, rap music from the early 2000’s, every now and then being switched to heavy metal upon Ryan’s request or country upon Eric’s request, but no one at the party was happy when country came on. Every now and then Donavin would run inside to play some Flogging Molly.

I was exhaling pot smoke, Eric was drinking his beer, and Ryan was talking about ghosts as Dmitry stood up to go get another beer. As he stood up he and took a short walk to the refrigerator he also bent down to grab his empty beer bottle that he sat on the edge of the counter.

After grabbing a new beer Marcus pops in to yell, “Hey Dema grab me a beer.” As he swung around with a beer in each hand he also hits the empty beer bottle with his arm which sends it flying towards the middle of the kitchen, where no one was sitting.

Because of the material that was tiled on the bottom of my kitchen floor there was almost no traction if you were to slide a glass bottle from side to side.

At this point in the night I was feeling pretty good, and say weird shit; it gets my point across, but…it still sounds weird because I either start talking and forget what I’m talking about as I turn it into a short story about Rainbows being different colors or I can’t find the word I’m looking for so I substitute it with something else.

I’m was now blowing smoke out as I’m watching this empty beer bottle fly thought the air in slow motion as the music being played is going at regular speed.

The bottle speeds up and crashes into the ground and upon impact shards of green glass slide each way and some of them even slide out direction. To someone else it just looked like a glass breaking and sliding all over the floor.

I’m sitting there as all my friends stand up and look like a major catastrophic event just took place and they all look at me, still sitting on the floor looking at the wall like I just made some type of profound scientific discovery. As I say “Woah man, did you see that fucking blast radius.”

And of course they laughed at me before Eric sad, “I love you man.”

 

 

Restless Night

broken_chain

At one point in my life I just didn’t care anymore. Just like Phil Collins, I didn’t care anymore. I can’t remember the specifics of why this was said, damn; it was about 10 years ago, maybe 11. I’m pretty sure it was because we had an argument, which seemed to be a everyday occurrence at this point. I was once in a very toxic relationship, that I shouldn’t have been in the first place; but I was at that age where I was lucky that I had someone who actually would let me stick my penis in them.

That being said, my kid was born in 2003. I was in a relationship that had me fighting myself. On one hand my kid was here and therefore the three of us will always be connected rather I want to be or not, so I was thinking that I had to stay with his mom… that’s what family’s do, right?

On the other hand, I was just not happy anymore. We got into so many verbal arguments that I couldn’t even count them on 10 hands if I were to become a mutant and grow 8 new arms. And most of these arguments were pointless, they held no bearing on anything that was actually important.

One day I was laying on the floor, playing with toys, mainly Mega Blocks. Trying to keep my kid interested and whatnot. Being Mr.Creative Engineer I would build tall buildings, not much engineering involved in that; but you can only go so far with Mega Blocks; and my son kept knocking my shit over anyways. Right then and there she started yelling at me, so I did what most other people would expect me to do and I starting yelling back at her.

For the life of me I can not remember what we were fighting about but it must have went on for a good ten minutes. I do remember that it ended like the majority of our pointless arguments, nothing was solved, nothing was being worked on, just two people that seemed to be mad at one another for an illogical reasoning that didn’t make sense to anyone besides us, sometimes it didn’t even make sense to me.

Five minutes later she came back into the family room from our bedroom and looked at me to say, “I love you.” A light must have went off in my head and I started thinking to myself: we just fought for 10 minutes, we didn’t fix anything, it didn’t make sense to me, and your not mad at me anymore? Why were you even mad at me in the first place? After she said this and there was a flicker of light in my head I opened my mouth to say something that even took me by surprise, “Good. I Don’t.”

After that grew an awkward living situation where our kid moved into her room and I was forced to move into his old bedroom.

This story takes place right around the same time. I think it was before my kid moved into her room, but on the other hand I don’t remember her laying him in “her” room. So the details of this story might not be correct, they happened, but as far as the timeline goes, what I remember may not be true.

I had/have a friend named Blake, at the time, he was a few year younger than me and lived in the same apartment complex. I don’t remember how we became friends, I’m not very social; which has changed over the years, but I still have a difficult time starting a new conversation with someone who I don’t know, someone who didn’t start the conversation with me. Blake was half Korean, his dad was born in America and later in life joined the armed forces where he met and brought back his wife from Korea.

In between our apartments was Jack’s apartment. Jack was a older man, much older than we were; I think I was around the age of 21 (Fuck that was a long time ago!) and Blake must have been 18 or 19. Jack was in his late 50’s, maybe early 60’s. Just like Blake’s dad, Jack’s wife was not born in America either.

Every now and then when Jack was home and his wife was gone Blake and I would go over there to hang out and smoke pot. I think that is where I got the thing of telling long, animated stories when I was stoned.

I can’t remember the exact date but I’m pretty sure it was April 20th. If you know anything about the stoner culture you know why April 20th is an important date. I do remember that Heather bought me a 6 inch bong made out of glass with a pull carb on it. It was a nice bong, or at that time in Washington State; still classified as a water pipe. The glass was clear but had dark green swirls wrapping around the single bubble at the bottom and reaching all the way up the shaft of the bong. It had a clear and rather flimsy bowl to it, that I broke on a few occasions and had to replace with a new stem. This glass, the glass of the stem must have been less then 0.100 thick, I’m guessing 0.050; for those of you who have not worked in a machine shop 0.050 is about the same as 16 sheets of paper stacked together. That being said the glass was very easy to break.

That night she also brought me the new Kottonmouth Kings album/CD No.7, which was new at the time.

We lived right next to a middle school, Blake just happened to work as a janitor there. He was working util about 9 o’clock that night. A few hours after Heather came back home from the store with our son, she hands me a CD, still wrapped up in its case, and a brown paper bag with a heavy object in it. Blake comes over and is sitting in my house talking to Heather and I as I said, “We need to wait until my kid goes to bed.” It just so happened to be a few minutes before his bedtime.

Heather goes to lay our kid down to bed as I’m showing Blake the new bong that I got, telling him that this is a perfect night to break it in.

After my kid is asleep Blake and I step on the back patio to load my new bong with some weed that he happened to get from Jack earlier that day.

As Blake and I are sitting outside Heather slides open to back door to the patio to tell me that some of her coworkers called and invited her to a party. So now I had to stay home, not like I was planning on going anywhere but I now had to plant myself at home with our kid sleeping in his crib. She asked, and it might be implied by now, that she went to this party. She even asked me if she could take my car, which only came to bother me later into the night.

At that time I drove a black 1992 Acura Integra which she wanted to take because it was cooler than her 1990 whatever Saturn. So I let her take my car, only to find out later that night that she took her car keys too. So here I was in a house with no keys, which now that I look back on it was not her brightest idea, what if I had to take my kid to the hospital? But throughout the events of that night I came to assume she didn’t want me to leave the house because of what she was doing.

I do not remember if I choice to sleep on the couch that night or if that was the only option I had at the time. Either way as soon as Blake went home that night I planted myself on the couch in front of the TV watching Adult Swim.

I finally get to sleep that night and around three in the morning my cell phone rings. After that conversation I turned into a ball of anger, sadness, and depression. I thought to myself, “I’ll just watch TV, that will take my mind off of her.” It didn’t, even with Family Guy on the TV I could not shake the thought of her fucking some other dude.

I answered the phone and it was Heather on the other end, she told me they were still watching movies and she might not be home for a few more hours. At this point I had a good idea of what was happening mainly because…in high school, towards our graduation, we were both going to separate high schools, but because of my next door neighbor who just happened to go to the same high school that she was me met again.

Heather and I went to the same high school my sophomore year, we dated for three weeks. At the end of that year I made the decision to go to a different high school. Fast forward two years, we meet again in Jenna’s driveway. After high school graduation Heather was hanging out with me, a lot; and cheated on her boyfriend with me by telling him that she was staying at my house to watch movies.

So…I knew what was going on. I ended up walking around my house to try to find car keys that were not there. Part of me is glad I didn’t wake my son up before I didn’t find keys. But if I was able to I would have woke him up and put him in the car just to go driving. Driving always put my mind at ease, still does. I think that might be why I’m okay with sitting on I-5 for 3 hours just to go 50 miles.

That night I turned into someone that looked as if he was coming off of Heroin, I could not stop shaking, I could not think, I could not sleep, food sounded disgusting. I just sat there, on the couch, in dark silence shaking until Heather walked into the door 4 hours later.

I can’t remember the exact conversation. But I yelled, not yelled but sternly talked to, her saying, “Give me my car keys.” and she gave them to me. She wanted to know where I was going, “My parent’s house,” which was about 11 miles west of where we were living. After telling her where I was going and she asked why I said, “I can’t sleep here.”

She then demanded that I took my son with, so I went and got my son ready and dressed for grandma and grandpas house. “I haven’t slept yet, you got to talk our kid with you,”

“Okay, whatever.”

Before we leave Heather and I get into another argument, this one having more power. She wanted to know why I had to go over there to sleep.

“Because I keep thinking about you putting some other dudes dick in you.”

“What?”

“You cheated on me.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

After a pause goes by and I’m putting diapers and other things that my kid needs into a bag Heather goes onto say.

“So, when I say you cheated on me everything is fine, but when you think I cheated on you, you have a mental breakdown?”

She thought I cheated on her because I joined AdultFriendFinder. A few weeks back or however long it was when she confronted me about this I did not lie to her, but I did not cheat on her, or even go on a date, nothing. “Yes I did, I joined AdultFriendFinder because I like looking at naked women, and porn is too perfect, actual naked people is more taboo.”

“Yes, but there is a big difference. I never cheated on you.”

I get to my parents house about 15 minutes later and my mom and dad are kind of pissed that I’m over there. I end up in the garage talking to my dad wile my son is inside watching cartoons with grandma.

“Dad, I might move back home.” He wanted to know why so I looked at him with no emotion on my face and said, “Heather cheated on me.” I then go onto explain to him that I only had two hours of sleep and I would like it if he and my mom could watch my son for awhile.

The rest of the events are kinda unclear to me. I don’t remember if I moved out that day, or if I went back to the apartment for awhile before I moved back home.

But to close up this story Heather made a dumb decision that worked out in the long run. Three weeks after I moved out of the apartment she was dating someone in the military. A few mouths, like 3, they got married. With a husband in the military you might be forced to move a lot, that being said my son went from Washington State, to Alaska, down to Texas, and over to Florida. The last time I saw my son was in 2011, the last time I talked to him was a few weeks ago. He is 12 now.

They are still married and he is no longer in the military, but he is originally from Florida. So that is where they live, my son has a half-sister now, she is about 4 years younger then him, I think.

I try to keep in normal contact with my son. But he never calls me, and I forget to, a lot. Which makes me look like a dad that does not care, and I can’t really blame Heather, I’m not the best dad in the world. I do put in some effort though, I could always be worse.

I just hope my kid doesn’t grow up to be a famous rapper talking about how much he hates his dad.

A Night With A Dead Man

9069020I don’t know man, when you think of a stoner you stereotypical think of food and TV, which in several cases can be right, it can also be very wrong. It all depends on the person who is smoking pot and what they like to do either on or off of the influence of marijuana.

I don’t know about you, but coming from Washington State, I knew some pretty responsible stoners. Some of whom even enjoyed cleaning their house while they were baked.

This is my story, a tiny little section of it, the night I was watching TV in another land before I realized I wasn’t even watching TV.

As a kid growing up in Nebraska during the 80’s and 90’s. Anti-drug commercials were shoved down my thought worse than a dictator in a foreign country telling you what you can or can not do.

Which, years later… is a bad idea, how are kids going to be able to believe that meth is bad when they smoke and figure out that marijuana is not as bad as you made it seem all these years?

I remember this cartoon with Bugs Bunny in it. And some black smokey looking figure dude, who must have been the villain. I watched this cartoon religiously as a kid, a small kid, must have been around the ages of five to eight, or somewhere in there.

This cartoon from what I remember was focused on a teenager, who must have been in high school, he was being forced by his friends to smoke pot. Being the late 80’s, the idea of forcing someone to take drugs was taken to the extreme. Because we all know, that’s what friends are for, to force us to do shit we don’t want to.

Hell that is why we have friends anyways, so we could be unhappy while being told what to do and when do to it.

Anyways, so I watched that cartoon and saw enough, “this is your brain on drugs,” to grow up thinking smoking pot was the worst thing anyone could do, worse than killing a child.

On aside, scrambled eggs are good dawg.

Years later I moved to Washington State, and as a sophomore in high school I witnessed my friend eating a laced cookie. A cookie that was cooked with marijuana for those of you that can not figure it out. As far as I know this was his first time with an eatable, or THC in general, which I didn’t know until he called me a week after.

From what I understand he didn’t believe his friends when they told him, “Hey man, only eat half of that and wait 30 minutes to figure out if you want the other half, that shit is laced man, I made it last night.” Him being a dumbass ate the whole thing.

Not knowing what it was supposed to feel like, or even his own tolerance, he had a massive case of green sickness. After he threw up in the middle of math class, he was picked up by an ambulance.

If you don’t know anything about pot, no he didn’t die, he didn’t overdose, he can’t even overdose if he wanted to, he just had too much of what his body wasn’t aware of.

This is where my story begins, because until this point in time I was not aware of how popular marijuana was among kids in high school. I didn’t start smoking until I graduated high school.

Two years after high school graduation, I had the opportunity to go 50 miles north of my town to a popular event, the most popular event of its kind in the whole country, Seattle Hempfest 2004. I did not really care, or see the need to go to Hempfest before this date in time. The only reason I went was because my favorite band, the Kottonmouth Kings, were taking the main stage that Sunday at 4:20.

Then, I not only learned a lot of information about the plant, but I came to see how popular it was among the adult audience as well. I was shocked to see not only the stereotypical high school stoners, but also the old geeky kids that grew up to make a lot of money, lawyers, retired police officers, and just about any other different type of stereotype in between.

From that point on I fell in love with the event and tried to go every year after that, but only made it to 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2010. I heard a speaker on stage say something that stuck with me, “I bought two grams a mouth ago, and I still have half of it left; just because you have it does not mean you need to smoke it, and many of you that believe that are giving stoners a bad name, and that my friends is why the media assumes we’re lazy people that watch TV all day.” After a short pause to gauge everyone’s reaction he continued with, “and believe me man, I love me some TV, but until we prove to them different, that is all they are going to think.”

The concert was before I knew where my happy medium was. I had many episodes of green sickness trying to find it. I assumed I was like everyone else, I figured my tolerance could not be any different than theirs. I was wrong, and it took me awhile to figure that out. I spent one day coming back home from the local college down the street, just to lay down on the floor in the fetal position, assuming that if I was on the floor and the TV was off that a cop would not come knocking on my door.

When I started smoking pot, in 2003, it was because of my own free will, my own doing. Sure, you can say a friend was involved, but it was my own doing of going up to one of my many friends saying, “Hey, man I’m bored as fuck, let’s go smoke some pot.” He was already a stoner, so it’s not like I was trying to force him to do it either.

Shorty after I stated smoking pot, my best friend, who lived on the other side of the block from me, had a friend, a friend who I ironically knew from high school, but someone I never talked to before. He was even friends with my other friends sister. My other friend never smoked pot, and now that he is married to a goody two-shoes, I don’t think he ever will, and I don’t really care if he does anyways. My point being, if Jason knew why his sister was hanging out with Joe he might know more about his sister.

Maybe he does now, especially sense he still lives in Washington State. But Jason has very little do to with this story, although his sister Danielle was fucking hot.

I found out why Joe was so popular, he was the kid that had weed. Hell my sister used to hang out there back in the day too. It was weird to me to meet someone I never talked to though someone else that I talked to almost every day.

Eric looked at me one day and said, “Hey man, I know this spot, it’s totally chill.” I looked at him while sitting in the drivers seat of my black 1992 Acura Integra, “You sure we cool to go?”

“Yea man, your with me and shit, he’ll be cool with it.”

Here we go, a twenty and a nineteen year old in a black car driving to a unknown location-unknown to me at least. I’m driving by my old high school on a dark Friday night as he says, “yea man, it that neighborhood at the end of this street.”

I knew what he was talking about, I drove by it everyday on the way home. And I knew Puyallup like the back of my hand, my dad took me on some pointless and repetitious drives when I was learning how to drive.

We pull up to this house and at that time in my life I could walk with the help of a friend shoulder. I still needed help, but not as much as I do eleven years later. We get downstairs and I looked into Joe’s eyes with a shocked look as Eric is saying, “Hey Joe, this is Daniel,” all Joe did was look up at me and say “Yep,” as he was loading another bong hit. After looking at him for awhile I was like, “Hey man, I know you, kind of,” the only thing Joe did was look at me with a lighter in one hand and a bong in the other, “Yep.”

I think Joe was kinda taken back that I was at his house, he might have been thinking to himself, “Oh, shit, look at that man, it’s the handicapped dude, in my house, what the fuck.” But after talking to Eric in a low volume, I can only assume what was being said, he opened up to me. Joe actually turned out to be one hell of a smart dude.

We sit down his his room, Eric and Joe being on the other side of the room as we pass the bong back and forth. Joe could tell that this was my first time smoking out of a bong when I attempted to smoke a bong as if I was trying to give some dude a blowjob.

After getting stoned and sitting there for what seemed to be a good thirty minutes I started zoning out by listening to Joe and Eric talk about whatever they were talking about. Eric was playing a unplugged bass guitar as Joe was playing a unplugged six string guitar.

I sat there watching this like I was a kid glued into a cartoon. I was so interested in this conversation, that I could not hear, it was like I was making some sort of a profound scientific discovery. I could not hear what they were saying because there was music playing in the background, quiet enough to hear one another from across the room if we were talking to one another, but loud enough that I was unable to distinguish what was being said by two people that were two feet away from one another.

I never heard this type of music before, but I should have taking into account of where I was geographically located on the planet Earth. For some reason I assumed this music came from India. In my state of mind that I was in it made sense to me, and the more you think about something the more it becomes true, even if what you’re thinking about is false.

I was so intent in their conversation that the music that was being played just seemed like the background music that was playing just because the two of them were talking. I don’t know what it is about me getting stoned, I’m better at it now because my body knows what it is looking for. Although I have not smoked pot in two years. I got to the point where I get so paranoid about someone I know telling my employer that I just don’t have fun anymore. I think about a random UA more that I enjoy my current surroundings. I know I could most likely get away with it, even if I tell myself beforehand, “Daniel, you’re fine, they are not going to give you a drug test just because you visited Washington State”.

Back in the day when I just got into smoking pot, if I was focused too intently on something, I went into this thing where I thought I was watching a TV show.

“What the weather in India going to be like tomorrow?”

They both look at me as if something unbelievable happened, they even looked at one another and had a short laugh before they addressed me.

Eric looked at me and said, “Fuck man, I don’t know.”

“Well isn’t that your job.”

“What?”

“Your job man.”

“What job?”

I stopped and realized I was talking to a TV, or at least what I thought was a TV, and this TV was talking back to me. I thought to myself, “What the fuck,” before I said what I said next.

“Dude, you guys are like two fucking news reporters from India and shit, but you’re fucking white.”

Eric looked at Joe, Joe had a flabergasted look on his face while Eric said, “Its cool man, he does this shit.”

Eric knew what I was thinking, kind of, and goes onto ask me questions because he was curious of how I got to this train of thought I was on.

I remember saying, “Man, I was expecting a weather forecast.”

“Why India though?”

“The music man”

“What about it”

“It sound all Indian type and shit”

Joe and Eric looked at one another, Eric was laughing as Joe had a look on his face like he could not believe I was this stupid.

Joe looked at me and said, “Do you know who Jimi Hendrix is?”

“Yeah, but I never heard this song”

Eric looked back at Joe and said, “Don’t worry about it man, I’ll introduce him to Jimi man.”

After paying attention, this music didn’t even remotely sound like it would stereotypically come from India. Why I thought it did was beyond me.

The last thing Eric said to me before I dropped him off at home that night was, “Jimi Hendrix is buried in Renton man.” Being in Washington State, and being a minimal fan of Classic Rock, I can’t believe I didn’t know that.

Why I Like It: Growing Up

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Sometimes in life people need to grow up, sometimes that forces us from separating yourself from those that don’t fit anymore.

The original post that I liked is titled A letter for closure to my friend. I liked it for a few reasons: not only did she post something prior to this post that dealt with the same situation, I ended up giving her advice, that she liked more than I was expecting her to. This post is a follow up to that post, this was a very adult thing of her to do and I was able relate to it.

When I read this letter I think of three people, two of them are still friends; one is not. My close friend Eric who I mentioned in a few posts is my best friend and will continue to be for a long time, I hope, I plan on making him the best man at my wedding. My other friend might be my best man too, he has been a friend for a long time, but just happens to be dumber than the other.

The friend that I let go of was not a friend for that long, but I came to the realization that it was just not fun to be around him in a close social setting.

I’ll mention Eric and Dmitry first.

Eric has been a friend for a long time and we have been very close at times and not so close other times. But he remained a friend of mine and I’m glad he is still here. When I had a kid I moved about 10 miles away from him, and he stopped hanging out with me, while I was living in the town over he started dating this girl who got him into cocaine.

I didn’t know this until later, I just thought he was being an asshole; which is true, but he was being an asshole for different reasons. Later in life after they broke up and he started hanging out with me again. But that is not really the point I’m trying to make.

He dated this chick on and off, multiple times. I did the same thing with the mother of my child and overtime came to understand that if it didn’t work the first time it’s very hard to make it work the second time; but it does happen, however if you’re trying the third, forth, or fifth time it’s just a waste of your time; it’s a waste of their time too.

I go over to Eric’s house one day and he told me something that I was not expecting to hear, I was even dumbfounded when he told me. This girl he dated on and off moved from Washington State to Colorado, she got a good job there as a software engineer. He mentioned that he was talking to Christie again, but I just blew it off thinking that it wouldn’t last long.

Sitting on his bed he looked at me and said, “Dan, I’m moving to Colorado.” He even asked for my blessing to do so.

I gave it to him even though I knew he was moving 1,400 miles away for heartbreak. But he is stubborn, he had to learn; if I told him what I was really thinking he wouldn’t listen to me anyways, he’d try to tell me I was wrong. So I let him go, I had to let him learn.

And yes they broke up about two years before he moved back to Washington State, and by that time I was gone in Nebraska, so we don’t get to see each other everyday, or even every year. But we still keep in touch and I will end up being closer to him when I move to Oregon.

Dmitry…Dmitry was another friend who had to learn, the problem with him is if he crashes into a brick wall he will get out of the car and keep running into the same wall asking himself why the wall isn’t moving.

If you care you can read more about this interaction a previous post I made called The Conversationis here, there you go…but just to summarize it for you…

He ended up dating this chick that was nothing but trouble. I even told him how fucking stupid he was being. He didn’t believe me, and once again I had to let him run into the brick wall. We didn’t hang out at all while this was going on, but he called me afterwards to say, “you we’re right, I should have listened to you.”

Now..onto Josh, the friend that I let go of.

You ever seen those anti-marijuana ads that try to scare you into believing that most people who smoke pot will force you to smoke pot? Well he was that guy. He never forced me to smoke pot, he was not even the one that got me into it; but he did have a habit of pushing people to the level of uncomfortablity.

And every time he told a story about a party it ended with, “and the cops came.” I didn’t need that.

I was still “learning” how to smoke pot, I had many times where I smoked way too much, granted I didn’t die and I will never overdose no matter how much I smoke, but green sickness still sucks.

If you have ever smoked too much and laid on the floor in the fetal position, too scared to stand up because you thought cops were staring at you in your window then you know what I’m talking about.

I eventually found my happy medium and when friends said, “hey, you want to go smoke with Josh?” I was the first one to say no. “I want to have fun, I want to enjoy my high and relax with good friends; I don’t want to think a robot from Terminator 2 is going to shoot me because Josh would not shut up unless I smoked more than I wanted to.”

Josh went down a bad road after that, he was that kid just didn’t know when to stop.

My point is, sometimes you can’t enjoy life if you don’t cut out the thing that is holding you back.

Two of the three are still my friends, but for good reason. The other one is not, and I’m glad he isn’t anymore.

That is a very hard lesson to learn, I may not even fully understand it, but I know most of it. It was a very adult thing that she had to do and I applaud her for it.

Can I Have Some Popcorn Man?

popcorn4“No dude, man…come on, yes you can have popcorn, it’s not like my dad is going to come home and be all like hey son get out of my popcorn Phillis”.

And that was some of the shit I said when I was super baked.

It was a year or two after I graduated high school, I was still living with my parents and my best friend lived on the other side of the block. My friend was a stoner for a long time at this point, me on the other hand didn’t start smoking pot until I graduated from high school. He wasn’t even the one that got me into it.

One day in 2003, a year after graduating high school. Holy shit dude, I….I was single at the time, I don’t think my kid was born yet, no…no he wasn’t because Lance was a senior that year, which must mean it was before June of that year.

Anyhow…I was sitting at home with nothing to do, my mom was working, my dad was working, and my sister was still in school. I was bored out of my mind, there is only so much TV you can watch, video games you can play, or porn you can look at before you start to go stir crazy. That day, out of nowhere I just up and decided to smoke pot.

Anyways…so I’ve been smoking for some time at this point. And growing up as a kid in the 80’s and 90’s who got “Marijuana is evil” type shit shoved down my throat I grew up believing what the media told me. Soon after a incident during my sophomore year of high school, in Washington State, I opened my eyes and realized how prevalent the substance was.

Even though I didn’t start smoking pot until three years later, I no longer thought it was evil.

I can sit here all day all tell you how I support its legalization. You know how proud I am to be living in Nebraska but still being one of the 55.7% of voters who legalized the recreational use of Marijuana in Washington State.

Until you use the “drug,” you just wont get it. And it may not be right for you, and that’s fine. But don’t be someones stick in the mud because they want to sit at home in front of their TV and take a few bong hits.

This day my friend Eric was hanging out with his friend Tony and they came over to my house to hang out. Once again no one was home. It was a sunny day on the western side of the state, it wasn’t even raining.

Eric stood there in the opening that connected the entry way into the kitchen while Tony was talking to me about something that must have not been that important. I’m standing in the cold glow of the refrigerator, reaching in to grab a soda from a half full cardboard box. I’m staring down and as I’m turning around to look towards Eric’s direction his hand is right in front of my eyes before I even turn around.

“Hey man, you want to smoke?”

He was holding a green stemed metal pipe with a threaded cap with a hole in the top of it. This was before we had glass pieces. A metal pipe was as good as we got at that time. At that age I usually smoked out of a can-a-bong or a homemade steam roller made out of a toilet paper roll, aluminum foil, and scotch tape.

“Yea, dude…I’m not doing anything important anyways.”

It was about 3:00 in the afternoon and I knew I had the house to myself for a few hours. I’d be on my way down the hill by the time they got home. My mom claims that she never smoked pot, I haven’t really asked her, but based on who she is I’m assuming she hasn’t. My dad may have, I’m pretty sure he had, although he will tell you otherwise.

I was not worried about being stoned in front of my parents, they didn’t know what they were looking for, at least not that I knew of. Being stoned is kinda easy to hide as is, unless my mom was to hold conversation asking me to count to ten half way though the conversation but asking me what I was just talking about I was fine…No worries brah.

Eric unscrewed the cap of his pipe and showed me a untapped nug of the greenest, skunkiest, crystallized nug of weed I have ever seen with orangeish hairs intertwined with one another all encompassing the sweet nectar of the Tetrahydrocannabinol molecule.

Without even saying a word Eric was quick to say, “I got this shit from my dads stash man,” after a short pause he continues with, “my pops get some good shit man…he should be re-uping soon.” His dad didn’t openly share this knowledge with Eric, Eric even got in trouble from his dad a few time because he smoked pot.

All three of us step into the backyard, Eric and I sat on the concrete step while Tony stood on the patio in front of us. Soon after we ended us passing this pipe and lighter between the three of us until the bowl was cashed.

About 15 hits later, 5 for each of us, and plenty of time to have many idiotic but hilarious side conversations about nothing we remembered what we were going to do ten minutes ago.

We stood up; as far as I go, standing up was a longer process for me, I couldn’t just jump up like Eric was able to, shortly after the stretch of time which made 2 minutes seem like a half an hour we turned around and went inside the house.

I don’t know if it was because I was stoned, oh yes I do, it was totally because I was fucking faded. I had the best bowl of Cookie Crisp in that few hours of my parents being away. Once the milk soaked up all the crispy, crunchy cookies turning them in the texture of wet sand that was eatable with some form of solidification it was as if I was eating the best medium-rare steak with a baked potato complete with all the fixings while some naked porn star was under the table sucking my dick.

“Oh my god dude, this is like the best bowl of cereal I ever had.”

Of course Eric responded by waving his hand up in the air like a slower upper cut while saying, “coooooookie crisp.” That caused Tony to laugh at something only kids and stoners find funny. I just continued to eat my cereal as if I was able to walk on water.

I don’t know what it is about me being stoned but when I know I don’t have to worry about how stupid I might be I just start talking but halfway though whatever I’m saying I just keep talking while my brain drifts off in la la land.

Tony grabbed both nobs and opened up the pantry that was just a small cupboard that hung above the telephone and a stack of bills that my parents had yet to pay. He was carefully scanning the inside of this cupboard, Nutty bars, Oatmill Cream Pies, Salt and Vinegar Chips, a big box of granola bars that my parents got from Costco, a box of pre maid mash potatoes, and a bunch of other shit that most people would skip past. His head stopped rotating, like a cat finding it prey.

He saw the box of microwavable popcorn  sitting in the back by a box of crackers and said, “hey dude, can I like have some of this popcorn and shit.”

“I don’t know man, shit is kinda nasty,” Eric is laughing after he hears my response.

Tony goes onto tell me what he meant to say, but before he could even finish “Yea man, have some popcorn.”

I pause to wash my bowl in the sink and start to say, “No dude, man…come on, yes you can have popcorn.” At this moment I kinda forgot what I was saying, I still knew I was talking, I just kept talking until some unknown thoughts came out of my mouth.

For some reason I was thinking about Gary Coleman and the show Different Strokes. But I did it wrong, and I think that’s what made the last half of my response so funny, “it’s not like my dad is going to come home and be all like hey son get out of my popcorn Phillis”.

After looking at Eric laugh I started to laugh at what I just said as I was asking, “did I just say that.”

I guess it was a total you had to have been there moment. That story popped into my head when I said a photo on Facebook that said. “If you work as security at a Samsung store does that make you a guardian of the Galaxy?”

Now that I think about it, I have another funny, it may only be funny to me and who was there, story that involves Jimi Hendrix.

My Stoner Moment

Bill and Ted

I just totally had a stoner moment bro, it was all like spectacular and shit. No, no, man listen to this, it was crazy.

It really was not that crazy, but I ended up laughing at myself in the bathroom mirror when I realized what I was doing.

My girlfriend had the day off of work today and we went over to Redbox to rent the movie Anchorman 2. Man, I’m really glad I didn’t waste $16 on two adult movie tickets. I mean, it had its moments, but went too far in the majority of them.

The first movie was a classic, it was great; but the second is not as good, by a noticeable amount.

After the movie was over I watched Workaholics, in my opinion that show is slipping to. The only real good episode they had recently was with that guy who was kicked out of a frat, but was acting like he was still in one.

However I keep watching it. That show is 100% better when you’re stoned, just saying.

After the show got over I went into our bedroom to see what my girlfriend was up to. She was laying in bed, she has been sick lately.

She then rubs the bed as if she was saying, “lay down,” so I did what any civil boyfriend would do and went onto say, “if I lay down I’m not going to be able to get back up.”

As I’m telling her what type of stuff I’m going to go do I end up saying, “and I need water in my cup.” Being the loving girlfriend she is, she said, “you’re a big boy baby, you can go get your own water.” I was not mad at her by the way, I can get my own water, and I would prefer someone who understands that being handicapped does not make me mentally or physically incompetent.

I then go off onto a tangent, like I’m known to do from time to time, and say, “that makes it sound gangsta.” She is sliding her arm under her pillow she says, “what does?”

“Water in my cup.”

She came back and said, “No it doesn’t that just make you sound stupid.” Man, I love that girl. I love the fact that we can joke in such a way and both laugh as it’s going on, while continue to deeply love one another.

I then respond by saying, “no it totally does.” As I straighten out my back while holding onto my cup I go onto say, “see, white people are like, excuse me miss can you please get me a cup of water.”

She is kinda laughing at me like I’m stupid, but its sexy because I don’t care.

I then raise my cup of water above my head as I continue by saying, “see a true gangsta is straight up with their shit, they’re just like; hey bitch, put some water in my cup.”

She is saying, “Okay honey,” as I stand up to walk towards the bathroom with my cup of water in hand.

I’m now in the bathroom washing my hands. I didn’t even go to the bathroom, or fill up my cup of water. Why the hell was I washing my hands.

I then start laughing at myself in the mirror and then started filling my cup with water.

You ever get stoned and end up walking around your house ending up in the kitchen? Then when you get in there you end up asking yourself, “why did I come in here, what is it that I wanted?”

It was like that, I totally forgot about my cup of water and didn’t even really understand why I was washing my hands. Maybe it’s because the water was on and that seemed like the logical thing to do. Even though that is not why the water was on, it made sense to me at the time.

Then I was like, “hey, that is something I can write about.” So, there you go, I hope I made people smile.