Artificial Artificial Paradises: Hiding Your Level Of Intoxication

My sister wrote to tell me that one of our parents might be harvesting an illicit substance in her kitchen. Supposedly it is for a cancer-stricken friend. My sister still lives at home so I rely on her for gossip. She tells me who she sees at the local bars, sends me pictures of her with sports figures who pass through town to imbibe, and now (apparently) spreads rumors about blood-relatives who have become amateur horticulturists.

Our conversation reminded me that it has been a while since I last shared one of my old LiveJournal entries. In fact, it’s been half a year since we last peered into my drug diary. If you don’t remember, my friend Zoya recommended I occasionally use this space share intoxicated musings. Throughout my college years I fancied myself a young Thomas deQuincy, Aldous Huxley or Baudelaire, only without any insight into the human condition, and a penchant for using eight paragraphs to describe a Qdoba burrito or the color of a girl’s pubic hair. My LiveJournal was a complete mess, often unintelligible, frequently embarrassing, and — now that it’s been dead for five years — a guilty reading pleasure.

Today’s post was written during the summer vacation following my junior year of college. It’s my burnt-out recap of a drunk and stoned Saturday night. The evening began with a meal at that Mexican place on Route-1 in Woodbridge with Sam and Lindsey. I went home afterward and hung out with Melissa. There was a period of time when I couldn’t be sober around Melissa because she was such a bore to hang out with. I would get stoned off my ass and subject her to terrible movies like AntiTrust and Wrong Turn. This time, my dad surprised me by coming home early. A short while later, my sister came home. Hilarity ensued. Then I wrote this. I used too many air quotes.

07-10-2004 @ 1:13am “d’oh! they know i’m high!”

tonite was embarassing for a few reasons.
lindsey got drunk off one and ahalf margaritas at dinner.
and then got lost in best buy.
she is what we call in the human world the lightest of “lightweights”. the “lightweightiest.”

then i came home and starting to fix myself a little “drinkypoo” to take the “edge” off. eight parts vintage 1978 j&b scotch and two parts pepsi cola, it was nauseating but drunkening, then melissa came over to watch tv, but pretty much right afte she got there i opened the door and let her in, then turned around and went downstairs for bong hits, leaving her behind to fix her own damn drink. (longest sentence ever). i promised only one bong hit, because otherwise i mighttake too many and be no fun to hang out with. unfortunately, i lied. i lied to myself, my fans, my friends and family, and most importantly myself. in fact, melissa even quoted me as saying (as i emereged from the basement dungeon) “Seven. I took just seven of the HUGEST, MILKIEST bong hits. EVERR!”

i was FUCKED UP. i was moving really really slowly. i was not really able to walk a straight line. i was not responding to verbal OR physical stimulii. if you are to believe her. i was not “there” at the time. i do not know for certain.

now then. dad got home from whatever the hell he was doing. suddenly i could feel my blood rushing througout my entire body. the urge to act as NOT FUCKED UP as possible was rushing throughout my body. you sorta have to know my dad to think this is funny, but imagine the most conservative, not-suspecting old guy in the world having this conversation with me.

And then it happend- I completley fucked it up and looked like an ASS. Melissa said it went something like this:

DAD: Hi guys.
EVAN: Hi guy.
EVAN: So how was stuff and things?
DAD: Good.
EVAN: Good.
DAD: (sits on couch for a while) Evan, are you drunk???
EVAN: (pannicked look)
DAD: (continues) You look dead!
EVAN: (pannicked look) what?
DAD: are you numb? you look s….sedated.
(melissa almost giggles, thinking he’s going to say stoned)
DAD: (silence) Were you drinking before you drove home?
EVAN: no, IT HAPPEND AFTER. (points at scotch, looks away embarassed and giggling)
(silence)
EVAN: (decides to go back to watching movie, mouth agape, eyes at half mast.)

[30 seconds later, dad still in room]

EVAN (TO MELISSA): did i blow my cover?
(silence)

Then about 30 minutes later, sister got home. i swore myself to act sober.

EVAN: hiiiiii ssssiiiiiissssss!!!! (giggles)
SISTER: hey guys
EVAN: soooo, how was the bar?
SISTER: it was good. i feel sick.
EVAN: oh no why do you feel sick.
SISTER: i started to feel sick like 30-
EVAN: OH MY GOD YOU SLEPT FOR THIRTY MINUTES!? (hysterical laughter)
SISTER: (confused look, leaves and goes upstairs)
MELISSA: evan you totally blew it.
EVAN: man, i didn’t even stand a chance!

once melissa left my sister said i was funny when I was high, so i went back downstairs and took another six rips. now i’m here. writing this to you. YOUR WELCOME.

If you’re not shaking your head in disappointment right now, you really should be. I don’t know whether to cringe or applaud myself. And to think, I haven’t even shared some of the zaniest posts from my old LiveJournal yet. These are the short bursts of delirious creativity. Wait ’til you get the 3,000 word rants that don’t even make sense. The posts that are barely English. That shit is gold!