A Tale of Two Sniffs

Last week I developed a nasty cough, which led to a sore throat, sprinkled with good-time aches.  Although I'm doing better, I went to the doctor Tuesday to confirm aliens weren't colonizing my lungs.  He denied contact, but did find lingering germies in the form of a sinus infection.  wooo.  check it though - the scale had me two pounds lighter than the gym.  BONUS!

He wrote a prescription, but suggested I try a saline nasal spray first.  I avoided the homeo (yo) option until the evening because I didn't know what to expect.  The last time I was given a similar treatment was when this goofy doctor told me I had post-nasal drip, when in fact I had mega infected tonsils (they were removed 3 weeks later.)  So my track record with this stuff was nearly zilch and I probably did it wrong then too.

Randomly, and without consistency, I can turn all nerves when I don't know the expected outcome is or how my body will react.  It's the same way getting blood drawn makes me tense.  Because you never know when they'll blow up your vein!  But with nasal spray, what's the worst that could happen.  My nose will sting?  I'll gag?  It won't work?  I was being lame, so I conceded to give "Ocean" a try.  Which, by the way, is like the silliest and most accurate brand name of a product I've seen in a while.

{cough, cough. why am I such a wuss.}

So there I was.  Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, teary eyes darting between a shallow reflection and the orange capped bottle.  Twice in each nostril... I repeatedly brought the solution to my nose, pausing when I couldn't find enough strength to nudge the thin plastic.  My legs were noodles; empty.  Nervously laughing and seconds away from calling Travis for moral support, he rounded to corner.  mon ami.

I handed him the Ocean so he could practice a few times.  The spray wasn't much to protest, so I said "shove it up and squeeze!"  And on the count of 3, laughing, my sweet fella obliged his lady wife.

{spray spray}  Oh that was it?  I got worked up over a behavior that's nothing more than unnatural.  I turned to him, smiled, and off-offhandedly remarked "What's wrong with me?  Doing lines was easier than this."

And here's why...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I flashed back to junior high, early 90s.

"Don't do drugs" was a learned theme, but the perception as youngins was only if you're doing something nasty like heroin.  And all my parents ever said on the subject was you shouldn't.  pffft, ok.  I didn't know enough to be fearful of pot itself, yet knew smoke wasn't totally my bag.  I watched dad puff away on cigarettes day after day, the pack forever sequestered by his cotton shirt pocket.  My biggest gripe was the foul odor, attaching to anyone and anything, which I naively associated with the smoke, rather than the article burned.

The day in particular was warm, probably around spring - the air dancing, sun eye shielding.  A group of us waiting patiently for early release, in our yet to be baggy pants.  We'd meet at Ryan's house because his parents were gone and his older brother had scored some pot.  The 6 of us were going to get high!  (HA, we dared not brag though for fear our teachers would find out and do, um, what?  I don't know)  It was decided so matter of fact, I never questioned it.  There was no desire to.  I was in the throws of confidence shattering puberty and rebelliousness was just over the horizon.  So why the fuck not.

Despite having the experience of watching pops draw smoke my whole life, I was mortified how my attempt at smoking out would be viewed.  My friends were dear and forever kind towards me, but they were cool.  And as the hour approached, my tension elevated.  Not for the reasons you're thinking.  I didn't know what to expect or how I'd feel.  But I refused to be the fool looking awkward and ridiculous, more so than I already pictured myself being on any given day.  Gah! I could do this.  I could totally do this.  I could get a little high and make out this with one guy whose name doesn't matter.  It would be a day to remember for always.

So there I was, face to face with a hand-crafted pipe made from, no less than 1 foot of durable PVC.  I stared down the barrel and raised the thick cylinder to my mouth.  My beautiful girlfriend calmly said "just breathe in," while Ryan hugged her from behind.  With eyes shut, took the quickest, most powerfull inhale* ever.  Think of when you prepare to hold your breath, now speed that up 4x.  HOLY FUCK MY THROAT!  Every element of hot, seething smoke flew 12 inches down the pipe, hitting every cell of my esophagus.  I coughed, hard, for so many minutes.  Dagnabbit.  My first chance to usher in the next phase of life and I failed. Miserably.

   * with pot, don't ever inhale via quick, jarring breaths.  please.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It would be a few years before trying pot again, finally succeeding naturally with a different group of welcoming people.  Funny how one wrong breath set the stage for shaping not only a rambunctious high school career, but also the positivity that shaped my life afterwards.

This tale of my first experience is meant to acknowledge why I still engage with these often mild, but still mad neurosis.  I've simply traded drugs for nasal spray... apparently.  It's why my brain justified first choosing mind altering & sniffy substances, rather than an herb.  Why once pot was in my rotation, I would take a couple sniffs of speed, only to bring myself down with a bowl or two.  It's may not seem logical now, but everyones story has a place.


I wouldn't change it for anything.

Tell You Thursday: Little Blue Dot

I used to have it and I still kinda want one.  It was petite and sexy and tough.  It hurt me, but I dug it...

In high school I pierced my labret. AND I'D DO IT AGAIN!!!

It was sophomore year maybe, so around 1996, and as per usual during the light hours of Saturday, hanging out with my friends.  Doing girly things like re-applying makeup and trying on different thrift store clothes.  Talking about which musician currently rotating on Alternative Nation we wish we could date.  I may have mentioned to the girls I wanted a piercing or I just started poking at my lips, but this chick said "Let's pierce it - I can do it!  I did my brothers' friends' girlfriend and it looked awesome," or some such.  Up until that day, only 4 holes had been placed upon my body - 2 in each ear.  But it was something I really wanted so I half-enthusiastically agreed.  Plus, many of my friends had piercings even though we were no where close to 18.  Although, this one tattoo shop in Lancaster didn't care how old you were, they kept the shop nasty dirty.  At least I had the sense to keep it in-house and minimize the risk of infection... geez that sounds so naive now but I fucking believed it then.  My main concern was how to hide the piercing from my parents, for at least a couple months, because by then it would be healed and they too could see the beauty.  geez again...

Sitting on the floor, covered in clothes, make-up, magazines, tobacco leavings, etc. I prepared for the pain by feeling the thickness of my lip, in order to size up how quickly we could do it.  I squeezed and contemplated while staring blankly at artwork we had drawn to help us fry*.  My girlfriends gave a pep talk of how cool I was.  That was sweet.  So how did we perform such a delicate act?  Apparently all you need is ice and a safety pin.  And honestly, I think the ice cube was just something we saw on TV.  oy vey, gives me the chills just thinking about it.  We found a nice one just lying on the floor and prepped it by burning the ends with a lighter.  Let's get.this.party.started.

Very scientifically, we figured where the middle of my lip was.  And by scientific, I mean we eyeballed it.  She numbed me using the melting ice, firmly grabbed the pin and gave it a go.  I was surprised it broke through the skin quite easily.  But I did flinch, so we stopped.  Hmm - now I had a safety pin stuck halfway in my lip, which neither felt or looked great.  I mustered up the courage and told her to finish the job.  zoinks!  It was finally free - I was pierced!  I felt so connected to my generation, like I could do anything - go anywhere - be part of the scene!!  I was ready to hitch a ride up to Seattle until I realized, I didn't have a flat-end piercing stud.  Crap.

In all our, ehem, meticulous planning, I didn't realize you needed a special type of jewelry to keep yourself clean and safe.  So the only thing we could do was stick a thin, regular cheapy cheap earring into the new throughway and hope it didn't scuff my gums too bad.  In the moments following, it was the first time I felt the weighted reality of 'not having money.'  I needed something I couldn't ask my parents for, yet had no source of income and no credit cards.  I didn't know what to do...

I guess I hung out till Sunday, called my mom and begged her to let me spend the night at my girlfriends' house.  I told her we had some major test on Monday and must devote our attention but honestly, I needed more time to figure out my debacle.  My high school didn't care about the piercing - not sure what they'd say now - but I suffered all day with that darn pokey thing and still had no clue how to make this last.  At 2:20pm I headed to where my mom always parked, kept my head down low, and opened to door to disaster.

She immediately saw it (I didn't know my lower lip had been red all day) and started panicking about what i'd done to my body.  Note - why do parents always say that?  On one hand I get the parental rationale of going to the worst outcome.  "You're setting yourself up for regret," or "You've just squashed any chance of landing that high-paid executive job."  Pfft - these are old-school thoughts.  They said it to me then and when I got my tattoos.  Just like business is changing and all types of people work high-profile jobs, I kept telling them it doesn't change who I am as a person.

After a few hours debate between the drive home and in house, I conceded to remove the piercing.  I really didn't care my parents were frustrated, but what sealed it was no matter how what idea I came up with, the jewelry I needed wasn't in my future.  And the metal stick poking into my gums was really messing with me so out it came.  They didn't speak to me for a few days, which in hindsight was a shorter time than when I got my tattoos - that was a whole week of silence!!

There was never an infection and everything healed quickly.  The only physical evidence I still have, albeit fading, is a little blue dot.  I don't know why it was blue, but I'm sure it had something to do with the CHEAPY METAL and lighter fluid.  My body has migrated it slightly to the right.  That or we really did miss the mark... who knows.  I still check it out sometimes and reflect upon the whole story just outlaid before you.

What I miss most is what it represented.  I made a decision that had consequences, but I had done something just for me.  A first attempt to solidify my teenage self in the 90s.  I didn't realize it then but I never spent anytime understanding who I was.  I was this surface humanoid going through the motions of breathing and laughing and learning, but my guts were blank.  This has been something I still struggle with today, just not as often.  Thank you little blue dot.



* frying is what you do on Acid.  I felt it important to include, not to brag, but because much of my 90s (and probably the same to many other wonderful people) revolved around messy bedrooms and this very unique state.  It was my youth and my 90s and it's important.

Tell You Thursday: Sometimes, the po-lice are just wrong.

I was a bit of a rebel rouser in high school.  I ran with both an older crowd and a crowd who enjoyed activities questionable by local authorities.  But it was fun and these were my mates, whose friendships were intense, amazing, and heartbreaking all within a few short years.

One night in the late 90s, probably hanging out at one of the frequented sets of Lancaster houses, our friend Fonz asked if we wanted to check out a super haunted house in Tehachapi, CA.  This was at least a 45 minute venture north, but I was stoked since I've always been a believer in ghosts/goblins/demons.  I love watching scary movies for entertainment, but the second I imagine the act happening in real life, I tremble.  Despite still sleeping with a night light and hugging my assortment of plushies, I love it - truly love it.  And don't judge yo - the plushies are often designer and awesome, and I make my own, cuz i'm awesome.  :)

I digress... So Fonz peaks our interest and down the road we go.  It's Fonz, our friend Ezra, our friend Melissa, her then boyfriend Bryan, me and my then boyfriend Auggie.  We pile into two cars.  I was driving Auggie and myself in my dark green Honda Civic.  Fonz or Ezra was driving his car, with Mellisa and Bryan in back.  We eventually turned off the highway and followed Fonz down this janky dirt road for miles.  At that point, our night was common since the whole desert is filled with dirty and janky streets.  But the moon was gigantic and bright, casting a luminous, blue shadow over every inch of grey & black.  The kind of light where you can almost turn everything else off and still see.  Almost..

After driving for what I remember as 20 minutes, we finally pull over to the right, park, and get out of the car.  Picture the dirt road laying before and behind us.  Blue and grey lit tumbleweeds on either side, old cars, tires, junk, wood, trash, and probably ants.  Gah I hate ants.  We were silent for a spell and Melissa and I probably started squealing and grabbing any of the guys.

About 100-150 feet in front of us, behind a rusty chain link fence, stood a 2-story wooden, apocalyptic doll house.  Most rooms were exposed to the night air because they were missing the side wall.  The remaining were half open, covered by wooden slats, broken and jagged.  Fonz encouraged us to walk up to the house, but we were all really freaked out.  We remained frozen in our shoes.  Him telling us the history didn't help, either.  Apparently the person who owned it was a witch.  She and her coven would practice their witchcraft, trying to summon spirits and demons.  The witch was said to later be murdered by her coven after a ritual.  She was found hung by the second story banister, gutted above a pentagram.  Dude.  Again, facing that story in true life was fucking heart-stopping palpitations.  But since i'm outta 'danger', I WANNA GO BACK!  It's a vicious cycle I put my bod through..

Right as we were about to trespass the fence, we saw a single light through a broken window.  Almost like an electric flicker candle.  It was just far enough to make us question whether we were actually seeing it, but all of us had the same vision.  So it had to be true - right?  It seemed to float and move from room to room.  {heart racing then & now}  We couldn't do anything but stare and grab each others hands. I think we ended up hearing something strange and that was that.  We fled, speeding back down the dirt road toward civilization.

And here's where the po-lice come to play. 

On our way back, Fonz and Ezra needed gas.  We both pulled into a station with a convenience store, which made Auggie happy because he wanted candy or cigarettes or something.  While he shopped inside, I stood outside the car, watching my friends all laughing and recounting the holy fuck what did we just do.  I turned around to see if Auggie was still shopping or paying, and when I turned around a cop car had pulled up in front of me.  And not in the we're getting coffee and donuts way - they were intentionally blocking my car.  I froze and stopped breathing.  Even now, cops make me nervous, but back then, they made me super nervous.  I never had any good experience with them during this period of my life.  Arresting my friends for smoking cigarettes and pot, harassing people at parties, and overall didn't ever make me feel any safer.  I was always told cops are the ones you go to for help, but something about this agitated & confusing time for me proved otherwise.  As a grownup, I watch A LOT of COPS the TV show because c'mon, it's a 30 minute package of awesome.  It's also easier to sit back, enjoying the carnival ride since it would be rare I would ever find myself in those predicaments now.  I still find some police officers who take me right back to Lancaster and the roughness I saw, but I have met others who are decent & nice.

So at this moment, I now find myself staring at them alone.  Auggie is oblivious and the others aren't coming near me and I never blamed them, I wouldn't have either.  I nano-secondly itemized everything on "my person" and in my car.  Shit.  Did I forget to take out that dope, was there leftover beer from the other night... anything that would give them a reason to haul me off.  But no, I was clean.  They stare at me through their giant windshield. I stood still not knowing what our next moves were.  They get out of the car, come over and ask to search my vehicle.  My defenses shot up and as plainly as possible, asked what cause they had.  "We're the police" they said.  NOPE!  Not good enough, so I stated "Hey, i'm not doing anything so what are you looking for!"  Their replay was "A Burger King was just robbed and you and your car fit the description.  Two women in a black Honda Civic, wearing bandanas robbed the store about 10 minutes ago."

Ok, mental check.  My car is dark green, it was me and Auggie, and to the best of my recollection, 10 minutes ago I was staring face to face with a ghost... So um no - that wasn't me officer.  I relayed all this highly pertinent information.  When they calmed a bit, they said they understood but since it was dark, black and green look similar and since my boyfriend wasn't in the car, there could have been a second lady.   They asked nicer if they could search my car for bandanas and I guess, a sack of money.  Once I knew I was clean and they certainly wouldn't find either of those things, I said yes.  After a few minutes of an empty search, they thanked me and drove off.  Auggie was staring at me with his wares, the others came over and we all kinda said what the fuck.  I held it together much better than I expected, which was fantastic considering how unprepared I was.

These memories stir up every few years, sometimes when I see a police car or hear about an actual haunted house.  I don't know the roads that could take me there now, despite wanting to TOTALLY go back. I hope other kids heard the tales and were braver than us.  Despite much searching on the internets, I found no documents of the house or events that supposedly transpired. So kids, if you find out, please write a lil' something and help this old lady out.

Tell You Thursday: My very first job, what I learned, and why lunch doesn't always mean food.

I have been to many “going away” parties, although they are usually bittersweet for someone who has been laid off.   However, I’ve never been to a retirement party.  Up until my current job, I was never at one place long enough, nor was I high enough up the chain for that to even be a consideration.  But last night, I attended my first.  Working at the same company for just over 37 years, a guy named Rick will have his last official day tomorrow.  Rick hired me 10 years ago, with the company I still work for, but under a job title I haven’t been assigned in 9 years.  I moved on in different ways, although our paths cross every so often.  I didn’t hesitate to accept the invitation, but initially was at a loss for words for sending my congratulations.  I mean what do you say to someone you only see during work hours, knowing they are starting a totally different, hopefully prosperous next phase of life.  It’s kinda monumental to feel you have to say something poignant.  When I saw him last night, in a suit (which he never wears,) my first thought was lordy, that will not be me.

This Timely Thursday isn’t about the retirement party or my new career goals  – that will come another time.  But seeing him recount a 37 year legacy got me thinking all the way back to my first job in (I think) 1997.   I have a 17 year mixed bag in how I've supported myself.  In that time I've only held one crappy job, which was more due to management not the position.  Although I did try getting hired where my friends were working their lame jobs, because SOMEONE WOULD PAY ME FOR THAT?!  But things didn't happen that way.

Our high school had a program that allowed Juniors and Seniors the opportunity to only attend four morning classes, leaving at lunch, as long as we were enrolled in a college class or had a job.  Gah those last two years would have dragged on...  I initially took classes at the jr. collge such as business English and basic accounting, but decided those don't put green in the bank.  I was ready to get a job!  I started my search for either an intern position (which also worked) or my first paid gig.  I didn't know what kind of job I wanted or really how to go about it.  But I put on my best ill-fitting clothes anyway and awkwardly went to local shops.  I do not miss for one second that feeling of being a goofy teenager, going place to place asking for job applications.  I hated trying to convince the manager I was a hard worker, who is nice and very willing to learn.  Not that I was lying, but I was shy in those situations so it was very hard getting over that fear.  One afternoon I ended up in a bookstore, inside an outlet mall, far from everything.  The books weren't used but it was where all the unsellables went after Barnes & Noble was done with them.  I figured I like reading, so what the hell.

I walked in and found the assistant manager behind the counter, all smiles.  That put me at ease.  I stated my business, he handed me an application and I got the pen working.  We chatted and seemed to hit it off.  I can't remember if he gave the good news then or called me the next day after speaking with the manager, but the internship was mine!!  The job was basic and the store wasn't very busy, so the manager & assistant guys taught me proper customer service skills, gave me a couple of responsibilities and organizational tasks.  I learned how to refill my first fax machine, which only used purple thermal paper; it luckily it never received any but prior faxes still got your hands messy.  The guys were fun and it felt swell knowing I was doing a good job.  When it was Christmas time they offered me a seasonal help position!  I think I was paid $3.25 an hour, or something marginal... but it was mine!  Immediately I imagined how grand that first paycheck would be.  I went one day after school, on my day off, and the assistant manager handed it to me.  The working class equivalent of a golden ticket.  It was gonna be so much money, I couldn't miss the opportunity to go shopping!  I headed to Target, stood outside, and opened the check.  For all this time I dopely forgot oh it's a check, I must deposit first before I can spend it.  But oh well, I was here!  I'll use my credit card and repay "with my check!"  I felt so grown-up at that moment.  Cymbols crashed clumsily when that $23.xx amount reflected back to me.  wonk.

Because of the holidays, I was working most Saturdays.  The manager's girlfriend would stop by who I'd never seen during the week.  She usually had a small picnic basket with her, head straight to the back, while he always said "Oh honey, you brought me lunch."  His delivery had a twinge of sarcasm, but I never thought much of it.  I found out a year later she had been lovingly delivering him boat loads of weed.  What the?!? Apparently he had been keeping hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of plants that were seized by the feds.

So as Rick reflected his transition from working dude to retired dude, I reflected on my initiation into the work force.  The education, the experience, feeling like I was making a difference... the free books... and the disappointment of taxes.  I don't think the position afforded my anything that I wouldn't later re-learn, but it was a positive experience overall.

p.s. I don't remember what I bought at Target, but during those days I could have probably purchased the whole store.  It wasn't hip then.