Tales of Growing Up: The Wacky Tobacky Trials and Why I Can Never Smoke Even When Legal

Once upon a time I was a teenager. And like all teenagers I wanted to show I was bad, tough, all the retardedness of being a teen. So at 13 I started smoking cigarettes. Less than a year later my cousin was offering me marijuana while I stayed the summer in the hood.

Since I was in full on rebellion stage, I was super terrified, but willing to do stupid things. So we walked the hood to meet up with a friend who sold weed. As far as I remember, my tryout was free. And the guy was cute (my eyes were really bad then, or time has not been kind to the hood’s local weedman). And I wanted to impress my cousin. Exact opposite happens.

Right in some random neighborhood weeddude lights up. I’m as jittery as a guy about to see his first boobs at a strip club. We’re doing this in public?! Out on the street?! Where anyone could see us?! Egads!

I am not nerdy enough, nor was I that nerdy then to say Egads!

Embellishment. Ahem. To continue…

Egads! I cried in my head, as the weeddude to a puff puff and passed to my cousin. And she puffed and puffed and Wow she has great lung control.

And then its my turn. I’m sweating like a hooker in church, and its laughable but I’m actually praying right then and there that inhaling this mess doesn’t randomly kill me or make me crazy for LIFE.

I inhale. And try to hold it in as I was told to do, but this crap burns like tear gas that I’m less than 10 years away from experiencing when I join the military. Instead of exhaling all smoothly I hack it all out, and Oh My Sweet Baby Jesus lying in the manger with swaddling clothes this mess burns like the fires of Hell!!!

I swear I turned into a cartoon at that moment because I felt the burn and fire pouring from my ears! And while weeddude and the cuz are roaring laughter I feel my ear drums dying and my throat crying. I call to my cousin to ask the obvious. “It burns cuz! Why does it burn?!” Which sends her into another roll of laugh at my newbie pain.

I barely get a buzz that time, and of course, I have to redeem myself. Weeks later, back visiting, I try again, this time at weeddude’s house. I’ve learned my lesson and fight my throat not to cough. And I get totally weird and wrong. The first thing that starts to bother me is that my eyesight and started to go in and out of focus like a drunk video camera. The second is that I’m in one room sitting, but feel like I’m about to tip over and fall out the window… in the next room. And third, my natural paranoia went to “Warning Will Robinson” levels and I was sure everyone could read my thoughts and that the police were on their way from reading my thoughts.

Not to mention, weeddude’s eyes turned into demon eyes.

This. This is what I saw.

And it wasn’t just the one time. Each time I tried, things got weirder and weirder until I had to stop myself and ask “Is this really fun, or giving you nightmares and destroying your mental stability more than your normal crazy?” When cows begin to nod their head to the music that is only playing in your head. When green buildings begin to look like Emerald City, when you start to not know the difference between reality and what the drug is telling you is real… Well, you’ve entered the real life version of the movie “A Scanner Darkly” or you just have a bad reaction to the wacky tobacky.

I stopped. And learned later through my mother that my father had the same reactions. That he lost a whole weekend not knowing who he was and just wandered, making snow angels where there was no snow.

I believe marijuana should be legalized. I know many people with my medical condition (hidradenitus suppurative, see my previous post: http://dimensionthe5th.com/2012/12/06/god-is-an-alien-and-put-alien-babies-under-my-skin-rare-medical-condition-woes/) that are so severe pain that it’s all they can take. But for me, oh no. No thank you. Give me some percocet or something NORMAL for me.

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Self Created Nicknames of Lameness

So today, I misheard lyrics to a song that my son was singing. I swear that I heard Grilled Cheese Ninja somewhere in there. And decided that it should from now on be my cat’s superhero name. Even cats need superhero names, dontcha know! So if I mention a four-legged she-devil by the name of Grilled Cheese Ninja, I’m talking about my crazy cat.

And it’s cool to make up nicknames for people. I seriously do it all the time. Especially with my students that have weird names. It’s not to offend them, its how I remember. I’m not going to remember a name that has no vowels. I gotta find something to call you where it doesn’t sound like I’m hacking a loogie or cursing in chinese.

What I can’t stand is those that make up their own nicknames. It’s all over the book of face. And usually, I’d say 75 percent of the time, of the ghetto/hood/trailer persuasion.

You know. The people who use Wal-Mart to debut the latest fashions of “Oh, God Killitwithfire” wear.

I’m all for cosplay. I’m not for Walmart-play.

The other 25 percent are the religious ghetto fabulous persuasion. The people have to put bible quotes up on Sunday, even though Saturday they posted pics of themselves in club clothes before they headed out.

These people have learned the interwebs.

And these people seem to have an animal impulse to add their own nicknames to their natural names on Facebook. I don’t know if its genetic, or group mentality, but what do you expect from people who have names that sound like their mother just picked letters out of a hat and then called it a name.

So Boomquisha Jones already will fail at anything above fast food and doing hair in her kitchen, but on top of that she has her FB handle as Boomquisha “ChocolateThighs” Jones. Boomquisha, I know you are 300 pounds and those chocolate thighs may be actually made of chocolate by now. And then there’s Boomquisha’s brother Antwon “Swaggalous” Jones. And in case you think I’m picking on the brown crayon ghettoness, Antwon’s girlfriend is Brytani “ChicksWannaBMe” Sullivan.

Those 3 I’ve actually seen across FB.

And of course, online religious leaders of FB have names like Tonya “2Blessed2BStressed” Williams, and Chris “RealMenPray” Johnson.

Why the fudge bucket do we need a nickname written into our FB identity?! It’s not even a nickname really. It’s the words that the announcer for HBO boxing before you come out into the ring.

I’m almost willing to believe that all the people are passing secret codes to each other. They are part of the government conspiracy of YOLO.

Maker of YOLO. Leader of the conspiracy of stupid.

All I know is, I can’t take seriously anyone that does this. It equates in my head with all manner of foolishness. Like YOLO, and swag, and other pop inspired shenanigans.

Signed,

Dimension “youonlyliveonceinalternatedimensions” the 5th

That’s Just My Day Face? Ramblings of Military and Civilian Life

My first time trying this:  Rarasaur and Prompts for the Promptless – Season 2 Episode 1:  The Alter Ego

I’ve worn a uniform so many years that it feels abnormal not to wear boots or a cap on my head. Of course, the longest I’ve gone without the uniform is probably about 30 days of vacation in a year.

So it makes it hard to understand civilian life, to make friends outside the military. To not bring the military in every aspect of my life.

The military has its own language, that not even most movies can duplicate. There’s certain responses to situations we are conditioned to make. Or well, we WERE. The guys that I see coming out of basic training are softer than a wet roll of toilet paper. No offense, though it does offend me.

Not like I’m the toughest chick outside of my uniform. I run and scream at the carpenter bees, super mosquitoes and stink bugs that think my patio is their nighttime club and bar. But there is a mask that I can pull on, the military mask. When in uniform and told to stay still, I’ll let bees crawl all over me while I stay the frack still!

But back to making friends outside of the military, to being a separate person. I swear I don’t know how you guys do it! I mean, if you move to a new place as often as I do, how do you connect with others? What do you talk about? Do you just use your holdover friends from high school and college? Make nice with the neighbors?

Is this how I do it? Stalk people to make friends? Hmmmm.

And, how do you be a regular human being nowadays? My time in the military has been a part of my identity for so long, that I don’t know how to separate from it. It’s gone from being a face that I put on, to something I can’t take off even after the day is done and the uniform comes off.

So along with online dating, I’ve added online friend making with Meet-Up.com. Dear Baby Jesus, in order to be a normal person, I’ve trapped myself in the interwebs!

A is for Awkward Fracktard: Adventures in Introverting

So the other day some old bosses of mine were visiting the building I work in. I recognized one because I see him all the time. But I spent possibly five minutes talking to him without recognizing the other boss. On top of that, there was the handshake hug. You know the thing I’m talking about: where you shake someone’s hand and lean in to give them a pat on the back? Yeah, we kind of danced back in forth over whether to do a handshake or handshake hug. It was awkward. That will bother me for the rest of my life! I am sitting here berating myself for not recognizing my one boss, and giving awkward handshake hugs. Algnakjbvfjb njlfznvl!!! Grrr! Argh!

I’ve taken the MBTI a couple of times (google it if you’re confused, I’m not here to teach you stuff). I’m an INTJ with a severe introvert slant. Because of the military and my job I’ve learned to be in an extrovert’s world. Extroverts, your world sucks! It sucks big blue donkey balls covered in ice cream that I can never eat, because it was on donkey balls. I hate socializing, except with a small group of friends I know, I hate public speaking, but am for some reason drawn to it. And I hate, HAAAAAATE small talk because I sound like a robot who took robot crack.

So on top of my being an awkward fracktard at work, I get invited out. It’s not going out and partying all night long in some dark sweaty place of hedonism (I have to have many adult drinks to survive such a place). Nope, a friend invited to his friend’s place, where people would just chill and talk and sip wine. At first glance that sounds great! I mean, no worries about being in a crowded bar/dance club? Cool. Then I thought about it. Oh dear lord, people I don’t know, and I have to smile and talk to them. And since I’m driving, I can’t even imbibe my liquid courage!

I stayed home and play PC Hidden Object Games on my computer with my bottle of Riesling  Yes, that is how I spent my Saturday night. So what!

I get called out for being mean looking. You know why? Because when I walk down the hallways of my job I either go with A: ignoring everyone, or B: trying to do a fake “hi, how ya doing” smile. The problem is, for some reason my fake smile looks unsettling. I don’t think I’m at Dexter mass murdering level smile yet, but from what I hear, its creepy. I wish I could see it. I’ve tried to re-create it in my mirror, but it doesn’t work. Maybe I could scare away clowns with it. I know it even scares my son. He says I do it when I’m really mad sometimes. Pfft.

What was I rambling about? Oh yeah, introverting. You know where its worst for me? Shopping. I’ve become quite the adept online shopper, from deployments where you had to get everything mailed in, and stateside because I hate going to the store. Case in point: Walmart on a Saturday. See, this was part of the reason I was already too drained to do nothing but drink wine and play video games. I forgot it was Saturday and went to Walmart. Oh god. Oh dear baby Hay-soos in Heaven with a sombrero. It was a madhouse! A madhouse of ghettoness. Of roly poly bodies of all nationalities excreting their trailer park and welfare-edness all over the place. Why is that little girl half-dressed and rolling on the floor?! Why is that man riding a children’s bike down the aisles when he is clearly over 300 pounds and we are in A FRACKIN STORE!!! My son laughed as I started to daggone near hyperventilate. By the time we got back to the car, I was catatonic, muttering to myself “Never go to Walmart on the weekend,” over and over.

Good thing my favorite holiday is coming up: Halloween! Yay! See, when you dress up in costume, you’re another person, so you don’t have to be your regular awkward scaring others self. Or at least that’s what I’ve tricked my brain to believe. I swear, I need a job where I can dress up in costume every day. No clowns or furries though. *Shudders*