Getting High

As a young child I was always trying to find some way to get high. I think we all did the things I am going to describe. As an adult I have alcohol and prescription drugs. But as a child, you have to use more natural methods. And I tried a lot of them.


I would stand with my arms spread wide and look up at the sky and spin around and around until I couldn’t spin anymore. Then I would try to walk around, stumbling and laughing.

Like this but less romantic-y.


When my older sister, W, would bring her boyfriends home, they would pick us up by our hands and swing us around in circles. In retrospect, my parents probably should not have let them do that. Especially to my sister, J, who had a habit of getting her shoulder dislocated. It just sounds dangerous. But we were surprisingly never injured.

How is this safe?


As an adult, before I started drinking, I had read this article and decided to try a few of the methods described.


I had already experienced the ‘high’ of not eating for several days back in high school. I used to do that all the time. It definitely works. But I wouldn’t recommend it as it is very unhealthy and potentially dangerous.


I also had experienced the high of sleep deprivation many times in my life. I have always had chronic insomnia from as far back as I can remember. I have gone days without sleep. At some point, once I pushed past that robotic zombie stage, I did start to hallucinate. Like serious, mostly scary, hallucinations. Again, it is not something I would recommend. Especially if you drive.



I have tried taking baths with Clary Sage essential oils. It did put me in a heightened state of relaxation beyond that of just taking a warm bath. I still do it from time to time because I like the calming quality of it.


I also do meditate. It helps me to relax at night before sleeping. Sometimes I have meditated for hours at a time. I have had several very unusual meditative experiences that I will describe sometime. When I can figure out how to talk about them without sounding like a total kook.


But none of those highs compare to this thing I used to do with my friend M, and sister J when we were kids.


We would stand with our backs against a wall and bend forward, as though we were trying to touch our toes (something I have only been able to do in the last few years thanks to yoga).We would breathe rapidly and deeply for a few minutes.

Exactly like this but breathing really heavily.


Then we would stand up suddenly and hold our breaths. This never worked for me for weeks and weeks of trying. And then one day M put her hands around my throat. I don’t know if it was the pressure or the restriction of air. But it worked.


It worked so well that sometimes I would lose consciousness. I really enjoyed doing it until one time I lost consciousness, fell down, and hit my head on the door handle and almost gave myself a concussion.


I refused to try it again after that.


Did anyone else do these things? Are there things you did to get high that I am not mentioning?


In Love

I want to tell you guys about the only time I have ever been in love. I have dated a lot of people. I have slept with a lot of people. I cared about a few of them. I loved a few of them. But I have only ever been IN love with one person.

That might sound bad considering how many people I have dated. But I think after this story and this story, you guys might have started to realize I haven’t really dated anyone worth falling in love with. And none of you have even heard the worst of it.


This was during my heart surgery phase. I love that expression. It sounds like my heart surgeries were just a phase I was going through; like wearing glittery eye shadow or side ponytails.

That scrunchie is a nice touch.

As soon as the anaesthesiologist pumped me full of magical knock out drugs, I was out. I could have been dead for all I knew. The last thing I’d see was some random forest scene on the ceiling of the operating room. Then I would suddenly be riding out of the operating room on a stretcher and into the recovery room with no memory of the passage of time.

And I’d always be like, I don’t want to die looking at pine trees on a screen.

It was in the recovery room that I fell in love.


There was a perianesthesia nurse there in that room. He was the same person every time.  And this may partially be the drugs talking, but he was the loveliest human being I have ever met.


Waking up from anesthesia is traumatic. I would be wheeled in with IV lines in my arm or neck (or both) and heart catheters still hanging out of my groin. I also had very bad reactions to anesthesia every time.


But that nurse would talk to me with a voice that washed over me like a soothing balm. He was calm and soft spoken. I knew he would keep me as safe as he could.


He never put his hands on me without warning me first. He never lied to me. He told me it was going to hurt for a few minutes while he pulled my caths out. And it did. A lot.He told me it was going to hurt while he put pressure on my groin to keep me from bleeding to death with all the blood thinners I was on. And it did.

Apparently he was pulling this thing out of my heart. No wonder it hurt.

While he was hurting me and helping me, he was also talking to me. He would joke with me. He actually made me laugh in my miserable state. He made sure I felt okay, he would check in with me every few minutes. He didn’t try to rush me out of the room. He treated me like I was the only person in the world. Like I mattered. And he gave me some amazing drugs.


He told me I was brave and strong and good. And when he said those words I believed him. He made me feel brave and strong and good. He told me I was going to be okay. And I believed that too.


I think it is hard to not fall a little bit in love with someone when they are so good at their job and that pride and skill shows in their work. I think it is hard to not fall a little bit in love with someone that helps you through one of the worst experiences of your life.


I think we all want to be with someone that makes us feel brave and strong and good. Someone that makes us believe we are going to be okay. I never wanted to leave that recovery room. Each time I would stay literally for hours, just listening to his voice.


He never told me his name. I never saw his face. All I know is that he was a man and, judging by the ring on his finger, he was married.
I don’t want to find him. I don’t wish I knew who he was (though I do hope he knows how much I appreciated him). What I wish is that I could meet someone that made me feel as brave, and strong, and good, and safe, as he made me feel. But preferably without all the drugs and hospitals and surgeries.

Seattle: Part 1

I’m back from vacation and from my blogging hiatus. And I have some stories to tell you while they are still fresh in my mind. Be warned: you may see me in a different light after the next few posts.


Straight off let me say, I am a bad traveller. I get anxiety. I get motion sickness on any moving piece of machinery. I have a bad back and can hardly get comfortable at home where I bought everything specifically for my back. I don’t like interacting with or touching strangers. And I don’t like wearing bras or pants. Luckily, I have drugs that help all that.


As a result, I don’t travel much and am a total pain in the ass when I do. But I desperately miss my little sister and was ready to brave airports, planes, buses, trains, and shitty mattresses to see her.


The flight both there and home were absolutely miserable and not even in a way that I can make funny so I’ll skip it. Except that I tried to board the wrong plane and was actually embarrassed walking past all the people waiting in line.


I got to my sister, J’s place at midnight. I was so tired from travelling that I barely spoke to her and went straight to sleep.


The next morning the bright sun was shining in my face. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t feel rested. It had to be 8am. I checked the time. It was just after 5am.


What the fuck was going on? I texted my sister. Why is it so bright out?!


Apparently the sun rises at 5am and sets at 9pm in the summer in Seattle. Who knew?


Despite having no sleep on an uncomfortable bed, I was the most cheerful person in the city that morning. And every morning, actually. Apparently nobody smiles or behaves friendly in the city. At least not to J.


We took a bus to Capital Hill to go to J’s favorite coffee shop. When we got on the bus, I walked up to a pleasant looking blonde girl and said “I’m going to sit next to you.”


She laughed and said “okay.”


I don’t know how bus etiquette works. I was fascinated by everything and in an amazingly good mood. It was beautiful. Low humidity, bright sunlight, cool weather.


Seriously, this is the most beautiful city.



I started asking J all kinds of questions. I wanted to sit in the middle seats where the bus joined. They looked fun and bendy. Then I asked if I could pull the cord for our stop.


The girl next to me pulled out her headphones (90% of the people in the city were wearing headphones, no matter where we went) and asked “Have you never been on a bus before?”


I told her, “I’m from Florida. Only crazy people take the bus. And people with too many DUIs.”


I got to pull the cord and at our stop we took the rear exit. My sister got off the bus and the bus driver immediately closed the doors.


I was shocked. I said aloud, “Oh god! What do I do? I’m trapped forever!” Everyone on the bus started cracking up and my sister turned and looked at me, confused.


I had visions of having to get off at the next stop and being lost in the city and trying to find her again.


Luckily someone realized that I genuinely didn’t know what to do and shouted “Back door!” at the driver before the bus drove off.


We got to Capital Hill, which is apparently the gay district. It was amazing. There were adverts for drag shows and gay couples actually holding hands in public. I loved it.


Her favorite coffee shop was Kaladi Brothers Coffee. If you are ever in Washington State it is worth going to. This was seriously the best coffee I have ever had in my entire life. It was so smooth and incredible. We went back almost every day and one day I even ordered a double (which had 4 shots of espresso).



So many windows too!


We walked around the city for a bit. The city was beautiful. There were flowers everywhere. I stopped to check to see if they were real and a bee flew out into my face. I amused many strangers in the city that day.


She took me to Pike’s Place. It was right on the water and still early enough that most of the vendors weren’t set up. By this point of the day I had already done more walking than I normally do.



The view from Pike Place.


The booths were beautiful and it felt like fall in Florida. I had a molasses cookie and fresh apple cider. There were fresh picked flowers for sale. And I sat on the Pike Place pig.



Bet you never thought you’d see a pic of me riding a giant brass piggy bank. This was pre-haircut.



They didn’t even look real.


This is the same place that has the famous Pike Place Fish Co. They throw the fish. It was cool.


I was a little worried about getting hit with a fish.


For lunch we had Takos Chukis. I got three baby burritos. Again, if you are ever in Washington, go there. They were the best fucking things I have ever had in my mouth. I went there twice on my visit.


Oh my god! These are heaven. I want to eat nothing but them from now on.


I also got to see the disgusting gum wall.



It almost touched me. Ew.


And I got my hair cut by a Drag Queen he/she was the premiere Cher impersonator in the Pacific Northwest. I got me an adorable haircut. I was feeling pretty shaggy and gross in such a hip city. Which by the way, everyone up there is young, hip, thin, and gorgeous. I did not fit in at all. I was disturbed by how few old people were around.
My sister and I decided to “street harass” men by telling them when we thought they were hot. There are a lot of ot men in Seattle. But I happen to go for beards, glasses and hipsters. So, we talked to a lot of hottie guys on my visit. It started as both a way to open up and be more friendly (which we both need) but it turned out to be a lot of fun.


Basically the sexy face of Seattle. Beard, visible tattoos, hotness. The girls were hot too, but they didn’t have beards. Lots of dyed hair, though.


Stay tuned next post for more of my travelling adventures.



Random graffiti wall near the gum wall.



Sunrail Curse

The sunrail opened up here last week. My brother, T, and I have been excitedly awaiting it’s construction. There is a station a few blocks from my apartment and one a few blocks from his apartment.



Looks like The Rocketeer.


During these first two weeks all fare was free to ride. We determined to ride the rails like hobos in the Great Depression.


I heard some of these guys didn’t know the Great Depression was over for years and years. Freaky.


Last week we went down to the station and waited for 45 min for a train. Only to find that the train would be delayed another hour. We shrugged and went to get dinner instead.


After dinner we went back to the railway station and waited another 20 min. Only to find that the train would be delayed another hour. We decided we weren’t meant to ride that night and agreed to try again in a few days when the sunrail people got their shit together.


Well, a few days turned into a few more days and I had to cancel again due to not feeling well and then a second time due to work scheduling issues (I am the worst, I know).


T and I began to joke that the sunrail was cursed for us. But we finally got together on Wednesday to ride this damn train.


The train was surprisingly on time and we even found a seat in one of the mid-level cars. I am 6’1” and my brother is 6’4”. These cars are very definitely intended for the “average” rider, maybe someone around 5’7”.


It was cramped and very crowded. But it was free, so we weren’t complaining. We were seated in a set of forward facing seats that faced a set of rear facing seats.


It was a bit like this.


I had taken something for my back pain. My pain medicine makes me very chatty and filter-less. It has gotten me into trouble in the past. But I was in a quiet mood that evening.


Until a crazy lady sat across from us. I don’t use the word crazy lightly. As soon as she sat down, I knew, she was going to say some shit to us. I immediately compliment her giant gem stone cross around her neck. I also told her it was glittery. But I immediately realized it sounded like I was going to try to mug her. I almost told her, “Don’t worry, I won’t rob you.” But was lucid enough to realize that would be the opposite of reassuring.




She was also wearing a stretch bracelet of various saints. It was very interesting. And sure enough, she talked non-stop about the government.



Now I can re-create her look.


Luckily, we were only traveling a few stops. We got off the train and set off on a quest to visit Super Target. After getting lost twice and taking a detour to the long way, we had reached our destination.


I was so tired from the walk that I rode one of those electric scooters around the store. I have a lot of experience with them from my heart surgery days.


The walk back to the station was much more pleasant and fast. We didn’t get lost and the sun was setting. It was 90 degrees instead of 97 degrees. We had bought a bag a groceries. Mine was mostly junk food. (Thank you, drugged up me!)


At the train station we heard an announcement. The train is running on a modified schedule.


I don’t know about you, but ‘modified schedule’ sounds like a bunch of pacifying bullshit to me. So I looked up the customer service number and called.


The customer service rep was actually pretty rude and unfriendly. He would only say. “The train has been delayed and is running on a modified schedule.”


“But what does that mean? I have groceries. Should I be calling a cab instead of waiting?”


“I can’t advise you of that, ma’am.”


“Do you not have any ETA? What is causing this delay?”


“There was an accident on the tracks with a car and a train.”


“So, it’s going to be a while.”


“They are saying it has been delayed indefinitely.”


I got a little pissed off at that. ‘Indefinitely’ sounds very different than ‘modified.’ They mean vastly different things.


I told the customer service guy, “I would suggest someone communicate that to the thousands of people waiting for trains right now.”   I am still surprised by how unhelpful he was.





So I called a cab. It was only my second cab ride ever. It was scary. The guy was incredibly reckless. But he was fast.
My brother and I decided we were going to wait to ride again in the future. Though we were glad that our sunrail curse only ended in a cab ride and not in a train wreck or accident for ourselves.


Back in 1989 my family went on a car trip to Oklahoma to visit my grandparents. It was Christmas break and I was 5. We were in the same station wagon that would later claim my thumb’s life.


The road trip took several days and it was fucking miserable. I was car sick for the entire time. And my sister had her birthday in the car. Which I’m sure was great for her.


When we got to my grandparents farm there was snow on the ground. I had never seen snow before. And I’ve only seen it once since.


Basically this.


We had a snowball fight at one point. It was pretty pathetic, scraping up handfuls of snow to hurl ineffectually towards each other.


I have a picture of us bundled up. Oklahoma looks cold and depressing in the photo. I was never warm. Not even inside, in front of the fire.


My grandparents had this heavy red blanket. It must have weight 30 or 40 pounds. I couldn’t move it by myself. But lying under it felt amazing. Like a full body hug. They make weighted blankets for autistic people. I keep thinking about making myself one.


They fill them with rice, beans, rocks, or plastic filler. I think I would need rocks. I like a lot of weight.



I didn’t like my grandparents. Or their farm. Or Oklahoma. They were mean and strict. And they ate weird food. They had a few cats. But they were old and sickly and boring. You couldn’t pet them and they didn’t play.


One day I was inside with my grandmother. Everyone else had gone outside. The cold seemed to affect me more than everyone else. It still does.


My grandmother gave her cat some medicine and left the room. I sat there, watching the cat eat around the medicine. The cat finished her treat and left the medicine on the floor. I sat there staring at it.


It was beautiful. It was a clear red gel cap. It was lying in a pool of sunlight. It looked like a jewel. Like a little garnet sparkling on that tile floor.


I dare you to not want to eat this.


I picked it up and played with it. I watched the sun shine through it and leave a glowing red shadow on my palm. It was mesmerizing.


It looks exactly like a garnet.


I started to wonder what it tasted like. It was so pretty. It had to taste amazing. Like magic, or rainbows, or at the very least like a gusher. By the way, don’t Google ‘red gusher’ with safe search off.


And disturbingly like a gusher.


I could hear my grandmother somewhere in the house. I took a deep breath and bit into it. It tasted acrid and bitter. Like earwax.


But it was medicine, and medicine was good for you. Besides, it was so pretty. How could something so pretty be bad for you?


So I ate the whole thing. I never told anyone that I had eaten it. It was one of the many random, pointless secrets I kept as a child.


In retrospect, I’m lucky it didn’t make me sick. I am exactly the type of child that people make warning labels for. It’s lucky I don’t find blue to be an appetizing color or I would have poisoned myself with Windex or windshield wiper fluid long ago.


Tastes like stomach pump.

Child free

When I was four or five my oldest sister had a Cabbage Patch doll. One day, my family went to the zoo. For some unfathomable reason I wanted to take my sister’s Cabbage Patch doll with me. I don’t particularly like dolls, but I must have thrown a serious fit. Because my mother made my sister let me take it.

Dolls really are creepy.

Dolls really are creepy.

The doll had a cute little outfit with red rubber shoes and a full size doll stroller. I lugged this damn thing around the zoo all day. It was the biggest pain in the ass. Trying to keep track of the doll. Making sure it didn’t get stolen. Fucking with the stroller in the tight spaces.

I was terrified of my older sister. She was 10 years older. She was beautiful, and mean, and cold, and other-wordly. She was like a volatile goddess. We don’t speak anymore. But this is how I still imagine her. And her doll was not being damaged on my watch.

High school photo of my sister.

High school photo of my sister.

At one point during the day, I noticed that the doll’s shoe had fallen off somewhere. This launched me into an anxiety ridden panic. I retraced my every step till I found it.

I was miserable the whole day. I didn’t enjoy my experience at the zoo. I actually hate zoos now, for unrelated reasons. I had spent the whole day worried about this fucking doll.

And then I looked around me, at all these women, with babies in strollers. And I realized, this was their life. My experience at the zoo was the life of having a child. I would never enjoy anything I did ever again once I had children. I would be a slave to the anxiety and worry. And not only that; but a child would have it’s own will. It would go out of it’s way to be intrusive and obnoxious.

I thought all of those things, at 5 years old. And I vowed, right then and there, to never have children.

For the past 24 years people have told me that I would change my mind. ‘Once I had a boyfriend. Once I got married. Once I was 18. Once I was 25. Once I was 30.’ I have never wavered. I have only become more and more convinced that children are not right for me.

Let me say here: I love children. I love my nieces and nephews. I love my friends’ children. Children like me too. But having children is NOT the right choice, FOR ME.

I began trying to to get my tubes tied when I was 18. Every year I go to a new OB/GYN and every year they refuse. Once I started having heart issues my cardiologist told me I should never have children as it would probably kill me. I told him that I was way ahead of him.

Then I found my current OB/GYN. And he is amazing. He actually believed that I knew what I wanted for myself and my life. It only took me 10 years. And he recommended me to someone that could do the procedure.

The day of the procedure was the same day as my court hearing to get a restraining order against my ex boyfriend (which will be the subject of another post). The procedure was in the morning and the hearing was in the afternoon. I figured I’d have no problem making it to both. Especially since neither could be rescheduled. And because I am a complete idiot.

WARNING: This post is about to have graphic language involving lady parts.

The night before the procedure I had to insert a pill into my vagina as far as I could get it to go. It would help soften my cervix for the procedure the next day. I thought I knew what to expect with the procedure because they had done a test run the month previously.

The worst part about it the first time was when they ripped a one inch chunk of my uterine wall out for testing with no anaesthesia. But they wouldn’t be doing that this time. And yes, I cried.

I wouldn’t be able to drive after the procedure because I’d be hopped up on vicodin and valium (which I secretly thought would make the court proceedings much more enjoyable). So my best friend, C, and her husband drove me to the OB/GYN. I was wearing my trusty pajama outfit from this story, but had brought a change of clothes for court.

The nurse called me back and observed me taking my drugs. She and I had previously begun a long relationship via multiple phone calls in which I made wildly inappropriate jokes. She had not once laughed at a single thing I had ever said.

The drugs kicked in and I asked if my friend could come back and join me. The nurse, B,  said yes, asked if my friend would want to see me so exposed. I told her C was pregnant and we had a deal. She’d be in here for this and I’d be in the hospital for her delivery. B said not till we started the procedure.

I pulled out my cell phone and texted C. I was really drugged up.

Me: Something in this room smells amazing. And I don’t know what it is.

C: Are you alone in there?

Me: I am right now. I am going to start smelling things till I figure out what that smell is.

C: You are in a gynecologists office! Do not smell random things! You don’t know where they’ve been.

Me: Actually I do. Vaginas.

Me: False alarm. It was my hair. They have a 3-d vagina puzzle back here that I am playing with. Bring my purse back so I can steal it.

3-D Vagina model!

3-D Vagina model!

The nurse walked in and I had my phone out. She gave me a shot in the butt and said it was time. I had a rather important question to ask her and the drugs had kicked in just enough for me to do so. “So, how long do I have to wait before having sex after this procedure?” I asked, B.

“Well, you really should wait 3 months before you start having unprotected sex. We will need to test you to make sure your tubes are fully blocked.”

“Yes, I know three months for my tubes to be blocked.  But I mean sex, in general.”

“In general you can’t have unprotected sex because you are still at risk for pregnancy.”

The OB/GYN, S, came in and so did some strange man who turned out to be the Essure representative. This was after my heart surgeries when I long ago stopped feeling things like shame.

“I know how babies are made. I’ve had sex many, many times before and not gotten pregnant. I just want to know how long I have to wait, after the procedure to have sex again.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have unprotected sex at all…”

I interrupted her. “Let me make this easier. When can I masturbate again?”

She flushed and mumbled, “One week.”

During the Essure procedure they opened me up with a speculum, then inserted a bunch of dilators into my cervix. Then they pumped my uterus full of saline solution and stuck a light and a camera in there. It was like the flooded movie set of a disaster film.

Like this, only mine were longer.

Like this, only mine were longer.

If I turned slightly I could see the inside of my uterus over my shoulder. The first spring got in my fallopian tube in less than 5 minutes. The spring blocks the tube and irritates it which causes the body to create scar tissue which eventually completely blocks the tube. It’s like a gross human pearl with a spring in the center instead of a grain of sand.

This is shoved in my Fallopian tubes.

This is shoved in my Fallopian tubes.

I suddenly thought of an idea. “Can I get one of you to take a picture of my vulva with all these dilators and cords sticking out? I really want to know what that looks like.”

B responded. “No. We can’t do that. That’s an invasion of your privacy.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s my phone and I want the picture.”

“We still can’t.”

“Well, call C in here so she can.”

But they wouldn’t. I keep getting medical staff with no sense of humor.

Apparently my second fallopian tube is weirdly twisted. They tried to get the tube in for over an hour. I was in complete agony and crying. They had dilated my cervix too much and I was losing saline solution. So much so that they ran out of it.

We had to reschedule for the next month. I walked out to the waiting room in agony and was crying. I was nauseous from the pain and was wearing a giant medical pad to catch all the saline solution that was leaking out. I was a mess.

And if we didn’t leave right then, I was going to miss my court hearing. But that is a story for another post.

Taco Bell

I have had a migraine for the past 7 days. As such, I have been taking my migraine medicine in a very high quantity trying to knock it on it’s ass. It hasn’t worked yet. This migraine is like some kind of zombie motherfucker that won’t stay dead.


On Thursday, I left work at 9am. I was feeling very nauseous and could barely see straight. I went home and took a heady cocktail of all of my migraine prescriptions at once (which I am supposed to do when it gets that bad).


The pills hit me pretty hard as I had not eaten breakfast. Or dinner the night before (migraines are great for weight loss). About 30 minutes after I took my drug cocktail I started having the worst craving for Taco Bell ever!


I rarely eat at Taco Bell. Mostly because I don’t drink or do drugs. But there I was, dying for it at 10am. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t drive in my condition. I just sat there, impotently wishing for it.

My drug induced obsession.

My drug induced obsession.

I went online and looked up a food delivery service. But they didn’t deliver Taco Bell. I texted a friend at work, asking if he could bring me Taco Bell. But he couldn’t leave his job to satisfy my food cravings.


I tried to distract myself with movies and interneting. The hours ticked by. I expected my cravings to dissipate as I got more and more sober. But the craving wouldn’t die.


Six hours later, my migraine had returned and I figured I was safe to drive. I did an agility check by walking down my stairs. I felt fine.


I also felt incredibly lazy. So I left the house wearing pajama pants, flip flops, undershirt, and hideous cardigan that is two sizes too big that I only wear at home. (You guys already knew how sexy I am, right?).


The next issue was that I didn’t know where a Taco Bell was near my house. Like I said, I almost never eat there. So I pulled out my trusty cell phone and GPSed it.


My phone began directing me to the nearest Taco Bell. As I was driving, I felt a little light headed, but I figured that was from not eating for 24 hours.


I turned onto a major road near my place and said aloud “I don’t know why I should trust this GPS woman when she can’t even properly pronounce the name of the street I am on.”


Turns out I was wise to be suspicious. She directed me to a mall parking lot. I wanted to cry. I had been waiting hours for Taco Bell. And now, I was on an unsuccessful quest. I felt like I had been circumnavigating the globe, looking for a passage to India.


I decided to just drive until I found a Taco Bell. I was on a major road. There had to be one somewhere. I almost got into an accident merging back into traffic. And that’s when I realized that leaving my apartment had been a huge mistake.


But I had to press on. I’d already gone too far not to. I crossed over a bridge and saw it! My quest was over! I triumphantly turned and found myself in the parking lot of a 7-11 gas station.

What the hell? It doesn't even resemble a Taco Bell logo.

What the hell? It doesn’t even resemble a Taco Bell logo.


It took me a second to remember that I had been looking for Taco Bell. I pulled back out into traffic. And then, I saw it. For real this time. The most beautiful sight in the world at that moment.

My sweet lord, yes.

My sweet lord, yes.

I pulled into the drive thru. I wanted four, no, five crunchy tacos. I wanted to slake my Taco Bell thirst once and for all.


I also got a grilled stuffed nacho, because I was still drugged up and it sounded good. Plus the girl said it was good and tasted delicious. But sadly, I’m afraid Cindy lied to me on that one. Them things are nasty.



I drove home uneventfully, stuffed full of Taco Bell goodness. And for the first time in my life I realized; Taco Bell really needs to start a delivery service. Seriously, Taco Bell. You can help make the streets a safer place for the sober people and keep people like me off the roads. Think of the children.