1. We went to Steve’s boss’ house for the annual after Thanksgiving Crab Leg dinner. It was awesome. I said a little prayer for the crabs and then cut into them. So good. Anyway, there was this fabulous looking cake decorated with Florentine cookies, my favorite Italian cookies. I passed the cake at the same time as a 90 year old, quite prestigious woman. She said, “Mmm, that looks good.” And I said, “I know, I’m getting ready to gank one of those cookies.” I was embarrassed for Steve at that time that I was his guest and wife. Who says gank to a 90 year old? Seriously. I need to get out more.
2. My grandma notified us that she has always used Clorox bleach to clean her fruit. That might be what’s wrong with me.
3. I peed my pants a little yesterday when I sneezed.
November 28, 2009
Not from the tryptophan.
Dare I tell this story? Not that it is that big of a deal, but what if my in-laws read it and then they stop thinking that I am the perfect little angel that they think I am. Or my parents, who know I am not an angel, but don’t know this story. Or my Grandmas whom I adore and really just want to have a polished image of me. Sorry to all of you. If you think you might not like this story, then please, do not read on.
And then there is Matilda, who is going to grow up and have questions about drugs. Which is actually where me thinking of this story came from. Steve and I have talked about whether we would tell our kids about our experimentation with drugs. I took the avenue of absolutely not, that would be condoning it and I want to do everything I can to keep her away from drugs. Nope. No way. She needs not know my past. Not that it is that racy, but I just do not think it is something for my little girl to know about.
But then again, I want her to be honest with me and how can I expect her to be honest with me if I am not honest with her. I think Steve said something along the lines of, “It’s part of the experience of growing up. You would not be who you are without what you have done in the past.”
He is not even a hippie. Although, by that statement alone, his hippie status is in question.
It was the night before Thanksgiving. I was home from college hanging out with my crazy-ass, home town, drug doing friends. One of their friends was “watching” a notable University dorm he stayed in and he decided to have a few of us over. So, we have the run of this beautiful dorm hall complete with libraries, lounging rooms, etc. At around 3 a.m. somebody decided it would be a good idea for us to all drop a hit of acid (which I had never done before, well, I tried to do it before but it didn’t work. Nor have I done it since). So, yes, myself and about eight other 19 year olds were tripping in this dorm hall. Can’t really describe the neuron sucking experience it was, but it was crazy. I guess that’s why they call it a trip.
It wasn’t the only trip I was going to go on that day. Little did I realize that acid lasts about 12 hours. We had to go to grandma’s for thanksgiving fairly early. So, I went home to get ready, laid on my bed for about an hour longer than my mother would have liked, watching a picture of carousel horses move like they were real. My ma always replaced my M.C. Escher picture with these cheesy carousel horses when I went away to college. Every summer I would come home and take down the carousels and put up my M.C. Escher. Such a rebel I was. I am pretty glad M.C. wasn’t hanging that morning. It would have been freaky.
I was frozen with fear about having to be around 50 family members that day. I called my brother so I could ride with him. I don’t know what I would have done if I had to ride with my parents. I probably would have tried to jump out of the car or something stupid and trippy like that. My brother was cool and played Pink Floyd for me the whole way. If he tried to turn it off, I freaked out. He and my cousin were the only people who knew. I was so paranoid the entire time that everyone knew that finally I just said I was tired and went to the spare bedroom to take a nap, for the rest of the visit. And I could not even use the tryptophan as an excuse because I was a vegetarian.
The whole time I lay in the bedroom I thought that everyone at the party was laughing at me. Talking about me. “What is wrong with Amie. She must have tripped acid. What else could it be.” It was HORRIBLE.
Moral of the story…don’t do drugs around the holidays. Or, ever for that matter. They are not worth it and I would probably be a rocket scientist today had I not dilly dallied around so much.
But, really, my question is, if you did experiment with drugs, what will you tell your children? Will you be completely honest? What do you think is the best approach?
November 25, 2009
Have you ever seen that Grand Theft Auto: Episodes From Liberty City commercial? I think they might be talking about me. I was getting up to go to the bathroom as the commercial aired and yes, I do have a bladder problem. It’s called baby exercising her newly formed muscles on my bladder.
Looking in the mirror at my ever growing body, I cannot believe that the long john shirt that I have on used to once cover my entire midriff. It looks like baby clothes on this humorngous belly of mine.
Thank you Grand Theft Auto for pointing out not only my dysfunctional bladder, but also my sloppy and lazy choice of attire. Really, I did not leave the house like this. It was baby room cleaning day.
But really, I just need a TiVo again so I can skip these commercials.
November 21, 2009
Who thinks Oprah is going to go into politics circa 2012?
November 20, 2009
If Matilda is going to be allergic to peanuts because of my peanut butter cookie addiction. Nah, I probably counteracted it with the chocolate croissant I ate right before it.
November 20, 2009
