Adult Supervision Required or Cookies.Rule.Everything.Around.Me. The End.

<< How this sad ass story begins. smh.

I’m glad I’m not really high or anything. Once I make these noodles and the science happens in my stomach with the salt and the drugs, I will be better again. *begins to cook on a gas stove that you have to light with matches* OMG I SMELL GAS. I wonder if I can figure out the chemical equation for what’s happening cooking this food on a gas stove. *water boils* Who put bubbles in there? Science is awesome. Look at the air escaping.

https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/trisha-yearwood/snickerdoodles-recipe-2041594

You have to wonder why, of all the food items, I made the hardest thing considering my emotional, mental, and physical state. I decided against foods that need no preparation, because when you are on drugs, raw food won’t help. Your food has to be manipulated and prepared in order for you to get well again. I knew that the leftovers were out because of all the radiation from microwaves. The radiation would have an exponential reaction inside me because of all the THC in my system thereby stopping the pacemaker in my heart that I don’t have, so that’s a negative ghostrider.

Somehow these noodles get made. I honestly can’t tell you what happened between the bubbles, escaped air, and bowl. I also have not burned the house down, which is rather remarkable because I love fire. Also, this is a great time to note that my sisters and I burned down a whole stove and half a kitchen, so this is a real possible thing that I am more than qualified to do. Anyway, I made it from the kitchen to my room, to my bed. I am on the bed. The bowl is in my hand. The fork is in the other hand stabbing the air particles between me and the TV because Matt Damn is still on and I realize that I hate him. But I don’t hate him too much because, Good Will Hunting. We both really like doing math for fun because of what our intelligence does to the mathematically incompetent. It amuses us. But that’s it. That’s the only redeeming thing on Earth about him.

I finally begin eating and stop – almost instantly. Yooooo, I’m like eating in HD right now. I can feel the chemical compounds. Like the ions and everything. All the complex sugars. All the hypertensive salts. The electrons are waging war on each other and I can taste it all. I need to document this because nobody will believe me. They must know what I have achieved this day in the name of science. *looks for a pen and old o-chem lab notebook*

*an actual moment of real clarity* I’m high as a kite atop Mount Everest in July. This is the worst thing I’ve ever done. Dear God, please let me forget this. I will never aga--- *high resumes*

I’m doing more air math, while composing a hypothesis for what happens to the human body while eating in HD and watching a movie in HD. Another movie has come on – finally – and I’ve had two outfit changes. Apparently, I cannot decide if I am overdressed or underdressed for being high. Because that’s something that has a dress code.

HALF HOUR LATER. I think I ate crack. I am taking off clothes, putting clothes on, getting in the bed under the covers, laying down trying to go to sleep, getting back up, and taking off clothes again, in this vicious cycle. I count at least ten times doing this. Each time before I get back up, I say to myself, This is the last time, it’s gonna work. Only I don’t know what is broken or what needs to work. Are they different or the same? I should call my friend. I need help. She will understand this *neck scratch* she’s the only one who can understand it. I should call her.

Are you crazy?!?! Then the police will know where the drugs came from! You know the game don’t wait for snitches – stitches do. If I drop a dime on her, who is gonna be left to put money on my books? I should read more. I mean I read a lot, but some of my favorite books are in storage and I don’t wanna buy duplicates. I could stand a trip to Barnes & Noble. There is nothing noble about what I have done today. I am going to die.

WAIT! I got it!!! In Bad Boys II, Martin took drugs accidentally, too. Even though they were different drugs, they were drugs taken by accident, so this line of logic still works. Keep going. Also, drink water from a vase with flowers in them. Keep going. He got in the tub and took a cold shower, so his head wouldn’t explode (*smirks* but his other one might… Call Theresa…lol). KEEP. GOING. They called a poison control lady. YES. Drugs are poison. YES. This will work. But on the off chance I’m poison(ed) like BBD I’m as good as done for because I have a big butt and a smile. Since BBD wasn’t on the movie soundtrack, I think I’m good. This will work. I will un-high myself. I wonder if I will have to get a sponsor and go to NA meetings now?

What was I doing? *ten minutes later*

Shower. In the shower, I realize that I’ve made a mess of things. Not because I’ve gotten in the cold shower, but I’m naked like in normal showers. I’m not supposed to be naked because in the movie Martin had on a visor, tank top, boxers, and socks. I controlled for the wrong variables. FCUK – THERE IS AN OUTFIT FOR BEING ON DRUGS! This too hard a burden to bear, Lord. I need a terry cloth robe too. What have I done? I should get out of the shower. When the police come, I don’t want them to find my naked winter body freezing in the tub. Someone might put ice in here and take my kidneys. I hope our blood types are different and their work is all in vain. Assholes.

Speaking of, this vein in my head is throbbing. Must be the electricity from the synapses in my brain. That’s totally normal, never mind. I can just feel them now because I’m unplugged from the Matrix. I should rest because that’s what Neo did after he got back from seeing the Oracle for the last time.

POST●ish PARANOIA (if you can even call it that). There is no way I can go to work. I’m not high as Mount Kilimanjaro bound kites in January anymore but I am as high as one of those packages on the shelves I can’t reach. I decide that I cannot go to work in my condition because I am not really sure where I work. I can see the 3D google map in my head, but my legs aren’t moving. I feel blood circulating, so I’m still alive. This is just not okay. So, I somehow type the longest out of the office manifesto in email because you have to not explain that the reason you are not coming to work is because you are high and seeing dead people on mountains with kites. Yo, WTF did I eat? There are no signs of this condition fading – I’m just faded. As I closed my laptop, the fold on my towel became undone. I have slept on top of my made-up messy bed, in a towel, with one sock on.

I reiterate to Jesus how much I do not want to remember any of this, and I drift off to sleep. I wake up the next day around the time this whole misadventure in snickerdoodle’ing began. I have a ton of missed calls and text messages. Like, how did I not hear any of the notifications – there were so many, and the phone was near my ear (don’t ask me how). Did I go out last night? What was I drinking? Maybe I should look in my purse for receipts to see where I’ve been and what I done. This is a work day – why am I not at work? I say to myself aloud, That’s the name of it! Escape From L.A.! Did I watch that movie last night? He was in Executive Decision, too. Awww, Halle Berry…

I laid there trying to figure out why Kurt Russell was even on my mind. Or Matt Damon. Why am I thinking about him when I hate him so much? Wait? I hate Matt Damon? I wake myself to a seated position and transition my feet from the bed to the hardwood floor. I feel the softness and coldness of the wood. I begin to weep gently, looking down at my feet. I have on one sock – one sock only.

I remember every single thing.

Also, an entire year passed before I ate another snickerdoodle, so there’s that.

Adult Supervision Required or Cookies.Rule.Everything.Around.Me. The Beginning...

I stand in constant need of (prayer and) adult’ish supervision.

Okay, so this one time, I was on my way to visit a friend after work. She had not made it home just yet, so I went to her house anyway because I don’t believe in traditional manners or decorum and she has young adult’ish aged kids, so it’s technically not trespassing if someone invites you in. Like I was saying, her eldest daughter greeted me. My mom will be home soon, come in. I can’t wait. Like not at all. Yassss! I can’t wait I need some roasted broccoli like ASAP. You would think that a dish requiring only three ingredients would be easily replicated. But my friend, that Black girl’s mama, she got that magic flick of the wrist like #SaltBae. She seasons the broccoli with the exact amount of hypertension adjacency with the fury of twelve great auntie’s smiling upon us from the afterlife. Let’s just call her #BroccoliBae. Also, I will outsource any task because I believe in letting experts do what they do best. Like put gas in your car. Thanks New Jersey. Also, my apologies for that one time when I well…you know what I did. I ain’t even know.

Anyway, my friend hadn’t made it there yet, but these munchies were right on time. So, I’m rummaging through the kitchen for anything to snack on. This is why I keep Target fruit snacks in my purse – but the way my snack cravings had been set up, I didn’t have time to re-up my purse stash. Negro. I say to myself in my head. Are those snickerdoodles? I think my heart skipped a beat. Bruh, them joints is homemade. Grab that container right now. Hell yeah. Jack they asses for the cookies. They won’t even notice they’re gone until it’s too late.

Now, with the container under my arm and a cookie in hand, I’m about to get that work. I take a bite of the most delicious, the most buttery sweetness trapped in a cookie (I’m exaggerating, but I was hungry so that joint was hella good) as I walk into the living room with the colonized container. My friend’s daughter has this look on her face that was worried with a hint of anxiousness. As she should be. I’m about to eat all of these cookies.

Well, she actually looks really concerned. Also, she is reaching out towards me so that’s weird. I wonder what’s wrong, but not enough to stop eating. OMG noooo, you can’t eat that much. They’re not regular cookies. I’m confused because it looks and tastes like a regular cookie. Why not? They taste just fine. That response did not appease her. You’re not supposed to eat that much. It has THC in it – like, you know, edibles. You’re only supposed to eat like a fourth of it. Now I’m starting to see what was troubling her. But again, this is not enough to actually infect me with her worry. Anyway, who eats a fourth of a cookie? But I ate almost all of it already. What should I do? Should I just finish it? These are important questions to help me determine whether or not I should worry. I’m also still kinda hungry which is why we are gathered here today. Uh… Meaning, probably not, but who am I to put words in her mouth when I put the wrong cookie in mine. I’m not batting a thousand at the moment. I also don’t heed good advice when I’m hungry. Yolo *shrug*. I mean, I’ve gone this far, so I minuswhale.

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/575897871092527455/

The whole cookie was gone. It wasn’t that big in the first place. Like what harm could one little homemade cookie do? It was the size of those cookies you get at Miss Fields, the tiny ones! Okay, it was a little bigger, but on the scale of Miss Fields to Pizzokie, it was maybe one of the larger small cookies you got from Miss Fields that made you feel like you got more for your money than you were supposed to get so you feel like you got over.

Wait a minute. Yoooo, I just ate drugs. Like what the hell? Should I stay or should I go home? What’s the protocol? I ate drugs in my friend’s house. I haven’t eaten dinner. I wonder if drugs react badly to an empty stomach. I should go home, hunh? I feel like her daughter knew that I was asking myself a lot of questions in my head, because she was like, I don’t know what time my Mom will be home. I think she’s getting here soon though. I couldn’t wait that long because I ate drugs, so I should probably be where I live before they kick in. I should be in a safe place. This means I need to get in the car and go home now. I’m okay. I should be okay. BUT *finger raised* in the off chance that I am not okay, I should be safe. That’s right – safe is the safe word of the day. Remember it.

I made it home, rather quickly. Thankfully, Bay Area traffic knew that this was a code red and we needed to get the chains off[1] the highway doors. I made it home in record time. I go through my whole home routine too, because I am not on drugs yet. I just have them in me like a drug mule. My stomach enzymes are maybe on drugs though. Shoes off. Bra off (unlatched expertly with one hand and then pulled though the arm opening of my shirt). Work clothes off. Lounging clothes on. Work on the nightstand. Laptop on. TV on. Check the mail. Yo, I am really gonna kick this drug thing before it even sets in. I am so proud of myself. I am delightfully not impacted by the drugs I accidentally ate. My body is a fortress. A strong and mighty tower. A pillar of strength.

ONE HOUR LATER. What the fcuk was I about to do? *scratches head in confused* I have been sitting at the edge of the bed like in one of those pictures where you can’t tell if the person is coming or going. There is no shadow so you’re gonna need to look for other clues. Was I about to get up or sit down? I haven’t committed to either direction. I literally have no idea what I was about to do, but Matt Damon is getting on my nerves in this stupid ass movie. What is it about anyway and why is it taking them so long to get that little girl in the damn machine and cure her advanced H1N1 or whatever disease they have a cure for but don’t give to people because capitalism protects itself at all costs? Where is Dave Chappelle’s wrap it up box when you need it? This movie is like a mash up of Johnny Neumonic and that Kurt Russell movie. What was the name of it again? Yeah, I remember I thought that movie was the sh!t back then – Johnny Neumonic, not that Kurt Russell joint. Man, a lot of movies back in the day did that whole mind/virtual reality thing before Samsung was out here scaring people’s grandmas. There was Total Recall, Virtuosity, Strange Days. Wait, damn like we were #BlackLivesMatter before we were #BlackLivesMatter. The police straight up killed a Black rapper, there was a riot, and Angela Bassett was on the front line. She is the Auntie we don’t deserve.

ANOTHER HOUR PASSED. Oh, I think I was hungry. That’s right. I ate drugs, I should eat something that isn’t drugs. Oh yeah – food. Is that movie still on? It’s so strange. Like that Math 32A midterm. How did I get #3 wrong? *begins to use finger and write in the air (like Daddie) in the room to figure out where I effed up on that math problem* Ahh, that makes sense now. I took that L, but I won’t keep it. I’ll bounce back. They won’t get me the next time. *continues to do more advanced calculus from 10+ years ago in the air* Food! EAT FOOD! You are a drug addict now. You have to remember to eat. This is also known as paranoia. We have arrived fully and completely. I am in that place now. I was also supposed to remember a word. I have no idea what that word is. It was really important to my safety. Pineapples! That’s it. I don’t think we have any in the house. Dammit.

Okay. This is a kitchen. Checklist? Window R(check). Stove R(check). Sink R(check). Counter R(check). Stove R(check). Shelves R(check). Dishes R(check). Refrigerator R(check). Food R(check). There were a lot of rooms in this place. You made it to the right one on the first try. I am so proud of you. Now that we are certain this is a kitchen, let’s get started. On the counter there is wheat bread. Oh snap, I forgot the small table. I gotta add that to the checklist next time. There are crackers, chips, cookies, and fruit. In the refrigerator there is cheese, leftovers, salami, and more fruit. In the freezer there are microwavable meals and ice cream. THERE IS NOTHING TO EAT IN THIS HOUSE. I HATE IT HERE! WHO LIVES LIKE THIS? I saw a pack of noodles from the corner of my eye. That’s perfect! The high salt content in the noodles will attack the drugs and make me sober? Less high? What’s the word for that? Un-high? Re-normalized? Stabilized?

The exciting conclusion…lol. >>

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[1] Lean On Me. PG-13. Drama/Action. March 1989.

Sh!t Smart People Say

Act like you’ve been somewhere before. #Unc

I guess reading makes you smart. #SisNo.4

Two very smart people said things that, at first hearing, don’t seem too smart. But follow me. I’m going somewhere and I hope you’ll join me.

I am finally old enough to chaperone field trips y’all! My Uncle allowed me to chaperone his sixth-grade field trip, and the joy I felt at being that type of responsible adult? Unspeakable. Upon arriving to the location, the kids went crazy. Y’all. I mean, they had just calmed down from the fact that they weren’t riding on a big yellow school bus, but one of those luxury transit vehicles. With air conditioning, electrical outlets, tables, and a movie showing on the drop-down screens. 

My Uncle leaned into me and said, They act like that because they ain’t never been nowhere. Now you and your sisters, y’all been somewhere before. I took his remarks as slight annoyance, as most teachers are, when their class is overly exuberant about something. Also, I recognized that, while I don’t identify with traditionally privileged communities considering my humble beginnings, I was, well, kinda hella privileged (AF) – when, of course, you make all those humble considerations. Unc filled in the gaps my parents could not. Museums. Skating Rinks. Trolly Cars. College Campuses. Beaches. Amusements Parks. Road Trips. He would show up at the house, tell my mother to get us ready, and we would be in the streets with him, being somewhere. Even if it was the first time, and even though we were excited to be there, we always had this feeling that we were supposed to be there.

I mean, even my getting lost, was not about being afraid. I would be lost, walking around, taking it all in. The terror and horror of never seeing my family would not come to me until the moment I was found. And even then, there was no incredible revelation. I would be like, Aw, man. That would have sucked. And, get lost at the very next place.

Now, I get there are social, political, and economic structures that explain those kid’s behavior. I’m not judging them. Honestly, I’m glad they can say that they’re going places. (I just wish their own Uncles will take them! I’on care that’s yo’ teacher. He was my Uncle first!) I just didn’t realize, that, perhaps walking around UCLA’s campus like I owned it, came from every conscious and unconscious learning experience of having been somewhere. Or, that upon learning everything I learned there, I learned the devastating brutality of my ancestor’s building this of country. So, UCLA is like both ours, but I only get to wear it sometimes. #mygrandmamagavemethatchain

My sister called me, frustrated by a recent racist classroom experience. One in which her instructor said something so blatantly racist, that her immediate reaction was to pack up her belongings, leave the class, and wait for the next one to start. And because we’re smart kids and like to learn, she obviously did this from the front row of the classroom as the class debated the physical differences of the Black race, making them anatomically predisposed to athletic endeavors.

Y’all. What year is it? Because I may or may not have questions depending on your response.

In our venting, we somehow got on the topic of books, to which she said, I guess reading makes you smart. By the end of the conversation, she agreed that perhaps that sounded silly. But when I thought about it, she was right. It’s just a guess. I’m sure that instructor technically read things to be issued the academic certification to prepare teachers to be culturally sensitive to their students (this whole situation is laughable), but Class, I ask you, did the instructor’s reading make her own self smart?

This is all on the heels of that meme going around about that personal pan pizza reading challenge. When we were kids, we would go to the public library (not even a quarter-mile away from our house) and participate in those summer reading challenges. My sisters and I would finish them so quickly, that we wondered if we would ever figure out the challenge. It’s a book. You read it. When you finish it, you know things. Then you read another. We answered our questions with encyclopedias. We stumped librarians, teachers, and our parents with our ability to analyze information and transition it to different contexts. And this wasn’t some superior knowing or anything like that. We just had different kinds of questions because we read things…and acted like we had been places. (seeing that reading can take you places, it wasn't that hard an act)

It’s 2020 after all (about those questions I now have). You can put on a headset in the comfort of your own home and wifi, and literally go somewhere. Without transitioning time zones. Having not earned a single frequent flyer mile. And summa’yall can’t act like you been somewhere before. I mean, you spend 75% of your day looking at all the places other people went on social media and you can’t even act like it with the pictures right in front of you. I thought pictures made it real? You read the captions on the post, and I would have guessed that reading made you smart, but I’m not so sure.

My degrees are hanging on the wall of my family home, and nowhere else. Not because of my desire, but at the kindly worded threat request of my parents. Many people use those types of things to signify their aptitude. They’re not wrong, technically’ish. It’s just that if you have ever walked into any place I have lived or worked, you saw pictures of all the places I’ve been, and the books I have or will read. Those were always the indicators of my intellectual capabilities.

At least the only ones that mattered to me.

Also, we might need to start that reading challenge back up. I want some RoundTable.

How many books I gotta read? When I gotta finish? (you know we gotta adjust the number of books and timeline to account for summa’yall needing glasses and naps and whatnot) Who got me?

What I’m reading: Glow by Jessica Maria Tuccelli

Where I’m going: Montgomery, Alabama – Selma to Montgomery 51 Mile Relay After I wake up? The living room. That ‘rona got a playa grounded.

What y’all reading? What room in ya’ place you going to? #BeSmart