December 30, 1998 |
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Hi Dickhead! Well, I almost got into a whole mess of a predicament. It's still going on as I write. See, I somehow managed to loose a bowls worth of pot in a medication container . The container was well marked with my name on it. Yeah. Go ahead and laugh. So you want to know the worst part? Do you? I think I lost that stash at work somewhere. I am such a FUCKHEAD. What was I thinking? Yeah. Momma always said to keep your drugs in a container naming off the guilty party. Hell, just go ahead and lable the fucker. I might as well have sent my pot right to the fucking PIGS in an envelope with my return address on it. Here PIG. Cuff me. And every day I am in a cold sweat thinking I am going to be fired. Yesterday I was sure I was. I walk into work, the first time sober in weeks. Walking up the Company C stairs to my office, I thought someone was going to stop me and retire my employment at the sight of me. But I somehow managed to survive that flight of stairs still employed. Then once upstairs, I have yet to walk past the Art Director; Clark's office. I was hoping he wouldn't be in yet. After all, I had gotten into the office early yesterday just to avoid any ugly finger pointing entanglements. But Clark's office was well lit. He WAS there. Alone? That I could handle. If he were just in his office sipping a hot cup of Starbucks and reading email. Then I would be sure that my pot wasn't tripping on his itchy firing trigger. But he wasn't alone. He had his door closed. He was talking to the woman who hired me. I was FUCKED. But I never got an email. I never got a private meeting in Clark's office. And christ, did I ever look hard for that damn container. I looked for it just so it wouldn't end up as court evidence. I looked in all the parking lots that I sat stoned in that day. Dairy Queen, that department store lot that I might have packed my pipe at. I checked under the cars at my work's parking lot. Especially the spot I think I remember hearing something fall out of my cardoor as I got out of the car. I checked all the bathroom stalls at work. I checked under my desk. I even asked the receptionist if a medication bottle ever showed up. At least my nerves were justified when I asked. Hell, I was looking for my fucking DRUGS. And I was rehired as a maniac, so here I was, the one diagnosed maniac on staff, asking for my lost prescription medications at the receptionist. Secretary knows me, but not much. B? He's a shrewd secretary, but I doubt he knows I was hired on AFTER my run in with Harborview's Psychiatric ward. (Big passive smile crosses my face now.) Ahhhhhh..... I love secrets. It makes me bad. And now the ongoing secret is that I may get arrested. The only other place I could've left my stash was at a dance club Sunday night. I think I remember packing my pipe with the medical container at work on Monday, but that might have been a different time altogether. I remember picking the leaves out of the container to pack a bowl, but I was so focussed on the weed that I clean forgot where I was at the time. I forget things easy. And I could certainly see that jar flying out of my coat pocket while I danced to Billy Idol Sunday night. Fenix Underground with friends. I was smoking right in the dance club. Only the drunks caught me smoking though. I trust drunks now. I like people who have a memory more corroded than me because they live by the moment. And at that moment the drunks were more interested in getting poontang than reporting a stoner girl lighting up in the club. I had gotten hot and stoned that night, so I stripped off my grunge-style sweater, and danced the rest of the night in my art fuck jean jacket, purple pants and bra. That's probably when my pot container left my coat pocket.... And thankfully NOT at work. I just injured my cunt crease by sitting on my earphones. Earphones are fine though. Oh. And here. I want Baird to read this. You know. BAIRD Baird. Christ, I always forget his girlfriend's name.... thought process.... squeaking brain gears... uhhggg. Brainfaaaaart. Shit. And I thought I was really going to remember her name by now. But anyway. I didn't think I was going to be this smitten by Baird's charms. I think I met him only like 3 times total. But damn. Some people are just so damn striking. Do you know that very sudden, blissfull and yet completely brainwashed feeling of lust? It's good isn't it? And when you are completely single like me, I don't get that feeling of lust very often. I used to, when I first left Barron I was like a kid in a candy store. I took everyone and everything. Even assholes I wouldn't even want as a friend. Not to say that I fucked EVERYONE. I only fucked 2 different guys and gotten eaten out by that ugly fucker in the sauna. But that's all I have gotten sexually since I left Barron on October 2nd, 1998. What is that? Almost 3 months. And I haven't gotten laid now since my sudden trip to Santa Cruz, CA back in early November. Now I am so damn picky of men. I doubt I will ever fuck again with my standards this high. (Except by Santa Cruz friend. Avery.) And I realized this is exactly what I want. I want men in different cities. I love to fly, and I make enough money to pay and see them. I want to be seduced. Or, equally as fun, I would love to seduce someone else via phone or email. I don't even have a plan for Baird. I am trying a new tactic every time. Here. Just let him and his girlfriend know that I want to make the most sultry, slippery, and constantly turbulent FUCK with Baird. I want him to know how light hearted I am about this. I don't want him as a boyfriend. I don't even live in Wisconsin. I have no plans to suckerpunch whatshername. I don't even know her, other than she has a ton of friends, is Bisexual, makes out with you Emorog, AND Audrey too as long as she's at it. I got off seeing you kiss her that night infront of her hot little apartment. In ways I kind of idolize her. She was living the life I wanted when I still lived in Madison. So many friends. And a boyfriend that makes me swoon. I showed off even infront of him. His band, the Moonhearts. What a gem they are, with their sweet, devoted Madison followers. And the drunk that fed him beer on stage that night. I have never gotten so deaf as that night listening to that Surfer Pulp Fiction style music right along side the speakers. And I was even seeing Barron at that time. I didn't care. When Baird took that identical toke off his cigarette along with the lead guitarist, puff puff. Right off their own private stage torch. I was most definitely smitten by Baird's Rock n' Roll appeal. But, alas. This is probably just going to be yet another email. I will be still fucking my giant glow in the dark dildo at night instead of taking in real dick. I swear, I would make it worth his while though. If Baird. You ever read this? My body? Please. Give it the sexual release it needs. And stop reading this with that confused look on your face!!! |
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