Hey you fucks, IM BACK. AND SO MUCH HAS CHANGED. AND SO MUCH ELSE HAS STAYED THE SAME. BY GAWD.
Lets see..so in the couple of years that went by without me posting I have…BOUGHT A DOPE ASS MOTHAFUCKIN JEEP GRAND CHEROKEE. I’ve got clean and sober from some substances, opened up raging addictions to others. Ive gone through roughly 5 billion vapes and 300 trillion coils. Ive thrown 99 percent of my friends the fuck OUT of my life. I went thru a phase where I had all the money I could ever want and I just sat around trying to score deals on Amazon. I realized that the worst thing you could ever wish on someone is for their every desire to be fulfilled as I sat here in front of my Macbook looking for amazon discounts on magnetic phone mounts so I could have my phone hung classily on my desk AND in my Jeep. I also went through a phase where I had access to every drug I could ever want, and in fact I’m still pretty much in that phase and I LOVE IT. I ALSO GOT A SCOOTER. And that scooter is a beast ass motherfucker pulling in a solid 107 MPG. 107 MPG FAM! I also started dating the coolest fucking girl I’ve ever met and I’ve even become something of a father figure to her 3 yr old son. YEA, THINGS HAVE MOST DEF CHANGED. I’ve been up…I’ve been down…I’ve been everywhere in between..and I’ve learned that life is all about perspective (which is a different way of saying that you must learn to utilize the doooooooorrrss…the doorssss to perceptionnnnn). I’ve died more times than I can recall…mostly due to low blood sugar episodes that were occurring at an alarming rate for a while but have mostly disappeared. I’ve had good docs that became more than docs, they became role models. I’ve had bad docs that pissed me the fuck off. GOD, I HATE THE BAD DOCS. I have been to some BANGER shows (Black Tiger Sex Machine at the Bomb Factory stands out). I’ve eaten approximately 30 million, 3 hundred twenty one thousand, four hundred eleven and a half tacos of all shapes and sizes and meats. I went through a Reddit phase which was very enjoyable. And I have listened to literally countless new songs. COUNTLESS. And each one better than the last, by gawd. I’ve been blessed beyond measure. It’s good to be back.
I sat down this morning and Dimitri Vegas & Like Mike VS Ummet Ozcan- The Hum was playing on my soundcloud. Let me give you a quick run down of my weekend. I was in so much pain I could barely talk. My insides were coiled like snakes trying to squeeze the life out of me. The pancreatitis has been hitting me hard lately. But the moment those horns blasted across time and space to hit me here, struggling with getting up and starting my day…it all melted away. That’s what music should always do. take us to places we can not get to on out own. Thank you EDM for once again giving me the strength to make it through another day. We took this picture this weekend, my friend Julie and I found this fence and I wanted to be closer to that purple sky. Keep up the fight, people! Sobriety can be hard, health issues can be hard, restarting your life can be hard, BUT JUST DO IT, IT IS SO WORTH IT YOU WILL NOT REGRET. Thank you to Dimitri Vegas and Like Mike for the amazing song to help me start my day. Give it a listen and see if it doesnt put you in a better place of mind. Happy Thursday!
Ever get the feeling you could open your arms and soar without a moments notice? I was driving with my bro around some country backroads the other night. We had a pipe packed with some great weed, I believe it was some strain of stativa, but I’m not that picky. It was a windy night and we were cresting a hill when “Come Alive” by Subshock started playing on my Soundcloud. Now, ladies and gentlemen, THIS song is straight dopamine flowing out of your speakers. As soon as those otherwordly massive synths began to take over the baseline the hair on my arms stood straight oon end. My back felt like electricity was racing through it. I rolled down the windows and let the night pour in. There is something theraputic about music like this. It cuts through the bullshit and hits you where it matters. Dead in the heart. I fucking love EDM and I love this song. Want to check it out? Be sure to play it when you have plenty of volume because you’re going to want to bang this shit on blast!
I got a new celly (cellmate) a few days ago. It’s kind of annoying, sitting here in this goddamn bunk watching people come and go while I just sit here waiting for my day. On the other hand, it keeps things interesting. I swear, somehow I always end up with the most interesting cellys in this damn place. I wonder if it’s because the guards realize I get along with most people so they dump the weird or aggressive ones on me. I wouldn’t be surprised.
My last celly, Supersport, was quite a character. I still don’t know how mentally challenged he was. He definitely seemed pretty wacked out but at times he would have flashes of startlingly clear lucidity. It was always a guessing game, trying to figure him out. It’s a game I really don’t have enough experience playing, so I’m not qualified to make the most educated guesses. Which probably makes me somewhat of an easy target. One thing I know for sure though, after I get through this trial by fire, nothing is going to be the same. I’ll have a lot more experience under my belt dealing with a range of some of the absolutely eccentric and violent people I will ever have to come across in the world. But back to my celly…
When supersport (he got his nickname from claiming he drove a supersport–whatever that is–even though I can’t imagine how that fool would ever be able to get a drivers license) first came in, I thought he was a retard so I helped him out with as much as I could. I helped him find a spot in the dining area to eat (you NEVER just sit anywhere in a jail, there are a lot of high ranking gang members and they will beat your ass just for sitting at their table). I helped him do laundry, set up his bunk–all the little things you’ve got to do to get by in here. It was cool but I started wondering exactly what was going on with him when his bizarre behavior would occasionally melt to reveal a pretty normal guy. It was confusing as hell for me.
Our first interaction was when I offered him a bar of soap and he suddenly looked at me with a strange intensity burning in his eyes and said, “we are cellys for an extremely important reason”. I never could get him to explain what that reason was, but it caught me by surprise.
His first night in the pod I invited him to the prayer group some of us did towards the end of the night. Upon entering he loudly proclaimed he was a Buddhist and began chanting and spinning around. Then he ran out of the room and never came to prayer group again. He had a lot of pretty over the top behavior like that, and everyone in the pod shunned him. They told me it was all an act just to fuck with us. However, he was constantly asking me simple questions like what day it was and whether we’d eaten. Simple questions but when I looked into his eyes I was convinced he really had no clue what was going on. It was like this saying my dad loves…“the lights are on but nobody’s home”.
There were, however, times when I saw comprehension behind the blankness in his eyes and it would make me wonder if he was playing me. One time he got up from his seat during chow and one of the guys grabbed his sweet. When he came back he went bonkers and threatened to beat the fuck out of the guy who stole his sweet until the guy backed off and offered him his sweet from the next tray. He also read books although he seemed to stay on the same page every time he read. Yes, I spied on what page number he was on in his book, I wanted to know if he was trying to play me and it’s not like I had much else going on.
Looking back, I wonder if it wasn’t all the drugs that Supersport was prescribed that didn’t cause his strange behavior. He took some pretty intense mood stabilizers and tranquilizers. One of the guards also told me that he had been in the hole (solitary confinement) for 80 days before he came into our pod. 80 days is plenty of time to lose your mind. The hole is a tiny windowless cell where you have no idea of the time, nobody to talk to, and just a Bible to read…and in the middle of the room is an actual hole in which you piss and shit. I have no idea what he did to get thrown into the hole but it was probably pretty serious to get that much time in there. Generally, that punishment is reserved for someone who gets in a physical altercation with a guard. Whatever the reason, he was batshit crazy, or at least I thought so until he got released. When he came back from that court date he had a huge grin on his face…I had never seen him smile once before. He carefully divided his few possessions among the few people who had treated him at least decently and as I watched him I had the sneaking suspicion I may have got played by a genius at acting retarded. Why he would do that I’ll never know, but it gave me something to talk about with the rest of the pod.
The same day Supersport walked out those doors, my new celly showed came in. I was so pissed. I’d wanted to have the cell to myself for a few days but this is jail, you’ve gotta learn to expect that at least 99% of the time things won’t go your way.If anything ever goes your way, or you get anything you want in here, they are making a mistake. This guy was a massive black dude. Like 375 pounds and 6 and a half feet tall huge. He came in and since the only open bottom bunk was in my cell, I instantly knew he was going to be my celly. He really had to, there was no way you’d want him above you. If the flimsy top bunk gave way to the weight you’d be crushed. Also, someone that big is most likely going to die if they turn over in their sleep and fall of the top bunk–a situation that happens more than you’d think due to how small the bunks actually are.
I was sitting there playing spades in the recroom, watching him get booked in and hoping that he wasn’t going to start walking towards my cell but of course that’s straight where he headed. It may seem like a little thing but having some extra privacy and space for a few days is priceless in this overcrowded jail. So I sat there, steaming inside, so angry I could literally feel my body temperature rising. I swear, every little thing has been making me unnecessarily angry lately, no matter how hard I try to control it. Jail is a soul crushing experience, and it gets to everyone at some point. Sometimes all of the pressures of jail just build up until I have to go hide out on my bunk just to keep my sanity.
I stewed in my resentment and felt sorry for myself but once the card game was over I decided to make the best of my situation and go introduce myself. This mother fucker was huge. I could barely fit in the cell with him, I had to climb onto my bunk. I told him he was gonna have to run protection for me and I’d keep an eye on his commissary right off the bat and that broke the ice pretty well. When I asked him what he was in for he had quite the story. I mean, I guess it was quite the story, but I zoned out while he was talking just because I couldn’t bring myself to really care. Something violent, one of the assault charges, but that was all I really remembered. He had spent a good little stint of time in TDC (prison) before, so he was definitely someone you didn’t want to cross in the wrong way. He was friendly and respectful, which is always clutch in a celly, but he fucking stunk and he had that huge body which is a surefire sign of a snorer.
I helped him fill out his commissary sheet. I could tell there was no way he was going to survive on the trays they give us as “meals” and I guess he did too. I made sure he got some deodorant. On an interesting side note, all of the guys who know what’s up order the ladies deodorant because it is an antiperspirant rather than just a deodorant. He had plenty of money on his books which was another good sign. A broke celly is annoying as hell, they will constantly be asking you for stuff.
In Denton County Jail you fill out your commissary sheet 3 days in advance of actually getting anything. So for 3 days my celly had nothing to eat but the trays. I felt a little bad for him. He was obviously hungry but he had some fat to keep him fed. All the same, I loaned him a few of my last Ramen soups till commissary came through. A good celly should always have your back.
The morning that commissary got here, my celly was sitting on the edge of his bunk, ready and waiting to go. He even had his blanket in his hand, ready to gather his stuff in. I’d been hearing him talking to everybody about how he couldn’t wait for store to get here every minute of every day–this guy was anxious as hell for some extra food. I was even a little stoked for him, hunger is a constant battle in jail and I knew it was probably extra rough on him. I wasn’t getting anything so I just sat on my bunk writing while they handed everything out. As they called each name besides my celly’s I could see him get more and more agitated. He couldn’t keep still. He was intensely watching the commissary woman like his willpower could get her to give him his food sooner. The further they got, the more he started bitching to me, I swear this guy was terrified he wasn’t going to get his store
Well, as is almost always the case in jail, his hopes were ruined as she pulled out that last bag from her box and it wasn’t his. It turns out he had marked his selections on his scantron to darkly and the ink bled through to the other side. In typical jail fashion, they just threw away the entire form and didn’t bother with it. He was pissed but what got to me was how sad he looked. I felt bad for him, I swear he looked exactly like my golden retriever used to look when I would go to get something out of the shed where we kept his food…and came out with a shovel instead of a food bucket. That’s jail for you though, a series of disappointments and letdowns. You get used to it after a while and it’s not that big a deal but when you’re new you still operate with the assumption that people care about you. But surprise! They don’t give a shit.
Later that day I busted out a cookie and split it with him and he started telling me about himself. He’d been to prison a few times, and the last time he had been stabbed multiple times in the stomach. He showed me the jagged scars–about 6 of them all in the same area–which I found fascinating. It’s weird because he definitely doesn’t seem like a fighter. He definitely struck me as more of the type of guy that is so huge and muscular that he doesn’t need to show any aggression at all–but he didn’t even seem to be aggressive in the first place. There is a good possibility people just tried to kill him because they were afraid of him. But who knows, like I said, I have trouble judging people in this place.
He owns a furniture store in Dallas and he seems to make a pretty good living off of that. He talked about his issues with racism he bumps into while trying to operate a legit business. He is fairly well spoken, none of the stereotypical ghetto image, and he sounds white when he talks on the phone. He gets calls from people all the time looking for certain pieces of furniture, and he directs them to his showroom. However, when the people show up and realize he is a huge, imposing black dude they find a million reasons to suddenly not buy from him. It’s dumb but I kind of get it. I can only imagine what these pansyass, holier-than-thou, Texas hick types think when they go to pick up a kitchen table for grandma to serve her “world famous” meatloaf on with the extra money they’ve got because they’ve hired a bunch of Mexicans for less than minimum wage to harvest their fields while they sit around bitching about how today’s society is so morally bankrupt because two faggots can now get a piece of fucking paper saying that they’re married and a bitch can have an abortion without submitting to the fucking MAN of the house, causing more people to get born and overpopulate the Earth because that’s what God says we should do and isn’t that pie done that Rosa was cooking so they can have a few slices till their bloated asses can barely get out of their chairs…that they bought from the nice, Christian, WHITE furniture store owner just because that negro looks different and they are terrified of everything different than their closed little cesspool of conformity… Okay, I might have gone a little overboard with that rant. I’ve been feeling just a little negative in my opinions of the human race as a whole lately.
In any case, I also found out that my celly is Adrian Peterson’s uncle, which is pretty cool. We talked about the beast season he had last year, rushing for the Vikings. He told me about his houses and cars and which ones are his favorite to drive, and how deep the pool is…all sorts of stuff. He was super disappointed because the Espys were last weekend and he was supposed to go but he had to sit out his time in jail first. Jail for possession of weed, and he doesn’t even smoke, it was for Adrian Peterson’s posse. This fucking country is so backwards sometimes.
I enjoy fucking with my celly, who asked me not to repeat his name in case you noticed I only called him “celly” all this time. He ordered a little piece of shit plastic spork off commissary and I’ve been talking shit to him about that ever since. I mean, who the fuck uses a spork anyway. He had the gall to bitch about his spork being to flimsy to use properly but shit, it’s a god damn spork. Why would you order a spork in the first place when they supply spoons and forks with our trays? I realize this probably doesn’t sound funny but if you saw this huge dude trying to eat his soup with this tiny spork…that he paid five bucks for by the way…you’d laugh. After the spork jokes got old I told him to tell his girl I said “hey slut muffin” for me next time he talked to her and he did. I thought that was pretty funny. It’s the little things like that that get me by day to day in this place.
All in all, I’ve been pretty lucky with my cellys. None of them have robbed me, or tried to fucking rape me, and they’ve all been clean which is important to me. That’s about all you can ask for in a celly, there are a lot of scum-of-the-Earth types locked up in here. I like this current one, he’s got my back so I really have no worries about getting in a fight. I think I’m gonna start calling him “spork”. Lookin ass haha. Maybe I can get some tickets for a football game once I get out of here, but he will probably be just like most of the people who come in, spend every waking minute around you, and then one day they get released, never to be heard from again. Jail is a weird place.
I went to court today. What a rush. For the first time in four months I was part of the hustle and bustle of the outside world and it overwhelmed me. As I walked into the courtroom, the smell of a million perfumes and colognes blasted me in the face. people were rushing everywhere. I had been locked up in a tiny holding cell in the quiet area behind the courtroom but as soon as I entered the room I was assaulted by a million different sensory inputs. I felt almost like I was tripping on mescaline-like everything was familiar and yet I saw so many new and unknown aspects of reality it exhausted my mind. Lawyers and staff were running everywhere. People were trying to pay bills and get the normal courthouse duties accomplished, and as I stepped into the room, chains clinking, eyes adjusting to the true sunlight, I felt the world rapidly revolve around me. Me, standing still, disconnected from my body, existing in a bubble of time. I was standing in the axis of the room while everything spun around me, making me dizzy. All the colors. And textures of carpets and plush seats. It was intense.
I was shackled, hand and foot, and I was wearing my blazing orange jail uniform. As I hobbled forward into the room I became aware of almost every eye in the place following me. The cuffs around my ankles were digging into my skin and the chain was too tight so I had to take tiny mincing steps across the front of the room to my seat in the jury box. I thought I was going to feel self conscious but I was full of cocky self confidence. I was so stoked to see women for the first time in months. I mean, there were some beat lookin ass girls guards but nothing like the women in court. Tight skirts cut off just above perfect knees. Fitted pantsuits. Blondes, light brunettes, dark brunettes, red heads. And there I was looking like a straight convict, shackled and accompanied by guards.
I started to feel ashamed and lowered my eyes but I caught myself when I realized a few of these girls were surreptitiously checking me out. I started to get a thrill for looking like the most badass motherfucker in the building. I swear, every time I start to think I’ve grown up, I find another part of me that is immature as shit. I mean, in some area of my head, I realize how stupid and even immoral it is to have committed an the crimes I committed. But there is only so long that the remorse will stick to me before I start using it to my advantage, taking on the persona of the brutal crook who is torn apart inside. It’s pretty predictable how much girls fall for that guy. So I held my head up and deliberately looked a few of them back right in the eyes, until they blushed and turned away. It was a great ego rush.
This was a misdemeanor and felony court and after I signed for my time I was lead back to a larger holding cell full of some other inmates. I found their stories fascinating and varied. One old man had just received his 6th DWI. He was a tall, lanky old man missing most of his teeth. He said he was only 50 but that everyone in his family died by the age of 60. He definitely aged poorly. Probably due a combination of poor life choices, substance abuse, and genetics. He had just signed papers guaranteeing him to be incarcerated till he died, yet he just sat there calmly eating his bologna sandwich, long legs kicked out in front of him. It seemed strange to me that he was so casual about the matter. I guess the mind can accept anything that it is forced to deal with.
There was a young kid who was obviously extremely intelligent. Turns out he’d been in a youth prison since he was 13 for capital murder. He’d just turned 18 and he was in court for a hearing to see how much time in “real” prison he’d have to serve. He was nerdy and very strange–I guess not that surprising for someone who stabbed his mom and dad to death at 13 years old.
Jail does interesting things to a man’s psyche. When you first get in, you are you are what you think is “yourself”–full of ideas of who you are. Your ego is still strong. Your addictions are strong. All your preconceptions of yourself as special and unique still exist. Well get ready because that is all going to be stripped from you. You won’t be able to shit without 50 other people hearing you and watching you. You will eat what you are given. You will sleep and wake when told. You will be cut off from every source of outside strength you ever knew, every form of support you took for granted until you didn’t even realize it was there. You will gradually be ground down under constant criticism until you break. This generally takes 30 to 60 days to accomplish.
I see it all the time. people come in here and they are fine for the first few days. They start to think they are safe, that they can handle it–doing time isn’t as bad as everybody made it out to be. A few days later, you walk outside and they are crying on the rec yard. Or speaking gibberish in their bunks with a wild look in their eyes. Trying to slit their wrists with tiny razor blades in the bathroom. Losing everything you thought you were can truly make you lose your mind. But it’s temporary. Sooner or later you will start to realize what’s really important. Things like food. Sleep. Character. And sooner or later you will become who you really are…that true you lurking in there behind all the fakeness. And everyone locked up with you will see who you really are. If you are a snitch, it will only be a matter of time till you snitch in jail. If you are a punk, they will see and beat you for it. If you are a man you will man up to your situation and take it with as much dignity as you’re allowed. My outlook on people has changed, I don’t think I will ever look at another man in the free world without wondering…what kind of man would he be locked up? And the answers can be pretty surprising.
I can’t wait to tap this ass later today. Hospital fucking? Ima do it and get away with it. Bet.
And so it goes….
DEPRESSED JAIL MUSINGS OF A NEW INMATE
I’m writing because I just received a care package from my dad that included some freeze dried coffee and now I’m a little cracked out from the caffeine. I really don’t like it, the energy makes me want to do something but that just reminds me that I’m trapped in this fucking place. So I play cards super fast, slapping aces on the table till everything is a blur of cards and betting and fluttering scorepapers. I go out and do pushups and start going faster and faster until my t-shirt is wet with sweat, sticking to my back in the heavy, humid, Texas air. I look around and the grimy cement walls, my eye drawn to the small opening through which the sun shines through the wire to make checkerboard squares across the yard. I hear the yelling and screaming of the inmates who come outside to try to release enormous amounts of pent-up aggression. And I feel those old icy fingers of panic inch their way up my feet and legs.
As it slowly grows, it strangles me, causing my chest to implode under the enormous pressure. The world loses all hope and color, fading to shades of blacks and greys. I want to scream but my throat constricts and I lose even the desire to scream. As the panic spreads I know that screaming would be as useless as anything else I can possibly do, and a new wave of terror engulfs me. If Mick Jagger were here he’d be thrilled. My entire world has already been painted black. I see the souls of the lowest animal god created-man-and they are so rotten they are all black. The rage I see boiling in their eyes-black as night. The insecure, authoritative posturing of the guards-black. The filthy walls 50 feet high that locks us inside…body and mind…slowly fading to black. So I sit there gasping for breath, the fear making my pulse pound and my body shake, while all hope and happiness swiftly disappear.
I am clenching my fists so hard they bleed when a revelation hits me. I’ve got nothing left to lose. Money? Gone. Girlfriend? Gone. Freedom? Gone. Ego? Gone. Job? Gone. Medication? Gone. Respect from family? Shattered. I can not sink lower. And that realization slowly wraps me in a black blanket of comfort. I wait for the coffee to wear off because I know I will escape for a few hours in my dreams. It’s as if my mind is hurting so bad when I’m awake that it goes to happy places when I sleep. But most importantly, the dreams are the only place I see color anymore. Vivid hues of reds and golds splashed across my brain. So surreal yet they feel more tangible than my waking life. I stand up and stretch. Tonight can not come soon enough.
This is hilarious until you got to get to the bathroom RIGHT NOW, and the damn thing gets caught on every little thing and trips you up until you start to freak out and accidentally pull the feeding tube out of your nose. AHHHHHHHHH!
I was on a path to self destruction and I knew it. Cocaine and bloody marys for breakfast followed by a straight diet of coke and liquor and pills. It was a blast while it lasted…till my pancreas dies. I’ve been on a feeding tube in the hospital for over two months now. I’m happy for a second chance, and I’m going to be sober for a bit. If my writing suffers–or gets better–now you know why!
It was one of those sunny days in a Texas November when the air hits you like a crisp blast of magic-you get goosebumps because it’s a little chilly but the sun still warms you through. It was a Saturday morning, and I had just moved back from California so I was living with my parents. I was working full time at a well paying job and I had more more money than I knew what to do with. It was just one of those days where you felt good being alive.
I’d been to the bar with one of my friends the night before and I’d slept in till 10:00, which is pretty good for someone who has a mental alarm clock that goes off religiously at 6:30am. I was sipping on a breakfast beer and making a loaded omelet when my phone rang. It was Steve.
Steve is a guy I know through mutual friends in the Waco area. He’s about my age, although with a slightly younger mindset. He was a computer science major at Baylor and can come across as being a little nerdy.He bought molly from me when I used to sell it. He, along with his Baylor friends, consumed quite a lot of that stuff. I kind of like him in a casual way, although it’s more of a surface friendship. We aren’t the kind of friends who share our true goals and pain and happiness together. We are, however, the kind of friends who will randomly call eachother up and rage for the weekend–you know the type.He’s a fun guy to have around in exciting situations.
Steve had big news. Zomboy, one of our favorite dub artists, was playing at the Lizard Lounge in Dallas that night. I was stoked to hear that. The Lizard Lounge is one of my preferred spots to go in Dallas, especially to hear live edm. The main room is a nice size-big but still fairly intimately close to the performers with a large balcony. More importantly, the sound and light systems are pretty powerful.Just listening to music in there can send blows of sound and bass straight through your chest and eyes till your brain resonates with the beat. Coupled with the lights, it is a pretty intense experience that rivals anything I’ve been to-even in Hollywood or Vegas. They also have a late closing time (4am) and they have plenty of bars spread over the club. I hate getting into the groove of a song and then spending the next 15 minutes trying to elbow my way through a bunch of drunk sorority bitches to the front to get a beer. It drives me crazy. The Lounge also always books good EDM and Dubstep artists, at a low ticket price. All in all it’s a good combination and when Steve suggested going, I jumped on the opportunity. I had a pocketful of cash and nothing planned for the weekend–one of my favorite combinations for a good time. I downed my beer and omelet, smoked a quick cigarette, and jumped in the shower.
I was rocking out in the shower when a stroke of genius hit me. I should call Katie. She’s one of those friends who’s always down to get in some trouble. We’ve shared countless epic adventures-the kind of times that most people can only dream about. She’s trendy, hot as hell, and possibly more eccentric than even I am. She’s got this giggle that I absolutely love and a beautiful small heart-shaped face. She’s flat chested as a 12 year old boy but you’re so distracted by her general attractiveness it’d take you a while to notice. I’ve always had this vague half-ass attraction to her but we have never hooked up. One night we started making out and we just stopped and started a pillow fight. It really is true that some people are better as friends than lovers but I always wonder if we won’t hook up in the future and ruin it all. It would probably be totally worth it, I bet she’s a great fuck. But okay where was I in this story…
Katie was awake at 10 in the morning, which is rare, and she was down to come with us, of course. I got packed up (xanax for comedowns, orange juice. LED sunglasses, lots of gum, a few packets of emergency, and deodorant + mouthwash) and Steve showed up about an hour later. I had my Ray Bans on and my hoodie casually thrown across my shoulders. I was full of that mix of excitement and cockiness that comes over you when you go on adventures and you’re in the zone. I grabbed a beer and a pack of cigarettes and jumped in the car. We were off.
We stopped by Katie’s house on our way out. Of course, that bitch wasn’t ready. She offered us some bongloads though…I think she felt guilty about always holding up our expeditions. I rarely smoked weed at that time but it was one of those days when blazing just felt natural. So I hit a huge snapper of some Sour Diesel and instantly got so high I almost lost my phone. But the crisis was averted when I found it in my hand. Not long after that we were headed out, on our way to Dallas.
We’d decided to go early in the day because we wanted to kick it in Dallas for a little bit beforehand. Waco is only a (roughly) 2 hour drive from Dallas, and we blazed a fat joint while we drove. We stopped at the gas station by the giant hippie commune where they live in those round huts and have the huge caterpillar by the highway. If you’re from the area you’ll know what I’m talking about. At the gas station we smoked a cigarette and I got a 4 pack of Red Bull because I was twisted as fuck off that weed. Katie and I were sitting on a bench in front of the store laughing hysterically at all the fat Texans waddling around. It began to get out of hand because we couldn’t stop laughing, right to their faces, so Steve made us get back in the car and we took off again.
After some debate we decided to check out the Galleria–a huge, upscale mall in Dallas. I hate malls but I was still stoned enough to say okay to it. I am so easily persuaded to do things I don’t really want to do when I’m stoned. So we went to the mall and did what you do in places like that…aimlessly walked around like dumbasses. But everything changed when Katie bought me a Jamba Juice. I added some red bull to it and I would have protected that delicious smoothie with my life. Whoever claimed you can’t buy happiness had never had the pleasure of the blast of ice cold happiness that is Jamba Juice. Just writing about it makes my mouth water. Juicy blueberries and little chunks of strawberries swirled in creamy yogurt and slivers of ice that melt on your tongue…but I digress. For anyone reading this, I wanted this story to be as informal as possible, which means lots of tangents and extra information…and maybe even a little foodporn. But these experiences were all part of our day and I think a full idea of what happened is important to a good story. So you are going to hear all the details whether you like it or not.
While we were at the Galleria getting Katie some new shoes at the Vans store, a guy I’d texted earlier about molly got back to me. Steve and I both had some money we wanted to throw on a stash. The guy had it and of course, like a typical dealer, he wanted to get rid of it right then and we wanted a lot-at least a quarter-of it. So we dipped out of the mall and headed towards the Bass Pro parking lot to do our deal. On a side note-you would be surprised how many drug deals go down in Bass Pro Shop and Cabellas parking lots. Apparently dealers think that nobody expects a drug deal to go down in a sporting goods parking lot so it is safer. Whatever, it makes sense to me.
Once we were there, the typical drug dealer bullshit runaround started. I had dealt with this guy many times in the past and always got good molly from him so I wasn’t too worried about it when he didn’t show up when he said he would. It was dusk and as the sun began to set, steve started to get nervous. We were (of course) excited to roll.It almost makes me giddy like a kid at Christmas when I know I’m about to get some quality molly. So I took a deep breath and leaned my seat back. You can’t rush some things. So we listened to music and watched the sun go down as country people walked by with their new fishing poles and camo vests.
When the dealers finally showed up it was a flurry of activity. It wasn’t the guy I had talked to, he had sent his “friend”. A black guy jumped out of the car and handed me a cigarette box full of pills. As soon as I handed him the 500 bucks he jumped in the car with his homies and dipped out. Something felt sketchy. The dude was super sweaty. and he obviously was in a hurry to jet. So I quickly popped one and tasted it. It was FLOUR. They hadn’t even tried to make it look or taste like molly. It was the most expensive flour I’d ever purchased in my life. I couldn’t believe they had pulled such a simple trick on me. I’m not stupid but I felt like a straight retard that night. I called my buddy who was supposed to hook it up and he said he was out of it but the little thugs supposedly had plenty. He vouched for the quality of their shit and I just kept telling him that it was FUCKING FLOUR. He apologized a million times to me but by this time I was pissed and depressed. There would be no rolling on flour tonight.
So we sat in the car in dead silence and felt sorry for ourselves. I wanted to find the guys and beat the shit out of them but let’s be honest. I’m not that tough, it’s why I prefer to have a crazy roided out dude in my pack when I do drug deals but none of us was that guy. Katie could have probably caused the most damage. After pouting for a solid 30 minutes I was sick of thinking about it and suggested we head to Whataburger to charge my phone and decide our plan of action.
As someone who has done plenty of drug deals, as disappointing as getting fucked over in a deal can be, I’ve learned to chalk it up to the game. If you want to roll balls illegally, you have to be prepared for a few fuck-ups. Drug dealers call it “paying the game”. Nothing in this realm is easy and you just have to look at your losses objectively and weigh them against your gains. And then, most importantly, you move on. I’ve grasped this concept and when I realize I got fucked over I don’t allow myself to dwell on it unless there is something I can do. Steve has not had enough experience to truly understand this. He was (rightly) upset but he KEPT bitching about it, even at Whataburger. I was hungry so I got some chicken fingers and gravy while I charged my phone. I was over it but I had to listen to Steve going on and on about losing our money and not getting drugs and blah blah blah and I started to get pissed off at him. Katie was great, she kept laughing at us and her attitude was refreshing with so much negativity around. Steve was talking about not even going to the concert but I refused to hear that shit. I told him we were going and he would have a good time. He dragged his feet but pretty soon we were loaded up and headed towards the lounge.
On the way there we got lost. I think we were a little stoned still. I swear, every time I get stoned and try to find a new place I get lost. It’s so predictable. It doesn’t even matter if I have the most cutting edge map system on my phone, I still manage to get hopelessly lost. We kept driving right by the goddamn place-we could see it-but we couldn’t figure out how to actually get there. When we finally pulled up we were in a pretty foul mood. We were also extremely early–it was only 9 and the place didn’t even open till 10. Plus the Lounge is the kind of place that only squares show up at before midnight. Whatever. We were going to see Zomboy if hell froze over by this point so we just sat in the car and drank warm Red Bull till they opened.
By the time 10:30 rolled around we’d reached the level of acceptance that comes when you realize that everything isn’t going to go your way so you just have to make the best out of what you’ve got. I had my seat leaned back all the way and I was lazily watching the hot dog vendor setting up his stand outside the front door while I smoked a cigarette. The Dallas skyline began to light up in various hues of white and colored lights. When I snapped out of my trance (the Dallas skyline is one of my favorites) I realized a line was already forming at the door. We pulled ourselves together, put on some clean clothes, and headed inside.
The opening house DJ, Johnny Funk, was already tearing up the main room when we walked in. We got VIP tickets so we would have access to the balcony and most importantly, the balcony bars that are never super crowded.It was time to get down to some serious drinking after the stressful day we’d survived. So we headed upstairs, straight to the bar
I decided that there was no way I was spending the night sober. I was ready to go full rage mode and if that meant I was going to have to drink as much as I did at college parties in Santa Barbara so be it. We pounded our Crown and cokes at the bar and got another round. I started to feel a little warm and my rough edges started to smooth over from the buzz and the lights and the music. I looked at Steve and Katie and grinned. They grinned back. Those big grins that look goofy on your face but stay there because they come straight from your gut and you just can’t help it. At that moment that magical change happened inside me. I stopped trying to have a good time and just let the night unfold. I’d been trying to sit in the drivers seat and force everything to work to my specifications all day, but now I could relax and let go. I leaned back in my seat and raised my glass. Shit was starting to get good.
We went outside to smoke and there was already a pretty good sized crowd out there. Somebody passed me a blunt and I hit it. Some kids were already rolling, you could see their huge black pupils behind their sunglasses. Everyone was chatty and friendly. We sat on the benches with our fresh drinks and cigarettes and laughed and joked with eachother.
It was around this time that I realized we had not spent all our cash and the Lizard Lounge is a clutch spot to find some molly. I’d been so focused on what wasn’t working that I hadn’t been open to new ideas. I began to scan the people on the patio. I’d bought molly enough to know exactly what kind of person would have the good stuff. Well-off-looking kids wearing trendy clothes in a good sized crowd. And someone in the group always has a backpack on. And of course, always keep an eye out for LED gloves and sweaty people with huge eyes who are obviously rolling. I don’t know how to describe it exactly, you can just tell when someone has some good molly. I saw a group having a dance off so I offered one of them a smoke and asked if they knew where the good molly was. Disappointingly, they said no. They just had a personal stash. So I asked them to keep an ear out for me and we went inside to get another round of drinks.
By this time I was getting broke. But like true homies my friends helped me out. It was mostly Steve. He has the same philosophy I have. I want my friends to be on my level and I will do whatever is necessary to get them there. The increase in energy when everyone is vibing is powerful. It is like you all become a synergistic part of a whole that is bigger than any one of you alone could achieve. That’s why I’m not a drug hoarder. I’d Rather share the party with everyone present. As we started getting nice and buzzed from all the drinks, our grins got bigger, and at some point we entered that alcohol-fueled zone where everything was great and all the worries of the day melted away. So, bouncing to the house beats of Johnny Funk, we headed outside for another smoke.
The patio was packed. I’d barely walked outside when the guy I’d approached about molly came up to me. His eyes were huge and he had a euphoric smile on his face. He told me one of his guys was there and pointed him out to me. He’d already told the guy I’d be looking for him. I swear, people rolling on molly are some of the friendliest, most helpful people you can hope to meet. You always wear recognizable clothes to nightclubs if you are going to be buying or selling drugs. He had a bright green jacket on and a Dallas Cowboys cap. I had a grey Hundreds hoodie on with a bomb sporting a huge smiley face on the back. I checked out the guy, he looked legit. Our eyes met and I motioned him over.
He claimed his shit was primo good. Everyone does though. I was feeling super cautious after the fiasco that happened earlier. I didn’t have any cash left (those drinks are 8 bucks apiece!) and was dealing with Steve’s money so I had to be extra cautious. I asked him if I could look at it. He surprised me by just giving me one. He was confident I’d be back. I was surprised and gave him the old side hug, telling him I’d be back in 15 minutes. I grabbed the cap and headed to the bathroom to check it out.
The bathrooms in the Lounge are kinda tricky. They have mens and womens restrooms but anyone goes in either one they want. Not only that but there are no doors on any of the stalls. It’s difficult to find a private place to check out drugs. Luckily, basically everyone there-including the bouncers-are fine with molly, as long as you aren’t super obvious about it. Just about everyone there is on something anyway so you have to act really stupid to get in trouble. I stood at a urinal and checked the cap real quick. It was slightly off-white with that glittery look to it. I popped it open and tasted it. It was bitter as fuck all the way down. I was ecstatic. I’d found good molly and I knew it. The whole night was about to shift gears. I threw the open cap in my mouth and downed it with my drink. One of the guys waiting for a urinal laughed and high-fived me. We were going to roll tonight after all.
When I came out of the restroom I went straight to Steve and Katie and let them know we were good. Steve gave me the cash and I went and found the guy and made the handoff. The caps were FAT. They weighed in at .3 to a light .4-they were basically doubles. He told me they were good shit so I ought to take it easy and just take one at a time till I knew how it would affect me.I gave him the cash handoff handshake and a thank-you cigarette. I told him how good it was to finally get some good molly and he laughed. He told me I’d found some of the purest molly in the area, and after testing it I believed him 100 percent. I had accepted the fact that we wouldn’t roll but something about heavy dubstep in a venue like the Lounge is made for taking molly. It’s like sex and a cigarette. They just compliment eachother and make everything better. As I stood there smoking, looking at Katie with her hair blowing back in the breeze and the lights of Dallas all around us…well I started to feel that familiar gut feeling where my heart skipped and suddenly, out of nowhere, every breath felt like beautiful plush softness filling my lungs. It was kicking in.
As that molly continued hitting me I relaxed and started talking about our adventurous day to some girls sitting beside me. I love the way my voice feels in my throat when I’m rolling. The vibrations when I speak in a deep voice hit me square in the chest and as the words spill out they feel silky smooth. I probably wasn’t very interesting to talk to…I was just making words to hear myself speak-literally. As the waves of ecstasy started to hit me I turned and looked at Katie. She had this beautiful sparkle in her eye. She looked at me and with a huge grin and she mouthed “oh my God” and I suddenly realized I wanted to hear the music full blast. Right now. We grabbed our drinks and headed inside.
It’s quite a shock, Walking inside of the Lizard lounge during a concert. It’s located in a fairly upscale residential area of downtown Dallas and based on their reputation, the cops have tried to shut them down for noise violations. Their answer to this issue? Cutting edge sound insulation. Unlike nightclubs in other areas I’ve been–where you can hear the bass pounding down the street as you walk up, it’s only when you walk into the building that the music really hits you. It’s quite an experience when you’re rolling.
I walked in from the patio and instantly the music surrounded me.The bass hit me at the bottom of my spine, radiating through my body. As I slowly, unsteadily, continued inside the strobes hit. Hundreds of watts of industrial lighting synchronized to the bass. Strobes of that magnitude will give you the impression that time itself has slowed. Reality gets squeezed into quick, momentary glimpses. I turned and saw my friends’ upturned faces, etched in time, like living snapshots. Someone was spraying water off the balcony and the crystal droplets looked frozen every time the strobes lit up the scene. As the beat built, you could feel the entire building collectively hold its breath in anticipation of the drop. Hundreds of people in perfect sync to the music. I took a deep breath and as the drop cascaded over me I exhaled, letting everything I’d held onto loose in the night.It’s an incredibly cleansing feeling. I doubt that many people who have not had these types of experience can really imagine what I’m talking about-not many situations in life are conducive to a reversion to such a childlike state. It should be mandatory that all people experience something so basic, so elementary human. Those crashing waves of music and light wash away so many constructs we mentally build and desperately cling to as we become adults. It’s a cathartic, almost religious experience, boldly searing away the bullshit with its simple power. As I stood there, caught in a moment time forgot, I saw that same wonder reflected off my friends faces and realized we were part of something amazing. The rush that followed made me feel like I was floating inches off the floor in a whole different dimension. To this day I’m not sure if my feet were touching the ground…
Drugs really are an experiment on how our frame of minds affects us. Drugs also are limited in power and it is good to know how to use them to your best advantage. For instance, attempting to change my mood or fix a life issue with drugs doesn’t usually work out well for me. Even if I am able to temporarily fix my issue, it leaves me dependent on the drug. Using for the purpose of enhancing an experience, on the other hand, is my preferred method. I don’t even like smoking weed if I don’t have a reason for it. Find a good movie on TV and throw a steak on the grill and I’m more than happy to light up. It’s an issue of purpose. Molly enhances everything but even molly loses its effectiveness when I use it too often. Of course, life is a system of balances and drugs are no exception. Everything came together that night in a perfect synchronization of attitude, drugs, and environment. That molly-damn…it was so potent. so amazing, that coupled with my surroundings, it took me to another plane of existence. I was in heaven.
I’ve had a pretty good amount of experience rolling in all sorts of situations and even though Katie had rolled with me many times in the past, she started behaving like a complete noob. She started talking to shady people-you know the type. The guys who stand around in groups at nightclubs to prey on fucked up women. The girls who slink around in the shadows to cover the track marks on their arms. The dregs of society who inevitably show up to take what they can get and bring everything else down to their filthy level. Many people in the EDM scene are like family. They will look out for you. They will share good times with you and by the end of the night you feel like you have been friends with them all your life. But the sketchy lower class has found out about our scene and sees us as easy targets. So you have to be smart. You CAN NOT associate with them. You have to be able to make gut judgements and learn how to have fun while being cautious and staying safe. It sounds like advice your grandma would give you but it’s true.
Katie was talking to some sketch dudes but not only that, she was quickly becoming more and more sloppy. One of the quickest ways to end a good time is to lose your shit. This molly was extremely potent and, while Steve and I were feeling the effects, we knew that we’d been here before, so we acted like it. Katie, on the other hand, was slurring her speech and her smile had a manic quality to it. I recognized the signs of someone who has taken too much molly and started keeping an eye on her. But I was rolling and the music was mesmerizing and by this time the place was packed and I was at one with this crowd of humanity and light and sound. Before I knew it, I’d lost track of Kate.
About 15 minutes later I suddenly realized that Serena was missing and instantly did a crowd scan. One of the first things I check upon entering a show or festival is the color of my friend’s outfits. It saves so much valuable time later. Anyway, it didn’t take me long to spot her. She was further down the balcony and she was waving me over. I was really into the music and a little upset that she couldn’t just STICK WITH THE GROUP, so I ignored her and went back to my trance state.
Even in my transcendental state of mind I still felt responsible for Katie. She is one of my best friends, after all, and I take that shit seriously. So even though I didn’t want to, I did another scan and realized she was headed back towards us. She was stumbling and her face looked too blank. I instantly realized she needed help and I ran to grab her, shoving anyone in front of me out of the way. When I got to her she looked at me with those huge pupils and said, “I need you to help me”. I don’t know about you but as a guy that’s all I needed to hear. I felt like a hero saving the damsel. I put my arm around her and held her close as she was beginning to stumble violently and her face looked like she might faint.
As I guided her down the stairs I realized that we were in trouble.She was stumbling wildly, suddenly as clumsy as a child learning how to walk. I kept talking to her, keeping her engaged, encouraging her that we could go outside and smoke a cigarette as soon as we got down. Her replies made no sense and her eyes looked like she was wildly searching for something far in the distance, It really was her eyes that worried me the most. I’ve seen dilated pupils that big but she is an intelligent girl and the normal, mischievous glint in her eyes were gone…they were glazed over. I began to realize the magnitude of our our problem and tried to keep her out of the view of bouncers. As we got to the bottom of the stairs and turned towards the patio she violently lurched to the side-directly into a bouncer. One look was all I needed to see that we were kicked out.
This whole time, I was still rolling balls and, while I recognized the seriousness of the situation,my mind was clear and I was confident I could handle it. We stepped outside and crisply cool air wafted over me and it made me shiver in ecstasy. There was a chair directly outside the door to the lounge and I sat Katie down on that and gave her some water. This bitch was FUCKED UP. She couldn’t even sit on the chair she kept rocking and jerking and nearly falling off. Luckily, we were at the Lounge, where people regularly get too fucked up all the time, so the bouncers weren’t too worried about us. By this time she could hardly talk and she was grasping my arm till it almost bled. Her face was turned up to me and the craziest mixture of fear, then happiness, then a strange stupidness would flash across it in rapid succession. I’ve never seen such a strange array of emotions exhibited by one person in such a short amount of time in my life. I looked up as she considered to babble and saw two cops walking by and I realized-very objectively and without any real fear-that we could get in serious trouble.
I wrapped an arm around her tightly and tried to look into her eyes. I slowly explained to her that she absolutely had to listen to me. Cops were going to be walking by and she had to simply sit still and be quiet and we would be absolutely fine. I “pet” her arms and back and let her know I was right there and she could calm down-I’d take care of her. The bouncers were noticeably worried as well and tried to stand in front of us so she wouldn’t be noticeable as the cops walked by. I was sitting there, looking into her wild, unfocused eyes, when she lurched forward and fell facefirst on the ground–RIGHT in front of the cops. If I wasn’t rolling so hard I would have wanted to killer. That girl has the worst timing ever–to this day.
I looked up and the cops were making a beeline towards us. Time began to slow in the most bizarre way. I saw us locked up in jail (we were both obviously high and I had 6 capsules of a schedule 2 substance in my pocket). I saw us locked in a cell and honestly, my biggest worry, was that I wouldn’t be able to smoke in there–so I lit up a Camel. They both had their flashlights aimed right at us as I helped Katie back into her chair. I couldn’t help but notice the way the light shone so vibrantly and beautifully, and I smiled as I imagined the light covering me in warmth. This molly was so good I could still be smart but I absolutely felt no fear.
The first thing the cops did was shine their flashlights in our eyes. I saw one’s jaw drop when he looked at Katie. There was almost no white, her entire eyeball was pupil. They asked us our name and Kate slurred it so badly I had to tell them. She started laughing hysterically. She WOULD NOT sit still and multiple times we had to catch her before she fell down again. Seriously, who gets too fucked up to sit in a damn chair? I should have been angry but I wasn’t even remotely mad. I calmly explained everything to the cops as they wrote down a report of what had happened that night. I realized that I had no desire to lie and I told them everything. I explained my logic by telling them that yes, I had broken the law, but it was totally worth it to feel the way I felt. I offered them some molly, which they (politely) declined. They stepped back and talked to eachother. I guess they had to figure out if they wanted us both in the same cruiser since we were friends. But when they came back they said they had called and ambulance for Katie, she needed medical attention. I agreed and we sat there waiting for an ambulance, not sure if we were getting arrested or not.
By this time we were “those kids”. You’ve seen them. We were sitting in front of the club, and by this time the cops had another guy join them and his cruiser lights were on. They were getting our information while I tried to hold Katie up on her chair–without getting too distracted by the red and blue lights from the police cruiser. We looked like hoodlums…and then, on top of everything, the ambulance came careening around the corner, sirens wailing, and pulled to a stop right in front of us. The paramedics jumped out, shooing away the people still in line to get in the show. They pulled out the stretcher and strapped Serena onto it. The cops and the paramedics seemed fairly unworried about her so I took it as a sign not to worry about my friend’s health…just about our legal status.
The cops pulled me over to the side as they loaded the stretcher up and explained the situation to me. She would likely be fine. Her symptoms were consistent with someone who had been roofied. I told them that I remembered she’d walked off and came back with a new drink. I would bet she-like a damn noob-had got a drink and failed to keep an eye on it at all times. The cops explained that they would have let us go but once they saw how fucked up she was they had to call an ambulance. I thanked them for their help, feeling like a 2 ton weight had just fallen off my shoulders. They seemed like they were having a great night and kept telling me that I should “hit that” (referring to Katie). They couldn’t understand how I hadn’t yet, and I was still rolling balls so we got into a deep conversation regarding when it is better to just keep a girl as a friend versus when it is better to fuck. They asked me about rolling, and one of them even said he would try it if he wasn’t a cop. They were absolutely the coolest police officers I could have hoped to find. I told them my dad was a firefighter in Waco and I appreciate the job public servants do (standard stuff I say to cops). They talked some shit about firefighters and had a good laugh. They were some chill guys and we probably could have talked all night (molly makes me talkative as fuck) but I saw the back door of the ambulance swing open and I heard Katie yelling for me while an exasperated paramedic yelled “who the fuck is Rob!” He told me she was refusing to do anything they asked until she saw me. He also told me I would need to ride with them to the hospital. I was climbing into the cab when I remembered…
Steve! He had absolutely no idea of what all had happened. He was still inside, soaking up the lights and the music while I’d been dealing with the fear of getting a felony. I explained that I had to go tell my friend what was happening real quick and ran back inside the club.
Oh my Lord, the bass felt amazing as it thrummed against my lower spine and sent shivers across my body. I was instantly enveloped in the safe place that EDM takes me, where the outside world fades so far away that I become one with the music, caught up in the present, my fears and worries about the past and the future melting away in the heat of the moment. But this was important and I pulled my head out of the clouds and quickly found Steve. I was pissed off for a minute because the concert was so amazing and I was leaving this because a dumb girl couldn’t handle her shit, but one look at Steve’s face blew my anger away. He had an ear to ear grin, as he stomped with some guys in the exact same place I’d left him. He didn’t want to leave but when I explained that Katie was in an ambulance he turned to all action. We quickly headed outside…you never leave a true friend hanging.
As soon as we walked out the door, both cops doubled over, laughing their cop asses off. His pupils are already sensitive and tonight they took up his entire eyes. He looked like an Asian cartoon character. At first he was worried but I explained that they knew everything so just be honest with them. They both pulled out their iPhones and took pictures of us. It was a magical moment I’ll never forget.
I’ve got to admit, once Steve figured out what was going on, he was cool as fuck-and really fun too. He got so excited about the whole situation. He wanted to ride in the ambulance (this whole time Katie has been yelling my name driving the paramedics crazy by the way) but they only had room for me. Steve decided to follow in his car, even though he was rolling pretty hard, the cops just sort of looked the other way. I won’t lie, being the only person to ride with them made me feel pretty proud and important, I can be pretty shallow at times. Also, all the flashing lights looked positively breathtaking. I got in the cab of the ambulance, reached back and held Katie’s hand, and assured her we were going to be okay. She was still having trouble keeping still but there was recognition in her eyes, rather than that vacant stare. The driver flipped on the driving lights and we took off–with me feeling like the coolest kid in the world.
The ambulance driver drove slow. Steve was following us and he was driving pretty slow…plus I was chatting my head off and the driver was chatting right back. 2 in the morning is probably a boring time to be driving an ambulance and he had all sorts of questions about molly for me. Katie was calm as long as I reached back and held her hand, and she had started trying to dance but she was strapped down. It was hysterical, everyone in that ambulance was laughing their heads off. The driver let me turn on the radio and I found some Blink 182 for us–it just felt like everything was right in the world. He even gave me his name and number, saying he wanted to party with us in the future. All in all, it was one of the most fun rides I’ve ever had in ANY vehicle. He even let me roll down the window and blip the siren a few times. If ambulances were like taxis I’d call them every time.
When we got to the hospital, they dropped me off at the waiting room while they took her inside to get booked. I don’t know what it is, but it makes me happy and content when a girl really needs and depends on me. I wanted to protect Katie and I felt bad that I had to leave her. She seemed like she was doing okay at this point, maybe I just liked feeling important and useful. In any case, while I waited for Steve to park, I smoked a cigarette and looked at the stars. They were as beautiful as the strobes and lasers from the club. I was so unspeakably happy…from the molly, to our good fortune with the cops, to the concert, to my new Vans sneakers, to the joy of spending time with friends…I was at peace. The bass was pleasantly repeating through my head on a loop, and when Steve finally made it to me I could tell he felt the same way. Just happy to be alive. We headed in.
It took them a little while to book Katie and I was super talkative so I struck up a conversation with an aging grandmother in the waiting room. I’m sure she knew I was on something but good molly doesn’t make you appear sketchy, just full of love–so most people are more than happy to interact with you while you’re rolling. We talked about everything under the sun. She was there for a cough and when I heard her hacking I promised to say a prayer for her. Sure enough I thought of her a few days later and stopped what I was doing to say a prayer for her. She was a goodhearted old woman and I hope she got well quickly. I told her I was in love with her and she actually blushed! At least I think it was a blush, hard to tell with that old, wrinkly skin.
They finally called us to her room once princess Katie was all situated. We walked through the maze of brightly lit corridors, around nurses stations and hospital gear, through a few more corridors and finally the nurse pointed to a room and said “in there”. We walked in and suddenly, there was Katie looking fine as hell with the normal sparkle back in her big doe eyes and that mischievous grin on her face. She was hooked up to an IV to cleanse her system. I was happy and relieved she was talking and normal again-in fact I was so happy I went into her bathroom and popped another molly. It just felt like the right decision.
Just like the cops, I told the nurses the complete truth about how we were rolling (they already knew, you can’t sneak much by a nurse). The nurses got considerably less entertainment out of that fact than the cops, but everyone looked beautiful to me so it didn’t bother me in the least when they gave me disapproving stares. One of them started to preach about the risks of rolling but I carefully explained that I was feeling way too good to waste my time listening to that negative shit, and asked her where the nearest place to smoke a cigarette was. exasperated, she pointed towards a door but warned it would lock me out. Apparently she didn’t know that one of my top life skills is messing with doors so they don’t lock. I stuck a toilet paper roll in the door and went outside and THOROUGHLY enjoyed my cigarette while I called a friend from home and told him of the bizarre night unfolding.
When I came back in the room they were interviewing Katie and she kept denying ever having took molly! They were asking her the same things they had asked me in private and her answers were completely different. I was laughing pretty hard and I explained to Katie that I had already told them everything, and that they knew we were on molly, but somehow she didn’t get it–she claimed she didn’t even know what molly was! By this point even the nurse was laughing out loud and shaking her head at us, Katie looked so sincere…I forgot how good women are at lying. Finally she left us alone and I turned Bingo Players on my phone and we started shuffling and raging in the hospital room until we caused such a scene they came and discharged Katie and asked us to leave. The nurse who let us out was a younger guy who said he liked to roll as well, so we gave him a molly. I swear you meet the coolest people at 5 in the morning…
When we got out we were still wide awake and I was about to peak from the cap I popped in the bathroom so we decided to keep it going. We called a cab and told him to take us to Eternal Afterhours nightclub. The night was far from over.
The parking lot to Eternal was packed and lots of people were still arriving when we got there. Eternal is a late night/early morning afterhours nightclub in the heart of Industrial Dallas. They play hardstyle, deep house, and dance, appeal to the rave crowd, and best of all, are open from 4am to 8 or 9am in the morning. Katie was sobered up from all that water they’d pumped in her through the IV so we all took one more molly in the parking lot.
Right as we were walking in I was peaking off the cap I’d taken at the hospital. I was rolling face-my eyeballs were shaking I was rolling so hard. Just the air blasting out of the speakers felt like silk on my skin. I was rolling so hard that the lights were overwhelming. The lights at eternal actually create three-dimensional designs in the air, constantly changing in shape, size, and color. Everything was too much. I went outside and sat on the steps, afraid to stand as these undulating waves of ecstasy poured over me in rapid succession. After a bit some girls came and talked to me and I finally popped some gum in my mouth and got the strength to walk inside. That lightshow was too good to miss out on and I needed to SHUFFLE AND STOMP MY ASS OFF.
At eight in the morning we all walked outside into the morning light, blinking like moles suddenly breaking through the ground into the world. We were all physically exhausted. We were too tired to even talk about our experiences as we climbed into the cab and lit up cigarettes. I felt drained but content. Absolutely spent-there was no more I could-or wanted to-give. We got Steve’s car and climbed in. I think we all recognized something special had happened that night but we were just too drained to care. By the time we’d made it to the highway Katie was already soundly passed out. I was amazed. My friends were rarely able to hang on my level, but they had done a decent job tonight-minus the hospital trip…
On our way home we stopped at a gas station and I went inside to pee. I still felt like the king of the world and the morning breeze felt delicious on the back of my neck. It was a single toilet bathroom but I didn’t lock the door since I was just taking a leak. As I washed my hands this hippie dude with dreads walked in, looking like he had just stepped out of a Mother Earth magazine. I’ve always had a problem with hippies ever since I lived in California and had to smell them–and I was feeling pretty cocky. I grabbed the whole stack of 300 or 400 paper towels, and chucked them in the trash. I turned around, looked him straight in the eye, and yelled “fuck the trees!” I think I scared the shit out of him but I was walking that fine line between normalcy and insanity and I just laughed hysterically for a minute and then abruptly walked out the door. Sometimes I wonder if he ever tells his hippie friends about that one time in that gas station in the middle of nowhere…
We smoked some weed when we got back to Waco and finally began to recount the craziness that had been our night. It was at this time that I found out Katie had taken twice as much molly as I told her to take and she was never roofied at all. She had literally rolled so hard she went full retard. We were taking bongloads and everything was funny, even near death episodes. And then, as suddenly as the magic had came, it left. We went to our respective homes, slept for hours, and I wolfed down a huge hamburger when I woke up. Time to get ready for work and attempt to re-enter the real world. Still every time I watch Spongebob, to this day, and his eyes get huge…I remember us that night and laugh.
It’s Friday morning. I woke up to the square of sunlight marching across the ceiling, filling the pod with warmth. Somehow the sunlight makes it over the 30 foot concrete walls in the rec yard and in through our windows each morning. I don’t know how it works…science.
I lay in my bunk with my eyes half open and that old familiar dull pain began to creep up from my stomach towards my solar plexus. Every morning I wake up in here feels like the morning after a breakup. You want things to be the way they used to be. You remember the way she used to lay against you in the morning, that favorite pair of panties she wore, and the way her ass was so smooth and firm underneath your hand. The way you would wake up together and go to brunch, the dog running ahead of you, tail held high in the breeze. The way every guy walking by would slow down and try to surreptitiously check her out…thinking he was pulling a smooth one on you as you silently grinned and felt that little rush of pride that she chose you. The way you used to sneak up and push her into the bike lane to scare the douchebags in their spandex biker outfits…and the way she would chase you down the street with a palm frond as the dog ran alongside you with that big grin on his face in the soft morning light.
But now that’s gone. She’s gone and the dog is gone and you can’t even get the appetite for brunch. You’re laying on the floor because the bed was hers and the pillow still slightly smells like her. You’re sick and hungover because, like a dumbasss, you thought you could drink her away. There’s that one dime piece you don’t respect passed out next to you…you remember how she tried to hit on you last night and it almost made you cry because you missed your ex so much you couldn’t imagine fucking anyone else. You lay there on the floor in that sea of pain and you wish you could suffocate the slut with a pillow and then OD on pills but you’re too depressed to even expend that kind of energy. So you turn on your iPod to clear your head but every god damn song reminds you of her. Sometimes it gets so bad that you wish you could cry but you just lay there hurting with no relief in sight.
Well, boys and girls, that’s the closest comparison I can make to the pain of waking up and realizing you are in jail…only it is EVERY DAMN MORNING. You realize how beautiful it is just beyond those walls, a whole world bustling with the excitement and glory of summer. And yet, you can’t even go sit on the rec yard without some thug coming up and talking to you about how everyone is out to get them and blah blah blah. There is no freedom. There is no chance to leave your small pod that’s packed with 50 criminals-ever. There is no chance of something exciting happening besides a fight or an attempted suicide. And I keep thinking that the sadness and hopelessness will pass and I’ll get used to it, but nothing ever changes and every morning fills me with regret…
Fuck the police.
Before I get started, let me say that Jail deeply affected my psyche. It forced me out of my comfort zone. Every day was a battle for survival, to keep what I had, and to try to get more food and other necessities-not to mention keeping the respect of my fellow inmates and guards. These observations were made after months of fighting for every smallest privilege. It may be that everything I realized in lockup does not necessarily apply to the free world, but I believe there is plenty to be learned from someone who has had the hardships that forces them to either give up or become a fighter. I’d like to believe I was a fighter. having said that, enjoy…
I’ve been thinking about California pretty seriously lately. My dreams are saturated with golden sunlight and the tinge of salt on the breeze. The smiles of friends flit between the shadows of palm trees and I know, without a doubt, I will be going, going, back, back, all the way to Cali, Cali, soon.
Life is meant to be lived with goals. Large and small, we strive to attain the next step because as soon as we give up our goals, death begins to take over. For too long I have lived in the fog of drugs and alcohol, cheap relationships, the act of just cruising through another day. As I sit here in jail, longing for freedom, I begun to remembering how sweet it is to long for something and set your mind to achieve it. The sharp pangs deep within your gut followed by waves of dedication–dedication that is one of the building blocks of life as surely as sex and food.
I can trace my fall back to a time when I began to lose hope in a job.I’d been waiting tables a few years and I was getting close to graduation. I’d invested a lot of time and energy into school without really knowing where I was headed once I finally achieved my degree.I’d dedicated my life to the party cause, in large part because it helped me score women which had been sorely missing from the earlier part of my life. I had the sex drive of a pitbull and the self confidence of a battered woman and the insecurities, the longing for acceptance, of a B level MTV reality star. I was cruising-wait, wildly careening-towards anything to fill the holes and wounds in my psyche. I was still fresh out of the cultic church I had been raised in, and the issues I took with me when we left were still looming large in my life.
Looking back, the partying and the women chasing were actually important parts of my life. They opened up new possibilities I had never known. They gave me a foundation to build my self confidence on. Most importantly they broadened my mind, revealing new possibilities I had never imagined. This new lifestyle showed me new realities I soaked up like a parched desert traveler.
Right now I feel like I am inevitably moving past those stages. I’m still confident I will be somewhat of a partyer and skirt chaser, but I feel that my focus is now shifting towards a goal-oriented life. Everything I have truly striven for and achieved in the past has started as a mental image. Me driving a Tacoma with a sick sound system. Going to a university in California. Fucking the hot hostess at my restaurant-they all started as mental flashes of what I wanted, what I was willing to work for. Then that image grew in detail until one day it naturally became a reality.
So many Americans seem to have the puritanical concept that we must be miserable to achieve our dreams. It leads to a spiral of manic obsession, ESPECIALLY for an individual with a mentality like me.When I throw myself into trying to “get” something, I tend to prioritize it over everything else-destroying myself and others in the process.This is probably why I have so many negative connotations with certain goals-I’ve tried to reach them the wrong way and become a toxic unit of destruction in the process.Rather than having a goal and letting it happen with guidance from me, I attempt to force the universe into my will.Well strangely enough, this doesn’t work well for me. I appreciate happiness too much to sacrifice it for materialism.This may change as I grow older and inevitably mature but for now, it is who I am.
I’m truly excited about where life is leading me.I’m beginning to learn that I can be content in the present as I strive towards a goal. This is a truly life-changing concept for me, It’s like an algorithm I am finally starting to comprehend. Don’t run away from challenges, embrace them. Concurrently, live your present life to the max, staying rooted in the joy of the here and now. This idea has been a key, opening a whole new outlook on life for me. I look forward to what the future holds…the opportunities may not be endless but they are more than I can begin to comprehend.
I’m laying in a nursing home bed right now. It is early in the morning and the grey first light of morning has given way to the lighter grey of a drab Texas Fall morning when a rainstorm is on the way. I just popped a Norco so I don’t feel very much pain but the band of pulsating pressure in my abdomen is still there in the background, reminding me of the miracle my continued existence is. Let me start at the beginning…
I was recklessly rolling down the side of a mountain-no brakes-and it was inevitable the wheels were going to fall off. I knew it was just a matter of time but my nature is to go hard or go home and I wasn’t planning on going home.
I consumed coke constantly. I drank beer by the 30 rack and liquor by the handle. I did other drugs when they were available, opting for scripts and ecstasy but never knowing the purity of my drugs-even the scripts. I live in Waco after all and consistently good dealers, with consistently reliable product, are nearly impossible to find. I snorted substances with reckless abandon never knowing if they were coke or meth or laundry detergent. I parachuted “molly” which ended up being bath salts. I woke up to shots of Fireball and cigarettes. I was balls to the wall at all times.
Contrary to what I had heard about addiction, I didn’t feel hopeless. I didn’t feel like a loser. I kept myself (mostly) clean and looking good. But deep down I was lost, stumbling through an endless maze in the dark. I was happy but my happiness would be shattered by deep episodes of self loathing and pain throughout the day. I was constantly a product of my surroundings. Waiting on my dealers to deliver. Hoping quality was good. Blowing lines for breakfast with music blasting, shaking the entire house. Waiting on a ride to go get more cigarettes. I was just coasting and I honestly loved it. I’m a very good “floater”, floating wherever the river of life takes me. I loved the feeling of free falling but but deep down I knew it couldn’t last. It was just a matter of time…
Things had been on a bizarre slant lately. Just a few weeks prior, I had been surprised by a call from from one of my best friends who I hadn’t talked to in a while. She sounded manic, which wasn’t really anything new-she had PTSD from her years in the army. She just kept asking me if I loved her and if we were best friends. I was frustrated. I’d just worked 14 hours and I was busy doing coke bumps and drinking Shiners. I didn’t have time for the drama. So I laughed her off. I told her we could hang out later and got off the phone.About half an hour later she had blown her head off with her favorite handgun. The dreamlike week that followed was a life changing experience that opened me up to a whole range of new emotions and thought processes.
After her suicide, I (once again) tried turning to religion to put a salve on my cracked heart. Unfortunately I went the Old Testament route and gained a newfound disgust for a whiny, petulant God with a serious anger problem. I read about how he tried to convince Abraham to sacrifice his son. I read about him turning people into salt for looking at things. And as I read, my anger grew until I had to put the Bible down and go to sleep. But I stayed awake with night terrors, sweat soaking my sleeper sofa. I ripped my blankets apart. It was just another example of how fragile my happiness was when threatened with outside stimulus.
Shortly after all this, some personal issues came to light regarding my past. Issues so personal they are unsharable on an online blog. Issues that ripped my guts apart. Because I believe that nothing is free. The more fun you have free falling through a cocaine and Stoli induced haze, the harder the sadness will hit you when it does find you. But it’s okay, you just grab a xanax bar and sleep for a day until the sadness passes. Needless to say, I was pretty heavily using a lot of substances…especially alcohol. And it was just a matter of time before my health took a hit. How big a hit? Well…
I jerked awake. It was 4 in the morning and I was drenched in sweat. The sofa that I sleep on was drenched as well. My legs were asleep as they hung off the edge of the sofa that was much too small for me. But none of this woke me up. Something much more powerful than anything I had felt in years. I lay in the dark and I felt it again-a sharp, stabbing sensation in my abdomen. It was frightening. The pain was ferocious and it hit me deep inside. It felt like a wolf devouring my insides and it hurt like hell. I rolled off my couch, knocking over a half full bottle of Stoli in the process. It gurgled out across the carpet as I rolled into a ball and lay there, shaking in the dark. I knew something was wrong but I refused to believe it. I got up, stumbled to my desk, and grabbed a handful of tums. Maybe I just had a particularly bad case of acid reflux. I grabbed a Xanax bar and stumbled back to my couch. I was determined that I wasn’t seriously sick and it wasn’t long before that Xanax knocked me out. I was all good, I’d sleep it off. I was untouchable.
TO BE CONTINUED….
I’m drinking vodka in bed while I wait for something to happen. Playing music. My liver hurts. Or at least I think it’s my liver. Something hurts. Maybe it’s a ripped muscle from the other day. We were playing beer pong at my sister’s friend’s house. They decided to make it strip beer pong but I refused to take off my boxers. My fucking sister was there. I wasn’t going to cross that line. But then some chick at the party suggested going streaking. So we did. Running naked down a nondescript street in Waco.. It was drizzling, my skin was cold but my core was hot. I was coked out. I also saw a tree. So I decided to climb. The funniest part of the situation was that the people streaking with me warned me about climbing the tree. I didn’t care…coked out. I slowly climbed up about 30 feet high, buoyed by their concern and worry. My bare feet gripped the bark and my hands were rubbed raw from pulling myself up. I made it to a respectable height before I realized I wanted to get down. I remember looking at that branch below me. It was close, I could jump down to it. So I leapt. And instantly hit the branch with a glancing blow that shredded my back. Then I fell. Through branches that crushed my back as I thudded against them. I instantly had a sense of deja vu that I get in rough situations. Everything felt familiar, I felt no pain only wonder. When I landed on the ground people rushed to help, which I loved. I liked the fact that they thought I was dying. If you ever want some luck try to try to die). I was bleeding everywhere, but oddly content. I let myself relax as blood rushed out of my legs and back, and for once I was happy. For once I couldn’t be more extreme than I already was. Voices surrounded me but I was long gone. I told everyone I was okay and they left while I sat on the couch and let the adrenaline run the course. I live for those moments. When time stops. Humanity stands still in awe. And I just don’t care. FOR ONCE, I can be relieved of the burdens that crush me, life is manageable. I remember that life is a joke, so I laugh as the walls surrounding me crash down. And everyone stares at me as I smile into this void of Waco.
Sometimes the smallest cue can snap me out of my ever narrowing mindset and once again destroy the walls I build around myself daily. This picture did that for me. I saw it while browsing some online art and instantly snapped back to that day on the beach. She was a hostess from a restaurant I worked at. Dark hair. Sundress. We sat on the beach and smoked Camel cigarettes while the sun seemed to hover near the brink of the edge of the world, never quite settling into the Pacific Ocean. I thought it wouldn’t end–I was young enough to believe that– but for that brief time, I didn’t care. We were happy and even when a seagull swooped in and stole my pack of smokes I just lazily sat there and let her lay on me. California-particularly Santa Barbara-is a magical place, a sort of never-never land that is great to experience but difficult to live in. But I will always remember that day, drawing pictures in the sand as the sun slowly splashed color across my world. May we never forget the beauty surrounding us in this fleeting glimpse at mortality called life.
I wrote this a few days into jail before I became a lot more jaded about life and relationships.
She drives me fucking crazy. When I think of her it is an entire body sensation. Her lithe body pressed against mine, her arms tightly draped around my neck. Standing on tiptoe so her mouth can lock onto mine, her hair enveloping us. Fingers reaching for my dick as it waits for her touch, hardening against my jeans. Her warm breath on my neck, heart beating against mine. I wonder how she managed to do this to me. I wonder what will happen in the future. I miss her. It’s a sweet pain, like a lucid dream. She is like a color I’m scared I’ll never see again, an experience I can not replicate. I wish I could remember her smell. I wish I could hold her against me. I wish her lips and tongue were entertwined with mine. I know it would be destructive & dangerous for us to become involved again but I can’t stop imagining her… Fuck it. Maybe I’ll call her. That bitch.
I never called her again, but I think about her occasionally to this day.
I WAS JUST SLEEPING MINDING MY BUSINESS…BUT…
You woke me up yelling about medications SO..
I went outside to the recyard BUT…
You followed me out and said I couldn’t drink coffee outside SO…
I came back inside to watch TV BUT…
You followed me and told me I had to change my undershirt SO…
I changed my T-shirt and went to use the telephone BUT…
I forgot to ask if I could use it SO…
You made me hang up, acting like it’s an unspeakable sin to call your family without asking an authority figure first, which made me lose my cool and run headlong into the recyard wall in an effort to escape this hell BUT…
There is no escape SO…
I’m sitting here another day, dying inside, missing America.
I spent some time locked up in Denton County Jail, where I spent a lot of time soul-searching, gambling, reading and writing. This is an excerpt from one of my notepads I wrote while locked up
This is the beginning of my fourth notebook and I fully expect it to be my last. I have 10 days left until my court date, which will be at about the 45 day mark. Almost a quarter of a year spent in this place. God damn. The following is a list of a few things I’ve learned since that Memorial Day so long ago when I last walked around as a free man.
*Tobacco addiction is a joke. I mean, I jonesed–if that’s even how you spell it–for a cigarette a little when I first came in but honestly that part of my life wasn’t that difficult to give up. I’ll probably smoke again when I get out, but only because I want to. I can’t imagine I will ever feel powerless against a chemical like nicotine for the rest of my life. I’ve seen and experienced too much. Life is a lot bigger than a Camel. Just saying…
*If it isn’t easy, but it’s worthwhile, stick with it. I CAN’T STRESS THIS ENOUGH. Life is over when you aren’t learning new things and improving what you already know. I’m amazed at how often I’ve convinced myself that the hard things were really experiences I never wanted in the first place. I’d begun to forget the thrill of conquering something new-even something as simple as a new card game. A lot of the best things in my life have come about through persevering through obstacles.
*At the same time, balance is key. I’ve also seen how an addiction to pushing oneself can become detrimental. Surprisingly, being locked up reminded me of this concept. Maybe it’s because I had to get to a point where I really had nothing to lose and almost nothing to gain by pushing through my insecurities.
*Bitches really aren’t worth much. On this point I still hope to change my view but I suspect I never will. I just don’t see a lot of reasons to trust in or care about a woman-(besides my mother, of course). Maybe I should strictly fuck prostitutes from now on. I never have before but I feel like doing it that way takes a lot of the complications out of things. Honestly, I know that’s not going to work for me though. I love the chase. I love seeing that girl, her hair falling across her shoulders just so, and knowing I want her but playing it cool-ignoring her then showing attention at that crucial moment. I love walking through the aisles of the grocery store finding food for us to eat. Fuck it, I’m working on becoming a little more reserved right now. I’m interested in seeing how that plays out in the world though.
*NEVER FUCK WITH METH
*It’s better to jack off even though you’re surrounded by 50 dudes than to fall asleep, have a wet dream, wake up with cum in your boxers and on your pants, and try to deal with that fiasco without having access to a change of clothes or a washer.
*Food is a gift and should always be appreciated. Part of this should be done in prayer. Something changes when we look at food in the appropriate way. I can’t exactly describe it but prayer over food is of newfound importance to me.
*Take responsibility for yourself. No suicidal outs. No blame shifting. No excuses. Just live, and live to your best.
I’m crashing out. The Seroquel is kicking in and I’m getting sleepy. Another day down…
I’m finally free. I got released two days ago at midnight. I had been on bunk restriction all day. My celly had a severe asthma attack and had to go get a breathing treatment in the middle of the night before. When he told the guard–well, he actually yelled it at him–the guard bristled at the way he said it and told him he’d have to wait until medical was ready to see him. The guard ended up making him wait so long that when my celly was finally on his way to the doctor, he passed out in the hall. That got the corporal’s attention and he jumped on the guard’s ass. Fast forward to the next morning and the guard did a “random” locker search of his cell. Because I was in the same cell, the guard also searched my locker. He ended up finding a contraband razor in my locker and a sharp piece of formica that could be construed as a weapon under my cellys bunk. We were both given twelve hour bunk restrictions which was pretty excessive but it’s not like you have a real good appeals process when you are in jail. SO we both ended up racked on our bunks for the rest of the day. It wasn’t too bad though. We found ways to pass the time sleeping and reading…and he talked my damn ears off but I didn’t mind that much. I ended up finding out a lot more about him than I wanted to know-he was a coke and meth dealer with an unbelievably fucked up past. His girlfriend cheated on him with his brother and his nephew, and ended up getting pregnant by his nephew. That kind of fucked up. But a strange thing happened as we talked. I quit worrying about everything and just relaxed. I laughed at his jokes and gave sympathies for his woes. He went to visitation and his current wife was there and he tried to get her to visit me, but he didn’t know my SO number. So she didn’t end up visiting–and I was happy about that, I really had no desire to be chatting it up with a 40 year old woman who probably wasn’t hot–but I thought it was a cool gesture on his part. We had both only been in the pod a few days but people kept stopping by to talk to us–at the risk of getting a bunk restriction themselves–and by the end of the day I felt popular as shit. Then one guy got good news–he found out that his girlfriend out in the world wasn’t cheating on him like he thought–and in his giddiness he gave us a beef stew to split. That kind of shit just DOES NOT happen in Denton County Jail. Then I got into the spirit and put some soups and half a salami towards a spread and as soon as we got off bunk restriction at 11 we ate really good. A big bowl of soup and noodles and little pieces of beef and sausage that you had to look for like hidden treasure. The day just had that ineffable quality of goodness. Nothing could get me down. And then, when I was getting ready to rack down for the night, the guard came and told me I was out of there. I had no idea I was going to be released that night so it came as a shock. I emptied out my locker and gave all of it to my celly. He needed it, and he looked pretty fucking stoked to get the food and hygene products. I grabbed my notebooks and books–including the copy of A Farewell to Arms that I’d found among the trashy romance novels and B-grade legal thrillers in the pod’s book selection that I couldn’t bear to part with–and headed towards the door.
I kept expecting to get a huge surge of excitement but nothing happened. I got to the door and turned around for one last look at the pod. The rows of bunks full of faces watching me leave. The brick walls and cement floors. The guard sitting at the desk. with his shoulders puffed back and his stern expression full of righteous indignation and judgement of the lowlife criminals surrounding him. The flourescent lights, dimmed for bedtime. And I guess a little part of me wondered if I would miss it. The doors clicked open and I walked out.
During my college career (and after) I took advantage of quite a few internship opportunities. I guess it would be more correct to say a lot of internship positions took advantage of me, as I generally ended up just working for free (and occasionally college credit). While most of them involved making coffee and data entry, some really gave me some valuable workplace experience. The internship for the morning show at KJEE–the modern/indie rock radio station in Santa Barbara (and one of the few remaining locally owned radio stations in the country that haven’t been been bought up by ClearChannel)–was not one of those internships. The point of my internship at KJEE was basically just to have fun, and it was a pretty enjoyable way to spend my early mornings while hanging out with my coworkers–who were really my friends. We had a lot of fun on those early mornings as the sun rose over the mountain tops and woke up that vibrant beach community. A lot of fun…
In order to understand the morning show you’ve got to understand the cast of characters. Spencer was the undisputed king of the show. He was very bro, very punk-rock, with his fauxhawk and tattoos. He was outspoken and friendly, with the energy of a 12 year old kid on crack. It always surprised me how he was able to be involved in–or the center of–everything cool that happened in and around town. He had that indefinable ability to wind up a part of things that’s so important for a radio or television host to have. He was relentlessly upbeat and his attitude was contagious. We had to be in the studio by 4:30 am and even at that ungodly hour Spence was bouncing around and grinning. I hope he was on adderall because otherwise he was a freak of nature.
“Adam the Sports Guy” was my buddy from UCSB. We were both communication majors so we shared a few classes. He was a goofy, somewhat nerdy, very white guy from Boston.He enjoyed movie and pop culture references and he could literally quote any moment of any episode of any season of The Simpsons on command. He really was quite the nerd but he was so outgoing and shameless about his dorkiness that he got away with anything and even made it look cool most of the time.
Adam was that guy who would do absolutely anything to get a rise out of people, which created some memorable radio moments. At a very formal political campaign event for Hilary Clinton (at the time she was running in the primaries for the Democratic nomination for president against Obama) he asked Chelsea Clinton on a date in front of everyone. When he was on MTVs show “Next” he managed to-unintentionally-fall out of the trailer and gash his head open as he went to be introduced to his date. That was Adam, always guaranteed to be the center of some drama even when he wasn’t trying to be. It was endlessly exciting to hang out with him, there really was no telling what would happen. There were other people on the show but really Spence and Adam were the two that ran the thing–there was no morning show without them.
One morning as we sat around laughing at celebrity mugshots, one of our reporters called in to let us know that the staff at UCSB was on strike and there were going to be some major protests all week. There were always protests and strikes and all sorts of political unrest going on at UCSB so I thought nothing of it. When I glanced across the soundbooth at Adam, however, he had that gleam in his eye I’d learned to recognize. That look without fail meant the wheels were turning and we were about to do something fun. I sat up on the edge of my seat and grinned. “Let’s go” was all he said.
Because we were one of the few remaining privately owned radio stations (the owner had turned down several lucrative offers from Clearchannel) we were given mostly free reign over our skits and pranks. Sometimes this led to pretty funny morning show bits–and sometimes boring bits. Usually, you could count on something at least mildly offensive. It’s never a good idea to let a bunch of immature college kids have access to a public forum of any kind.
We took off down the 101 in the KJEE suburban and parked away from the protests so nobody would know we were there. Adam had grabbed some air horns and a megaphone. It never ceased to amaze me the variety of things he could come up with in minutes. When we got to the site of the protests we sat back and watched for a a few minutes. There was a pretty sizable crowd walking around and chanting with signs held high. I guess they were unhappy about their wages–that’s usually what it boiled down to. Most of them were Mexicans, with a few of the annoying hippie white students who are always protesting something thrown in.
I got bored and went to go grab a coffee. When I got back, I couldn’t believe what I saw. Adam was standing up on their little stage with his megaphone, preaching on the evils of Brandon Frazier. He avidly hated Brandon Frazier for some reason and the third “Mummy” movie had just been released. He motioned for me to come join him and continued his rant. Every minute or so he’d stop and we’d both yell “HELL YEAH!” At first the people marching and chanting didn’t really notice us but slowly they started gathering around. As I looked out, I noticed that most of them didn’t even speak English, even though they were chanting in English. I think they just liked yelling “hell yeah” with us. As more gathered around and Adam’s rant got more animated, more people started yelling with us. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. All these people had no idea what the fuck he was talking about but he sounded so convincing they were agreeing with him. I don’t think the hippies liked us, they were giving us some dirty looks but by this time it was too late–we were hyping the crowd up and they liked it.
It wasn’t long before Adam was marching around leading the crowd in a chant of “no more Brandon Frazier!” He really was a character, most of the Mexicans were following us, chanting at full volume. By this time the protest organizers–who were white, of course–were getting pissed. I saw lots of dreadlocked potheads and ugly girls with overly concerned expressions on their faces-as if the plight of the poor underpaid janitor really was the end of their world. It was hilarious. We were broadcasting the whole process live on the radio and angry people were calling in to complain but the people who the entire protest was supposed to be about had big grins on their faces as they marched through campus denouncing Brandon Frazier. As is usually the case, security had a fit and threw us out of the protest. To this day I can’t see a Brandon Frazier film without remembering that day.
Sometimes, the politically incorrect behavior was too much for liberal Santa Barbara to handle. When Spence sent me down to Mcdonalds with a bunch of coupons for breakfast sandwiches I thought we were about to pig out. Of course, Adam had ulterior motives though. We headed down to the pier as the sun came up and the city was coming to life. The pier was a hotspot for bums as they slept off their hangovers out on the water where the balmy summer breeze would keep them comfortable and rich tourists out of Los Angeles and San Francisco were more than happy to give them a 20 for their next bottle. It was also a favorite hangout spot for the seagulls as they swooped in to steal french fries off unsuspecting patio tables and clean up the scraps from the seafood restaurants and merchants crammed along the borders of the pier. It was the perfect location for a prank straight out of Adam’s mind.
When we got to the pier Adam ran his idea by me. We would set a breakfast sandwich out somewhere obvious and see if a bum or a seagull got to it first. We named the skit, appropriately enough, “bum vs. bird”. It sounded like a genius idea to me and I told him so. We had a great relationship because I was too cautious to suggest most of his ideas but I was more than happy to encourage him to follow through with them so I could watch. The fact that he made me look cautious should give you an idea of how little he cared about what anyone thought about him. He made me look like a saint and that is a rare character trait. I guess I was just more self conscious than he was.
We set a Mcgriddle out on a public picnic table and sat back to conduct our “scientific experiment”. It took a little longer than we expected but about three minutes in a seagull flew by and grabbed it. Seagulls are such stupid birds, they hate to see one of their own with food. They would literally rather fight over one piece of food than both have their own. So of course, as soon as all the other gulls saw their homey squawking with pride over the stupid sandwich, they all flew over to get some. All the squawking and fighting had the desired effect and a couple of bums–taking time from their busy lives of shitting on themselves and leering at girls–wandered over to find out what was going on. The hook was baited and we were good to go.
The next one we set out had some competition. A bum watched us set it out there–still nicely wrapped up–and ambled over as quickly as his heroine induced stupor would allow. Sadly, the birds were not on heroine and they beat him to it. I don’t think he really cared because he just kind of sat down and lit a cigarette. We had to up the ante.
Before we put out the next one we told the bums about our skit. We told them the first person or bird there got the sandwich. We told them to stand up for bums everywhere. They were stoked–to be honest, those sandwiches looked pretty good, I would have enjoyed one myself. Those dumbasses couldn’t seem to get it together though. By this time a flock of gulls was circling and as soon as we put down that sandwich they grabbed it, instantly ripping it to shreds. The bums were all cursing and trying to outrun the birds and Adam and I were laughing so hard I was about to piss myself. Every time we did it, the birds won.
By this time the bums were getting pissed and ominously threatening. A bum riot is really not that big a deal. It’s mostly just a bunch of shoving and cursing and a shitload of stink. I guess they thought we’d be scared of them like the tourists were but we were laughing too hard to really care. We were broadcasting this whole process live and people started calling in to complain. Santa Barbara is so damn liberal that half the people probably thought we were mistreating the birds. Shit started getting pretty hairy when one of the callers threatened to call the cops over what we were doing to those poor innocent bums, withholding food like that. Obviously she had never talked to one of those animals in the real world. We ducked out before the hippies could start picketing us or something. We were still laughing pretty hard for a while after. Maybe someday our research can be used. I highly doubt anyone else has set up an experiment pitting bums against seagulls before.
I really had a blast in that internship. When Arnold Schwarzenegger bought a house in nearby Carpenteria, we took a welcome basket of CDs, bumper stickers, and keychains that nobody wanted. We were promptly chased off by his security team. We interviewed and asked a variety of celebrities and politicians inappropriate questions. I got free tickets to multiple concerts, events, and movie screenings. During the Warped Tour the tent I was manning with another intern got knocked down and nearly destroyed when a particularly unruly crowd started a mosh pit too close to us. I was able to get a lot of exciting experiences out of that internship. The station itself was a chill spot, tucked in the heart of downtown Santa Barbara. The walls were covered with rock n’ roll , sports, and entertainment memorabilia we had acquired over the many years covering the central coast scene. It was the kind of place I would go to hang out and shoot the shit with the DJs when I was drunk or bored. It’s a shame local radio is dying out. As corporations take over radio, the music and programing has become so homogenized you will be hard pressed to hear something as awesome as “bum vs. bird” anymore. After I finished my internship and moved on they fired the morning show and picked up “the Kevin and Bean Show”, syndicated out of LA. So things will probably never be the same as they were in those early mornings, drinking coffee and waiting for the sun to cut through the fog and wake up the town of Santa Barbara.