Art & Culture, continued
New comment on your post #809 “Art & Culture Series”
Author : Ian
Comment: At first….I thought “Should we be worried our favorite hooker has a substance abuse problem?”. Then I realized: Who am I to be critical of Cassandra’s method of reaching a place of higher awareness? Especially when the final scrawl upon her notebook of enlightenment is so absolutely true! Gorgeous for f’n President-ette!! ^5 you cool, hot-assed, ubersmart, long-legged…..(the list goes on)
Ian! Thanks, as always, for such flattering comments. I hope we meet someday in person so I may show my gratitude more… forcefully, shall we say. Thank you also for your concern that I may be developing a substance abuse problem. I would like to take this moment to address the issue for all my readers.
I used to be such a good little Chinese girl. I’ll give you an example: back in high school biology we dissected a frog. I remember being given a mini-straw, much like the red thin plastic ones you use to stir coffee, and inserting that tube into the frog’s lungs. When I blew into the straw, the frog’s lungs would inflate like a balloon. Pretty neat trick. But you can’t blow too hard, as I did, or else the frog’s lungs would burst. Then you’re just left with torn pink membranes.
I used this experience to write a speech in my debate class about the fragility of life. I told the class this was why I would never smoke marijuana — because I saw first hand how delicate our lung tissues are. You blow too hard and the lung explodes. My thesis was that, by cutting up and sacrificing the life of a frog, I learned about the sanctity of my own life, and that’s why I would never damage my body with the ill effects of marijuana smoke.
God I was an annoying kid.
I remember another incident from my childhood: I was working the concession stand at our local cineplex. A man came up and wanted a soda from the fountain, but he only wanted it filled halfway. He was happy to pay the full price, however. When I looked at him quizzically, he flashed me a grin and said he’ll fill up the rest with his own “juice.” And then he patted his coat to show me the contours of a flask. He was treating me as a co-conspirator; he mistook me for one of the cool teenagers.
I responded by reporting him to my manager and trying to have him removed from the premises.
So, Ian, do you see what a tortured soul I am? I am a traitor to the cause for good times! First generation Chinese parents raise really tortured children! I had to become a prostitute to liberate myself sexually!
Okay, I kid. I became a prostitute because I’m really just slutty for straight boy booty. Getting paid for it is just the icing on the cake.
When I first dabbled in cocaine, you just know I had to process it with the entire world. I was convinced I was meandering down a path of self-destruction. I told anyone who would listen that I had a cocaine problem. Never mind that it took me six months to finish just one gram.
I’m kind of needy for attention that way.
It was my friend Muscle Mary who cut through my bullshit drama and broke it down.
He asked me:
Girl, is your “partying” affecting your health?
No. I still hit the gym everyday to sweat out alcohol. I stock up on microwave popcorn (high in fiber) and fresh fruits for the munchy attacks.
Is your ” partying” affecting your job?
No. I haul my ass down to Palo Alto for work everyday at 8 am, Monday through Fridays. I work OT whenever they offer it.
Is your ” partying” affecting your friendships?
No. Everyone’s partying. In fact, I don’t have any sober friends.
THEN YOU DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM, said Muscle Mary.
This is the truth I’ve discovered about myself:
I’m a lightweight.
Give me one puff too many of weed, and I go to sleep.
Give me one sip too much of alcohol, and I throw up and pass out.
Coke makes me irritable. It also makes me crave to be alone at the first sign of coming down. I despise cocaine. Really. I don’t know why I do it.
Ecstasy makes me weak. I can’t dance when the waves of warmth crash inside me. I find a secluded corner of the dance club and sit there all night.
I once posed a hypothetical to my friends: if you were presented with (A) two pieces of the best fried chicken in the world, tender and juicy inside, crispy and spicy on the outside, and (B) two lines of the best cocaine ever, with the most fantastic high — which would you choose?
I can’t believe that so many of my friends would choose the cocaine.
Ian, because I will choose the fried chicken every time — this is how I know I will never have a substance abuse problem.Print This Post