Hangovers.

Quite possibly my favorite thing about smoking pot is that the only time I've ever been sick from is it when A) I over eat and puke and fall asleep or B) when I'm way too drunk (right around the intoxication level of 'the spins') and start chain-smoking joints.

This has been one topsy turvy weekend with the alcoholics in my life smoking pot all weekend and yours truly drinking her liver away for the past 4 nights. I rarely drink, let me preface this post by saying that, maybe once a week I'll have a few beers or a few glasses of wine but I never get drunk because 8 times out of 10 my acid reflux comes from the depths of my stomach and esophagus to incinerate my chest. This weekend was one in a million and most of the reason I haven't updated much, (except for the other nights stoned/drunken ramblings).

Thursday night I had dinner at a co-workers. Blue Moon and Jack Daniels was present. I had a great time. Good food, good people. I stumbled home not long after my co-workers roommate put him to bed. I woke up Friday morning feeling like shit but when Bee came over we started taking shots of Jeager and headed over to "the boys" place (our ex-boyfriends are roommates, and yes the entertainment and irony is hilarious) where somewhere between deciding to go to Pizza Ring and a bottle of Canadian whiskey and a sip of Jameson I proceeded to get wasted and start wrestling boys. Sometime after that I ended up drinking a Corona in a strangers home and woke up with yet another mild hangover, sore as hell and with an awesome carpet-burn.

Saturday was Stupid Movie Saturday and I started drinking Evan Williams at about 2 P.M. Then I went out again to the boys where I don't remember much but Tony Hawk and a few joints and a bunch of random people. I woke up with a headache and took some Tylenol and felt better.

But this morning's hangover really takes the cake, as from about 9 A.M. to noon, I spent it hovered over the toilet drinking water and throwing it back up. I'll spare you the details but Bee did make the comment "Your puke looks like pee!" The night started out with a few Tecates someone left in the fridge from the weekend and quickly went back to Evan and shots and before you know it we're sitting downstairs on the bumper of a suburban trying to pee in the Republican's driveway across the street. While all that was happening we somehow ended up in another strangers (but neighbors!) home and smoking joints and exchanging numbers. I think I told them to come see me at work today. What was I thinking?

It was an awesome night and Bee and I exchanged stories of first kisses and lost romances and made a bunch of goals for the next year and our co-habitation (She moves in on the first of September!). But I think I'm back to smoking now, my liver needs some time off and your regularly scheduled programming will return after my stomach returns to normal.

Mexican Sweat.

Growing up in south Texas we used to play a game we called "mexican sweat." Living in Massachusetts, northerners who play it, tend to call it "chicago-ing." I will never call it anything but mexican sweat. Basically, when you play, you just hold it in until the rotation comes back to you. It's actually, a lot harder than it sounds, especially if you're in a large rotation, but it can get you reallllly high.

First person to let it go and start coughing is deemed the pansy and made fun of. It's actually pretty fun. I used to love playing with my friends in the pool in my backyard in the middle of summer. I actually, kind of miss that, and miss Corpus right now. I'm sure that will change once I get there, but hopefully I can get and ounce and not really have to think about being there. My home town makes me really sad, it's just full of really weird cycles, it was so systematic and stagnant. And mostly I couldn't stand driving over that fucking bridge anymore.

When I was about 8 I think (I don't actually know how old I was because no one talks about it) my dad attempted suicide. He jumped off the Harbor Bridge in downtown Corpus Christi. Awesome. Lucky for the bastard, he's one of a handful of the large number of people who have attempted suicide on that bridge to survive. Still, as you can imagine, things were kinda rough and sad, and painful, wah wah. So I don't like Corpus. It's one big stressor in my life.

Count-down to Corpus starts now, only 19 more days. I can feel my back tensing up. But when I come back I get to start packing, and I get to start moving and my bee will move in, and it will be grand. And most importantly, school will start. So I can stop smoking all day and do something productive. I love school. I want to try to up my GPA so I can get on the Dean's List by next fall. I have a 3.4 now, I need to have a 3.7. I also want to get a boyfriend. I need to move on from old lovers.

I'm feeling vulnerable so I'm going to go, but, goodnight!

It's raining and I'm high and looking out my window onto the bike path and a woman with an umbrella and 3 small dogs in raincoats come waltzing through.

The stoner part is, I didn't actually notice that the dogs were wearing raincoats, nor did it strike me as unusual until long after they had escaped my view. But really, it was so cute! 3 little dogs, one was definitely a pug, in rain coats! In all primary colors with little collars and hoods!

Certainly brightens my day. And I've had a pretty shitty one too. As I was getting dressed for work I got into a fight with my best friend, and with it went my weekend plans. When I left for work it started pouring rain. I only live a short 3 minute walk to my job so I figured I would be okay, but somehow in that 3 minute walk to work my shoes and socks got soaked and the entire front of my work capris were wet. I worked my whole shift with wet shoes, which may have been why I dropped a stack of plates, spilled iced coffee all over the bar, dropped a half-full pitcher of frappucino base which fell right onto the floors I had just mopped. I would have been okay with that, but then my co-worker and I proceeded to kick 3 people out of the unnamed cafe at which I work. I got to use my mom voice today. I first yelled at this bum to stop fighting with some kid and then yelled at the kid and his friend for running around the cafe. No one who witnessed my yelling/kicking out gave me any shit. They must have seen the bad day all over my face. On my break I called my mom to vent and maybe get some sympathy, but she was still pissed because I told her I got my nose pierced on Tuesday. So she got after me and with the weight of it all I just kind of cried for a minute. When I got back on the floor not even sampling our new smoothie (which is my favorite thing in the world, ever to do at work) made me happier.

But I'll tell you what did make me happier. Getting off 10 minutes early, apologizing to my mom, and busting out the bong. I like saving smoking out of the bong for days like these. It makes smoking even more pleasant, cause I get to change up my routine.

I'm too high to keep typing. I lost my train of thought. But it's a good thing, because today has been so long, and shitty. I'm going to go watch a movie now.

"You look like you just woke up!" -coworker

This morning after my bff/future roommate Bee called me, I strolled down to the unnamed coffee shop in which I work to get a green tea lemonade. It was after 11 a.m. on my day off, so of course I was already stoned. I pretty much threw on some clothes and sunglasses and ran out the door. I didn't even put my contacts on.

So there I am squinting in the middle of the square trying to see if cars are coming or not and I remember I need to pick up the most recent issue of my favorite weekly. I pick it up and lo and behold, their controversial glossy cover has transformed back to the not-so-forgotten matte cover. The journalist inside of me squealed with happiness and I was smiling from ear to ear, as my eyes excitedly skimmed the pages to see if the change would be permanent. It is! I did a little happy dance in my head and giggled as I crossed the street.

And that story brings me to one of my biggest loves: journalism. I can't believe what a huge journalism nerd I am, but really, you have no idea the joy I get from copy editing the Metro on the subway in the morning, or reading the local paper and knowing when there's an AP style error, or good/bad page design. I have so many dreams and goals I want to achieve. Many people think "stoners" and "potheads" are ambitionless people with no goals or plans for the future. The opposite could not be any less true when it comes to me. All through high school I was an honor student and an editor for the school yearbook and now I'm entering my sophomore year at a well-established, private communications and arts school in New England. I'm majoring in print and multimedia journalism and minoring in magazine publishing. Next semester I want to enter the consortium program at a well-known New England music school to take classes in music business and management. My dream is to be a music journalist, despite the dying industry. I'd love to move out of the country within the next 10 years, I want to travel a lot more too. I like to think I have a way with money, being that I almost always have it. I'm really good at saving and at only 18 am about to start my 401(k). Have you ever heard of a more financially responsible, pot smoking, teenager before? I didn't think so.