Get High, Get Laid, Get Pregnant. 

Back right after Nancy Reagan launched the War On Drugs, MTV aired a bunch of these anti-drug commercials, the most famous being the frying pan and egg, you know, this is your brain, this is your brain on drugs.

There was another one, that I cannot find that said something along the lines of the subject, Get High, Have Sex, Get an STD or Pregnant.  The problem was that the drugs in the video was marijuana.  I smoked and shared a lot of marijuana with girls throughout my life and I can honestly tell you, I have never gotten laid because of Marijuana.  Cocktails, wine and beer on the other hand……..

The brother of a friend of mine hit me up yesterday while I wasn’t doing anything and asked me if I wanted to hang out and I said sure.  I wasn’t sure what to expect and when I picked him up, he asked me if I had any weed that I could sell.  Now, normally, I do not sell weed and use it for karma.  But in this case, he had just called me and asked if I wanted to hang out, in what seemed like a delivery service kind of situation.  So, I went with him and his friend back to the friends house and this is when it was like stepping out of the real world and in to the great American novel written by John Irving or maybe even Steinbeck if he were writing a story today.  It was a downright amazing adventure replete with adventure of a sorts, a road trip, and sex!  It get’s better then that though, because this is the tale of getting stoned with a group of complete strangers that led to a quest which provided an adventure that warranted a road trip for a sort of romantic reason.  If I were trying to write the Great American Novel, I could start something like:

The Samsung default ringtone cut through the dull rushing sound in my head as I struggled to regain control of my composure after taking a deep rip from a spliff I had just rolled.  Regardless of what anyone will tell you it is, I was always taught that a spliff was cigarette tobacco and marijuana rolled in to a cigarette or joint together.  It is my preference for stealth smoking and if you stuff your own tubes, almost undetectable other then smell.  There I was, sitting in my car next to the drive through in the heat with my windows up hot boxing a blunt of rather massive, 3 gram proportions of the freshest, smelliest, tastiest Sour Diesel when the phone cut through my weed induced internal philosophy session.

So, when we got back to the place, it was immediately apparent from the state of the lawn something was odd here.  I went in, honestly expecting to find a filthy place, but was surprisingly clean from a peripheral inspection while walking through the most likely spot for mess, the kitchen.  So, when the friend asked me about the weed, I hesitated and he understood why.  I had no scale and no way to judge the value and I really didn’t want to debate it.  So he made it simple, and said whatever you can give me for a $10.  So I took out my head stash and broke the biggest bud in half and gave it to him.  It was probably somewhere between .75 and 1 gram.  So while not a steal, I wasn’t gouging in anyway since I expended about $2 in gas to deliver it to him.  When I came in, he had introduced me to everyone but I suck at names.  Always have.  So, when he packed a glass Chillum and handed it to me, I took the green hit.  Bowls and cigarettes were passed around the group and I got baked.

One of the guys, some sort of punk meets goth meets emo guy started talking about being in the mental institution or something and I almost got up and left. It was just a bit weird and there was some sort of strange silent tension running through the group.  There were also entirely too many people coming and going and being introduced.  I could hear Eric Cartman saying “Poor people tend to live in clusters.”  Look, I know I was being judgmental and I was trying my hardest to shrug off my biased views and see things through their eyes.  So, I did what I liked to do and I observed people.  I listened to the conversations and pieced things together.  Slowly this incredible scenario was playing out with all of the awkwardness of Napoleon Dynamite mixed with the humor and teen angst of American Pie.

This group of people was like the Isle Of Misfit toys and I grew up on that Island, so I began to get more comfortable.  Through listening to the conversation, I learned that the owners of the house had rented it to someone, and when it was foreclosed on they told the tenants they could stay there, rent free for however long.  So they milked it for all it is worth and have been living there since.  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know and was told this when I was asked if they should have settled for $1500 or asked for more to move out.  Were they stupid for taking the first offer.  I just did not know how to answer so I didn’t.

Then I found out that this one kid was using my friend’s phone to text and talk to a girl that he had been introduced to by another friend.  They were both incredibly shy. lonely, virgins in their 20’s and they were trying to hook up.  My friend asked if I would give them a ride for Gas money, they needed to go get this girl and bring her back so that the two of them could hang out.  I hesitated not really wanting to get involved.  But, I was tapped when the kid says that the girl has gas money too.  What is the guy code for situations like this?  What happens when the girl ups the ante and offers funds to make it happen too?  Shit.  This is complicated.  Then my friend explains that this kid is going to do something risky to do it and he wants my friend to ride along, so that sort of signed that check right there.

So we headed out from Citrus Heights to Rocklin to pick her up and I tried to keep the banter light.  I asked about condoms and he didn’t have any nor did he have anyway to get them.  I keep them handy, just in case, you know?  Be safe.  I have Skyn Condoms because they are so amazing and non-latex based.  They transfer heat much, much better.  What can I say?  So, I pull them out and hand them to him.  Visions of Andy’s speech to his Nephew in Weeds comes to mind and I start laughing.

I asked if he knew how to use them and he said sort of.  Shit.  Why did I open my big mouth.  So, I explained about squeezing the air out of the reservoir end and making sure to grip the base when he withdraws after ejaculation.  II took every ounce of my being not to laugh, snicker or make jokes.  I kept thinking about what I would want someone to tell my son if he were in the same predicament.  Wait.  Shouldn’t you tell them to wait?  Hypocrite, you didn’t wait for shit.  Touché.

We finally get to this girls house and he uses my phone to text her to come out.  Before she comes out, I say “Dude, you better not be a serial killer, because if the police ask, I will sing like a canary.”  I finish just as she opens the door and climbs in.  After initial introductions, silence.  Awkward, deadly, silence.  Except for me making snarky comments about the other idiot drivers on the road.  Suddenly, from the back seat, she begins to laugh at my snarky comments.  Score one for the girl.  Guy, still at 0.  I lose myself in driving and my mind and I slip back to when I was 25 and I searched my memories to recall where I was.  It was about this time in our journey when we hit downtown Roseville and the memories came rushing back in a flood.  Moving to Roseville, working at Gelatos, TJ Maxx and the Unocal on Douglas that used to have work bays and is now a convenience store.  Alone in my mind thinking about Roseville back then reminds me of how naïve I was and how utterly trusting and it stings a little bit.  It always does when you are told by a friend that someone you thought was a mutual friend actually ridiculed and made degrading comments about you behind your back.  Shit.  Dark place.  Slow your roll homeboy.  You are on an adventure, a quest to get this guy and girl together.

The worst part of that incident is that the mutual friend was a coworker and in that capacity he was a supervisor and when I cut my finger on the slicer at work because someone took the steel glove home to wash it, in a panic, I just bandaged it instead of going to the hospital.  The mutual friend, a manager for the company should have insisted that I go to the hospital and they should have paid me for my entire shift.  Instead he encouraged me to go home by telling me that I could not stay and work thereby getting rid of the problem but potentially endangering me and my life in the process.  This kid who professed to be a Christian at the time and honestly had me questioning my atheism at the time.  It was at about this time that I remembered what happened immediately after I left work and arrived home to my empty apartment.  My roommate gone on an adventure with his friends, I didn’t have any friends in Roseville and left all of mine behind at the bars in Citrus Heights.  Everyone I knew and talked to were friends with my roommate and from my interpretation of things he said at the time, I seemed to weird out and alienate most of them to the point they really didn’t like me.  This could be my interpretation, hazy memory or just plain paranoia but I have never felt this way before.  Not really.  And there it was, like Peter in Hook, my happy thought from that time.  Lisa.

Lisa was one of the most profound relationships that I have been involved up until that point. As corny as it sounds, I can only explain that encounter as being like Faith Hills song This Kiss.  It’s centrifugal forces, it’s perpetual bliss.  The vividness of my memories from this day are fuzzy up until I walked in to my apartment and then they come in to clear focus.  I wasn’t thinking about the lost wages.  I wasn’t thinking about anything but what I was going to do about my finger.  Afraid that using Workman’s comp would somehow get me blacklisted.  I was on my way to my room to lay down when the phone rang and I answered it.  It was Lisa and she asked where my roommate was.  I explained that he wasn’t home and that I shouldn’t be either, but that I cut my finger badly at work and they sent me home.  She asked what I had done to it afterwards about sanitizing and bandaging.  I told her what I did and she said that I should come over, she had this stuff she used on her piercings.  She would sanitize and bandage it for me.  I really never thought it was anything other then an offer to tend to my wounds.  Florence Who?

Above, remember I mentioned Lisa and Piercings in the same sentence?  Remember when I said I was naïve and innocent?  A few days before I cut my finger. I had come home from work early and my roommate’s girlfriend was there and they were in his room with the door closed.  There were muffled noises coming from the room so I decided not to bother them.  I had opened at 4am and had stayed up until midnight playing Super Nintendo with my roommate until 2am.  So, I decided to go crash for a bit and when I opened my door, Lisa sat up in my bed and said hello.  She was wearing this hacked up sweatshirt without a brassier and a pair of purple panties.  I am not sure what I said or how I reacted but Lisa smiled and in that moment I was Anakin Skywalker and she was Padme Amidala even though their stories had not been written yet.  I realize that the next part of this reads like a bad Penthouse letter, but I swear to you, my loyal readers it is the honest truth.  She explained that she was tired and my roommate and his girlfriend were busy so she used my bed.  Did I mind she asked and I said no, but that I had just gotten off and wanted to take a nap.  She said climb in and she would nap with me.  So, I wanted to see how she would react and took off my pants and white collared shirt, leaving a wife-beater and my black briefs along with my shoes.  I then jumped in to bed with her and we started talking.  Somehow Lisa steered the conversation around to her piercings.

Now, if you know me in real life, you know that I say and so shit for shock value.  The more comfortable I am around you the further I may go to do this.  So, when she said she had pierced her clit, I asked if I could see it.  She explained she had removed it and that the piercing had healed but left a scar and would I like to see that.  Remember, smart ass but naïve and shy as all hell and said “absolutely.”  Now that I am older, less naïve, and in retrospect I realize that she was trying hard to seduce me.  She flipped around so that we were now in the 69 position, placed herself so that I had the perfect view, raised her legs, moved the crotch of her panties and showed me her scar.  The urge to stick my finger in her vagina was over whelming but at the same time the fear of rejection stilled my hand.  I even missed the cue when she pushed it closer to by face and asked how it smelled and if that made me curious about how it tasted.  You have to understand, that Lisa was my roommates friend.  What if this was just someway for her to make me the butt of a joke.  So, I just said something about not being able to smell anything else now.  I am not sure what happens after that as the memory just ends like the film broke in the projector.

So here I am now, with Lisa on the phone and she is asking me to come over, but she doesn’t want to come and get me.  No reason asked or given.  So, I rode my Baby Blue, 90cc Honda Elite Scooter from the Sierra Garden Apartments to her house in Rocklin.  When I got to her house, she explained she needed gauze and we went to a drugstore to get it and then returned to her house.  She introduced me to her mother and we went to her room.  I remember going in to her room and realizing the only place to sit was on her bed, and I laughed at how ridiculous the thought was that we might make out because her mother was in the other room.  Not long after we went in to her room, her mother said goodnight and closed her bedroom door.  We had been talking and not doing any bandaging and Lisa brought us back on task by removing her pants.  She said she did not want to stain the clothes she was wearing with blood.  After she gently did everything and put new bandages on my finger we were just laying there.  I do not remember how, but Lisa brought up the topic of kissing.  In the middle of it, she said that I had to wear a condom and I realized this was really going to happen.

The silence was so horribly bad, I had to put on music or else I was going to create a horrible car accident to end the oppressive silence.  This kid should be fucking ecstatic, some chick is paying gas money for a ride to come get her so they can have sex.  Maybe, I am too logical.  Maybe he is having performance anxiety, like maybe it is too small and he feels like she is going to laugh while saying something like “You call that a penis?  I paid for a ride horse and not your little pony!  Fuck that! I ain’t down with bronies!”  Or conversely, maybe it is too big and he is afraid she will run screaming from the room claiming he must be an extra terrestrial and he tried to probe her with his fifth limb. Penis sizes come in three sizes:  You call that a Penis?  Nice Penis!  and Wow, You are not putting that thing in me.  Shit. Now, suddenly, I feel like I am involved in sex trafficking or some bizarre ritual.  Shit.  What if this goes horribly wrong and he winds up going crazy and wearing the skins of the girls who reject him?  What the hell am I worried about?  Humans have been having sex for half a million years and I am almost positive that if it caused people to become serial killers, especially males, we would not exist today.  Crisis averted.

In High School, I was always too shy to ask girls to go to dances or to try and obtain anything more the  friendship.  Then in my junior year, I met Arwen and yes she was named after Tolkien and yes her parents were true, home grown here in America granola hippies.  Without going in to details, Arwen decided we should hang out, so we did and it was only to aggravate her boyfriend who then wanted to kick my ass for it.  So, I didn’t have a real, real, girlfriend until Lisa.  I had dated and even lived with girls before but they were not really girlfriends.   I think they were more friends with benefits and I think a lot of us have them but refuse to admit this is what they are.  Some wont do it during.  Some continue to refuse to do so after.  Some refuse to do so after and often revisit it letting the same euphoria and shared connectedness fires the passion that causes the distaste that led to the last parting of the ways fall to the depths of their memories, to that blackhole where we deposit the memories that we don’t like.  So, I can understand this guys awkwardness and I hope that everything worked out for him and was better then my real first time.  I don’t like to think about it, because it was worse then horrible.  The worst thing that could happen is they hookup, get married, have 2 kids and get divorced about 12 years later.

We get back to the guys house and we exit the car and I see how stiff an awkward he is and I have visions of Grey’s Anatomy and the sex scene with O’Malley and Meredith Grey.  Shit.  And it would be partially my fault.  I facilitated the situation.  What can I do?  Get High, Get Laid!!!  I gave him condoms, and instructions so he wont get her pregnant.  He is already getting laid.  if they get high, they both might relax enough for it not to suck.  I have no illusions that it will be romantic or that it will even be good but at the very least it should be fun.  So, out came my head stash and half of my head stash got placed in the cellophane from his cigarette package.  Let’s hope it helped him ease the awkwardness.

I bailed shortly after that and I am not sure what happened, Nightmare like The Last American Virgin or worse?   Did they have fun?  I may never know but I enabled him to do so.  I provided the means by giving him to condoms and facilitating the booty call.  Did I do the right thing?  I think I did.  Either way, it makes for a hilarious blog.