I must apologize, my dear readers. I’m currently trying to decipher my hastily scrawled notes from yesterday’s cocaine binge, but it’s hard to do so under the influence. I sort of presumed that booze was the appropriate follow up to cocaine, but clearly, as the title suggests, the answer is more cocaine. Perhaps I should clarify though, for those of those who have yet to realize I’m the cock-tease of click-bait titles. This post is absolutely about yesterday’s cocaine binge. Except that by cocaine I mean a disgusting and probably unhealthy overdose of caffeine…
If you don’t understand the phrase “took 3 scoops, don’t know where I am”, then you can’t feel my struggle. Desperate to feel some modicum of ambition for the day ahead of me, I went a gram or two over my morning pre-workout. My post-workout meal included a Diet Cherry Pepsi. And THEN because I really like to test the limits of my body’s ability to function, I popped a caffeine supplement. You know those posters that say “Unattended children children will be given espresso and a free kitten?” Well I WAS THAT CHILD, AND I STILL WANT THAT FUCKING KITTEN.
To make a long story short, I went to get my transformation into a cat-people expedited. At least that’s what I was hoping would happen. But I guess getting a procedure that uses lasers to reduce the amount of body hair you have is really kind of counter-intuitive to becoming a feline. If anything it just super-charged the level of quasi-cocaine in my body. I almost asked the woman doing the procedure if that was possible, but it didn’t seem like something you’d want to ask someone who is holding a laser to your skin. Maybe next time.
It definitely seemed to put a pep in my step, though. The cocaine. Or the lasers. I’m not sure which, really. It was a lot like being on acid, but with a lot less lying down in the backseat post-Big-Gigantic-concert quothing “Charlie the Unicorn” and shouting “WE’RE HERE!” whilst sitting up enthusiastically only to find out you’ve been sitting in the parking lot for the past THREE FUCKING DAYS and a lot more just the whole feeling good and stuff and things. Brandon says that sounds like a manic phase, but I was happy, so fuck it; I’ll take it.
It was a sight to behold, regardless. That much is certain. One minute jamming to the only Mindless Self Indulgence song I know (I’m shameful, I know), the next thing I know “The Game of Love” by Santana ft. Michelle Branch is on and I’m passionately singing along. I’m pretty sure nobody who didn’t own Karaoke Revolution Party (which is pretty much the best game ever, by the way) has so much of heard of it. The combination still confuses the hell out of me. Turns out Branch was only 19 when that song was recorded. So at the age she was recording with a notorious American Latin Rock band, I was getting into accidents and hard drugs. Neat.
Speaking of Santana… Once upon a forever ago, I was listening to “Black Magic Woman”, and I could have sworn I heard the intro to Sailor Moon, specifically between about 27 to 43 seconds in. Well it turns it I’M NOT THE ONLY FUCKING ONE! Seriously, listen to this shit. Mind blown, right? You’re welcome. Really that revelation was the only reason for writing this post. OH! And I got a new set of wheels, which is probably really a very adult thing to do. Though come to think of it, I just eliminated the one solid, legitimate excuse I had for not leaving the house (implying that anyone ever invites me out to do anything… ever) and that’s the lack of vehicular ownership. Shit.
Let me say, though– there is no more nerve-wracking feeling than seeing EVERY GODDAMNED COP IN THE CITY on the 10 mile trip to bring your new vehicle home. It wasn’t like I was doing anything illegal, except for the fact that I was filled to the brim with MOTHERFUCKING COCAINE (sort of). So folks, the moral of the story is, as the title suggests. The answer is (pretty much always, but not always) more cocaine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a batch of Rice Krispie treats to dig in to, and I can think of few better things to do whilst drunk and pantsless.
P.S- Maybe it’s the drugs, but I still can’t figure out what exactly the McDonald’s we stopped at on the way to my “pew-pew, lasers!” appointment is trying to say here. Perhaps they just want someone who will better handle two grown women (which may or may not have been my stepmother) coming through the drive-thru asking for “New Yo’k style tah-cos”. LOOKING AT YOU, KENNETH!
But that’s a story for another day…