Percocet… the best pain killer

In the case of this blog, Percocet is in fact, a blog name for a good friend of mine. And I feel that it’s very fitting, especially in the context of this blog. I just googled it and this is what came up:

Percocet (Percaset) is used to relieve moderate to moderately severe pain.

I think that works well, actually. My friend, whose blog name shall be known from here on out as Percocet, did relieve my moderate to moderately severe pain. He is one of those very unique and complex friends that, if you are lucky enough to have one, stay with you for a lifetime.

I was driving to Yuba City today, and if you don’t know, most of the drive is a two-way highway. Today, nearly the entire way, I was stuck behind a lifted Toyota Tacoma. There was a FOX sticker on the tailgate, as well as one of those grenade stickers that I’m not sure what it stands for. But I AM sure that it means you are too cool for school.

There was a lot of traffic coming the other way, and I am such a chicken when it comes to passing, so I just drove behind this truck for a long while… wondering about the driver.

In another lifetime, these stickers, this truck… that would have been a sure bet that the driver would be someone I would have had a crush on. And when this truck and I finally approached Yuba City and came to a stop light… I noticed that he was talking on the phone- a law breaker- and he had his hat on backwards.

Again, this would have been love at first sight for me. In another lifetime…

All this immediately made me think of my friend Percocet. And then I laughed out loud in my car. I laughed out loud because I remembered how Percocet used to endlessly tease me about this, back when I lived in this other lifetime.

At the time, it felt like Percocet was the first guy in a long time that had really SEEN me. Really understood me. And not only that, but he was totally willing to call me out on all my faults and stupid ideals. I knew I had a pattern, but he was the first one to point out how stupid of a pattern it was.

It was liberating.

I met Percocet in the same fashion that I met so many other friends; at a party. But this wasn’t just any party… this was a party at Arosa. If this doesn’t immediately set off bells and whistles for you, let me explain further.

Arosa is a legend.

Well, technically, Arosa is a street in San Diego. But on this street, there was a house. And in this house… there were MANY a party. And these parties were epic. These parties were themed, these parties were huge, and these parties were parties even when it was just a few friends gathering in the living room. Arosa was THE place.

Now, during college, the party spot was MY house… but this was post college. Arosa is only known by those few of us who didn’t know what the heck to do after graduation. The few of us who stayed.

So anyway, I digress…

I met Percocet at one of the many parties at Arosa. He was well known, I was well known, but we didn’t know each other. So I introduced myself. Well, that’s hardly true either. He had my sister perched on his lap and so I sat down beside them to talk to her, when he realized that we were, in fact, sisters. This is always a very appealing thing to a drunk man. And so before I could do or say anything about it, Percocet had befriended me.

Now, there were two very unique facts that made our friendship… unique… right from the start.

1) I was about to move in with him.

When Ship and I broke up, I was homeless. I lived on Mac and Raps floor for months and months, but when they moved into a much smaller place… I was once again on my own. It was summertime and EMoney and Dewip were planning to get a place with me in September and so for the summer, I was a wanderer. I slept where I could. And a lot of the time, that was on my mattress- my last possession besides my clothes- on someones living room floor. For the month of July, I rented out a room at Arosa. Consistancy for an entire month!

Sidebar: Arosa usually only housed boys. I believe that LoDown and I are the only two daring girls who have ever dared to call ourselves roommates. This place was disgusting. It was one party on top of the next… and just one bathroom. It was the kind of house you can’t walk around in barefoot. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And so I had no choice but to move in. Perc already lived there… in what would normally be considered the dinning room.

And the second thing was…

2) Perc had just recently found out that he had cancer.

I can’t speak for Perc, but this might have been the hardest thing that he has ever had to go through. And at that time, we hardly knew each other, but I was going to be one of the people he came home from chemo to. It definitely started our relationship off on an interesting note.

When I met Perc at that party for the first time, you would have never guessed in a million years that he was sick. Not at all. Drunk, yes, but sick… not a chance. He was lively. He looked healthy. He had a ton of dark hair and a full beard. He had my sister on his lap and not a care in the world… or so it would seem.

This is Percocet. This is how he does it…

By the time I moved in, maybe a month later, a few things had changed. From the waste up, he looked perfectly normal, but from the waist down… well, that was a different story. I’m 96% sure that it was lymphoma, but Perc just called it ‘Bob’. To this day, I think I’ve only ever heard him say ‘cancer’ maybe 4 times.

So by the time I moved in, Bob had already started wreaking havoc on Perc’s leg. It had only been a month and the tumor had gotten huge. He wore jeans all the time, but it was painfully obvious that one of his legs was literally 3 times the size of the other. The tumor had started to prevent the fluids in his leg from escaping… and so they were just building up. He could hardly move it. It was difficult to walk. Difficult to shower, get dressed… everything. But it wasn’t difficult for Perc to laugh about it…

I hadn’t lived there more than a day when he lifted up his jeans, poked his leg and joked as the indent from his finger stayed in his leg.

This is how Perc does it.

Maybe four nights into my living at Arosa, Perc and I found ourselves alone in the house. The other roommates were gone and he and I had no plans for the evening, and so we figured what better way to break bread and get to know each other than over a few Red Stripes?

Hooray Beer!

Perc and I sat out on the back patio, the site of our first official conversation maybe a month before, and we got to know each other. To be honest with you, I can’t even remember what all we talked about but I can tell you this: Perc KNEW me. In an instant. He just knew who I was. It was so surreal and unnerving, but SOOO welcomed at the same time.

Like I said, at the time, I had been separated from Ship for maybe 9 months and yet, things still felt so fresh. I had so totally lost myself in that relationship that I hadn’t even really begun to put myself back on any sort of a track yet. I mean, I was still sleeping in people’s living rooms for crying out loud. The dust hadn’t settled. At least not for me. And Perc just SAW that. Maybe it was his having cancer that allowed him to see the cancer in me.

And it was just that simple. Without meaning to, Perc had totally put things into perspective for me. Next to Bob… Ship was nothing. He was insignificant. If Perc could nickname his cancer… couldn’t I find a way to move on in my life?

Talking to Perc that night relived my moderate to moderately severe pain. The kind of pain that I didn’t even really realize I was still feeling. And I think that maybe, just maybe… I helped do that for Perc as well. Everything seems less scary when you have someone on your team.

During a break in the conversation, we decided to move our bonding indoors. It was getting late. I used the restroom and went into the living room to talk some more, but Perc wasn’t in there. He was standing in the doorway, looking down at his pants. They were wet.

“I either peed my pants or my leg is leaking.”

Interesting.

Perc went into the bathroom to investigate further. While he was gone, I cursed myself for being drunk! I was supposed to be the responsible roommate who was going to be able to safely and calmly react and assist in any Bob related needs! SHIT! Was I really going to fail as a friend on night one?? He had just given me a bandaid for my stupid problems, and now he was going to die in our living room because I was too DRUNK to help!!

Perc came out and reported that the site of his biopsy was, in fact, leaking. Hmmm. We kind of looked at each other, both drunk, and contemplated what exactly to do about that. It wasn’t blood… it was clear. Water? Vodka??

I voted to call 911.

He called his doctor. It was almost 3am, but his doctor answered. Perc gave the doc the info and together they decided that it would be best if I could drive him to the hospital first thing in the morning. I was clearly much more concerned about the leaking leg than Perc was. He thought it was quite the incident! And I assure you, it has been the subject of many jokes since.

In the morning, Perc woke me up early and I drove him to the hospital.

I waited, and wiated.

It turned out to be nothing.

Nothing, but the start of a very strong friendship. I mean, how can you not be bff with the person who helps you with your leaking leg??

On July 4th weekend, Perc drove himself home to Northern California. Half way there, he called me to report that he had stopped at a grocery store to use the restroom. On the way to the bathroom, he slipped on a grape and fell all the way to the ground. It looked like he peed himself. It was just his leaking leg.

This is how Perc does it…

After he started chemo, I came home one day from work and Perc called me into the living room. He stood up and said:

“Guess what happened today?”

I wasn’t really into guessing games…

Perc reached up, grabbed a hand full of his dark hair and pulled it out. It came out easily, in one big chunk. I swallowed hard, preparing myself to be the caring friend…

“It’s time for a Mohawk!”

I video taped as our other roommate shaved Perc’s hair into a Mohawk.

This is how Perc does it…

Finally it all started to come out and we had to shave it all the way off. We didn’t video that time. But Perc made jokes the whole time. The whole way through…

He went through several rounds of chemo, and then one extra one just to ensure that Bob would never come back. And although he transformed before my eyes from a guy who didn’t have a care in the world… to a guy who had lost all his hair, his eye brows, his health… He never went a day without smiling. Without laughing. Without making ME laugh.

His hair grew back. His palness dissappeared- well, mostly. Perc made a full recovery. And you know what? So did I. And it started that night with the Red Stripe. Something about that summer has stayed with me. I moved into that house in the middle of MY chemo. I was still trying to flush the cancers out. I hadn’t turned the corner yet. I still felt sick. And when I left… my hair was growing back in. I was on the mend. And I really, truly feel that I have Percocet to thank for that. I think I was meant to be his roommate that summer. We needed to help each other.

In so many ways, his cancer saved me.

I’m thankful to say that even to this day, despite the distance, the changes, the passing time… Perc and I are still good friends. And I feel very lucky for that. There are very few relationships in this life that are like this one; People that we meet that we instantly click with. We instantly know them. And we are instantly able to tell them the truths about themselves that they aren’t always willing to admit.

And sometimes… that’s all we really need.

Perc and I still exchange inside jokes. I still think of him as a dear friends. And I know I always will…

Afterall… he’s my percocet.

“It’s time to go home”

It’s WoopsieDaisey Wednesday!

I always have trouble thinking up a tale for these days, even though I’ve had so many ‘Woops’ moments in my life… however, today it just came to me. In my most recent blog, about SinkinShip, I referenced a particularly crazy night and I feel that it most definitely falls under the Wednesday category and therefore, should be completed today.

As is the case with a lot of these stories… please keep in mind that my memory has been blurred by that devil alcohol. So try to keep up.

So the day I am referring to is the day/night of my college graduation. My high school graduation has many a fun story attached to it as well, but again, that must be saved for yet another of the never-ending blogs.

As I mentioned in my previous blog, I was dating Ship at the time of my college culmination. This was more or less, right smack dab in the middle of that relationship, and if you will recall, I was pretty much desperate for his attention and affection by that point. So just throw that in the back of your mind and keep it there.

The day started out like any other busy, important day of one’s life. I woke up early at Ship’s house. My family was in town, as well as my ex boyfriend, LemonBass, and so there was literally no room at my house for me. I’m sure that that is the only reason Ship agreed to having me over to his house in the first place, but that is neither here nor there. We woke up to a call from Ship’s superior on the Naval base. Apparently, Ship was supposed to be on base that day but had filed his paperwork either incorrectly or too late because there was definitely a communication error. He yelled, they yelled, and basically he decided that he was right no matter what they said, and he wasn’t going to go in, regardless. This was great news to me, because it meant that he was ‘choosing’ me over work, but even still… I would never have talked to my boss the way Ship spoke to his. And, well, because he was in the mood to yell, he decided to bring up AGAIN the fact that my ex boyfriend was in town to come to my graduation. I said it had been an argument between the two of us, but I didn’t mention that it went on and on. So after getting the brunt of his anger on that subject, I decided that the day was off to a great start.

I got up, got dressed and headed home. The original plan was for me to get ready in time to go see one of Ship’s MMA fights down in Pacific Beach. I’m not sure if I mentioned that in the previous blog… he was a Mixed Marshall Arts fighter… doesn’t that just add to his douche bagery? Anyway… so of course I started out the day stressed out, on a timeline, and nervous. It ended up, with all the showers of all the people in my house, that there was absolutely no way that I was going to be able to make it to his fight. This worried me very much. I really, honestly thought that if I didn’t go to this one fight, there was no way in hell he was going to show up for my college graduation. As if the two are even comparable. So I begrudgingly gave him the news that I was just running too late to make it to his fight. He didn’t even answer me back.

Side note: The cap and gown… totally not flattering. It doesn’t matter how big or little or tall or short or cute or whatever you are… it just doesn’t look good. And how the hell are you supposed to wear those hats anyway?? Hell if I know. I mean, I really struggled. This was supposed to be a day that would be photographed and looked at for years to come, and I couldn’t figure out one suitable way to wear that damn hat so that my hair didn’t look hideous.

Alas, I opted for the curly hair, down, and the hat pinned back on the skull of my head. Still not cute, but at least it didn’t smoosh my bangs.

So I headed, with my beloved roommates DMo and KayTown, my mom, he-who-must-not-be-named (Step dad), Lemon, D’Monk and my cuz to graduation. No sign of Ship.

We got to COX Arena on the SDSU campus about an hour before the ceremony, and there were quite literally 100 million people there. I think that was the official count. And it was right around 100,000 degrees as well. Again… what’s with the heat retaining, black bag that they call a gown?? So hot! Kay and I, and the rest of the graduation crew headed down to where our major was gathering, while the rest of my family- sans my noticeably absent boyfriend- headed to their seats.

The actual graduation ceremony at COX Arena was very impersonal. There were hundreds of us crowded onto the floor, where the basketball floor would normally be, and hundreds more ‘fans’- so to speak- in the stands. Out of all of those hundreds of people… no Ship.

We heard from speaker after speaker, all off which had a similar message: Shit gets real, starting now. And then we each stood up, as a major, and switched our tassels from one side to the next. We went through the motions, we followed protocol. The guy sitting two seats down from me was so moved, he fell asleep. It was magical. And all through the 20 hour long ceremony, Ship did not make an appearance.

However, the real ceremony, the one that mattered to me, was the one that followed the giant, impersonal one. It was JUST for MY major, which of course, was theatre. So after we were released from COX arena, and after I found my family and friends in the masses, we made our way across campus towards the second ceremony. Maybe Ship would show for this one? In truth, it was the only one that counts in my heart… even now.

And sure enough… there he was. He showed! I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be SURPRISED when your boyfriend shows up for your graduation, but I really was. Kay and I had to go into a special room before the ceremony began, so that we could all make a breath-taking entrance as one graduating unit. And as soon as I walked into the room, I did what every other girl does on any special day in her life… I looked for my Mommy. And there he was, sitting right next to her. He was standing and cheering and grinning, ear to ear. I was in heaven.

So this ceremony, unlike the first, was totally moving. DMo, and three other great friends of mine sang ‘For Good’ from Wicked, which if you’ve never heard it… is the PERFECT song for a graduation.

It was so beautiful that I ugly face cried.

Another good friend of mine was class speaker and her speech was very pointed. It was totally different than any of the first speeches at COX because these were MY friends. They were people I had gone to class with. They were MY teachers. These lessons were really MINE to take. It was really a great ceremony and I’m very sad to report that due to the economy, these separate major ceremonies no longer go on. I think that cheats the grads out of a very memorable experience. I remember looking over at KayTown and laughing at the inside jokes. Jokes that were ours. And I cherish the fact that our house, the party house, was brought up more than once by the speakers. It felt very personal and real… like we were really moving away from something, reminiscing. I’ll never forget it.

But either way, after this second, magical ceremony, I again reunited with my family and friends. I was given a sash to hand to the person who had most influenced my life during my college years and I gave it to my mother. We cried some more. At that point I was really wondering why I even bothered to spend any time on my hair. My face was a giant, sloppy mess.

After pictures…

… we headed to dinner at one of my favorite Mexican food places in Old Town San Diego. What better place to celebrate? When we got there, Kay’s dad pointed out the sign leading into the restaurant which announced mine and Kay’s names and congratulated us on our success. I thought that was very special and I just love to feel special.

The only down side about celebrating anything at a Mexican restaurant is the margaritas. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love myself some margs but when they come in pitchers… well, that’s where things get messy. And so we began. We took shots, we had mixed drinks, and we had many a pitcher of margs. Needless to say, by the time Kay and I left the place, we were more than special… we were ‘special’. It was scary.

First stop: Home. Or so I think. We had large plans to go out on the town, but for some reason I remember heading home first. Perhaps there needed to be some dropping off of things. Perhaps some changing. Again, I asked you to bear with me on this so I hope you are. In any respect, at some point in the evening we were at my house. The house where Kay and I both lived, and the house where everyone who was anyone was staying. And by that point, the emotion of the whole event was hitting me. We were done with college. We were all moving on. A lot of us were moving AWAY. Kay was nearly packed and she wasn’t just moving out… she was moving to NEW YORK! I am talking about the soul mate who had lived just across the hall from me for 4 years!! (Figuratively). It was very difficult. And we hadn’t really allowed ourselves to talk or even think about it. But the time had come for no more time. I hate it when that happens. Kay and I were closing a chapter. And all of a sudden, drunk as all get out, it hit me. And what did I do? I broke down crying, climbed into my mother’s lap and insisted on her rocking, and singing to me.

I’m not crazy.

I just reverted back to my childhood years. This is exactly what she needed to do for me when I was upset as a child. And apparently, it still worked. I felt much better afterwards. Ship, however, might have been thinking twice. Too bad he had no room to talk because I’d seen him far more intoxicated than needing to be rocked by his mother.

So after I was settled down, and keep in mind it is possible that this portion of the story did in fact take place prior to us coming home, we went down the street to a little bar called Bourbon Street. If you’ve never been there, let me just say… it’s a gay bar. It’s not just a gay bar, but it’s a gay bar that shows gay porn on all the tvs. Now, of course this didn’t bother Kay or I, or even my mom or sister for that matter, but my step dad, cousin, ex and Ship… they felt somewhat out of place. Ship felt even more awkward when I handed him my purse to hold onto.

Why did we choose this place? Can’t be sure. I know that I had gone there on my 21st birthday and had a blast. I never had to deal with getting hit on but at the same time, men still bought me drinks. And, quite frankly, I love myself some gays. I think it was just one of those things.

So at the bar, as I mentioned, men were just lining up to buy the two grads some shots. And of course I felt it necessary to accept. I had just graduated from SDSU- one of the largest party schools in the country! How could I turn down a free shot? I only remember taking one, a blow job shot of course, but I’m sure I took many. The thing I do remember best about that place was this: As soon as I finished my shot, I reached over with shot glass, and dropped it right on the floor as if I were placing it gently on the counter. Nope. No counter… just a long drop to the floor. So it shattered of course and no one was more surprised than me.

At that point I decided that I had to use the restroom, and as is the case with most drunk girls, I didn’t decide that early enough to hold it while I waited in a line. And what a line there was. At a gay bar, they don’t actually see the need to have a girls restroom other than the law, and so the line was absolutely astronomical for the one stall. And I just could not wait. I asked my friend, a gay man of course, for assistance and he opened up the empty boys room and said,

“Not like anyone cares in here.”

So true.

In most mens room- and not to insinuate that I’ve been in many- there are a few urinals and generally only one stall. I don’t understand this. If anything, men are much more likely to crap in a public place than women are, and yet they only get one option. And of course!! A guy had to be taking a poop just as I was in desperate need of a stall!! SO again… what did I do? I did what I think anyone else would do in my situation… I popped a squat over the urinal. Luckily for me, it was one of those floor ones. And my good friend helped hold me up so my bum didn’t touch the porcelain.

It was yet another ‘bet you haven’t done that’ moment that I can add to my long list of moments.

We might have been there an hour, it might have been 5 minutes, there is no way of knowing. But either way after the urinal, it was time to move to the next place. Truth be told, it was time to get my butt to bed, but no one likes a quitter.

The next stop was Tripple Crown which was also in walking distance of my house. Actually, it was on the way BACK towards my house so at least we were moving in the right direction. And although I was unsure earlier about the order of events, I know for a FACT that this bar was last.

Tripple Crown is a good, solid pub-like bar. It was close to our house so we knew it well, but at the same time, it was always packed with new people. And that night was no exception. The place was jumping. And again, it could have been 1am or maybe it was noon, but it was packed and we were ready to have a good time.

I sat down next to my mother, at the bar that faced out into the street. That was the other cool thing about Tripple Crown. There was a bar that faced out towards the street, and there was a huge sliding door that was open so that we could just reach out and touch the passers by- if we so chose. I always thought that was very cool. And so my mother and I hopped up onto the bar stools that were facing out towards the passing cars. Ship, who was a smoker (strike 100 against him), was standing on the other side of the bar- actually outside on the street- smoking. He was chatting with LemonBass, ironically enough, who he just so happened to really like. Go figure!

We hadn’t been sitting there more than 5 minutes and we hadn’t been in the bar more than 7 when I fate-fully reached for my mom’s Bud Light (aka B minus). I remember this part very clearly. I reached for the beer, which was positioned just out of my reach to the right and directly in front of my mom, when the most outrageous thing happened. I can’t explain it. I was reaching to my right and suddenly, without warning, I fell straight backwards off my bar stool. I was leaning right…….. and fell backwards. Still don’t get it. And don’t worry… I totally blame this trick of gravity for my fall and not my alcohol consumption.

But don’t let me sugarcoat this fall for you.

I fell backwards. Head towards cement. Legs sprawling for the ceiling, still in my graduation dress no less. And I slammed down on the ground. I broke a record-breaking THREE glasses during this epic tumble. One was the beer in my right hand, which had caused the whole fall to begin with. One was the glass in front of me that I had kicked whilst falling. And the third was my cousins. He was less intoxicated than me at that point and so he had seen me start to fall from across the bar. He made it all the way across the room just in time to get his drink knocked out of his hand by my passing arm. I broke that glass by FALLING on it.

Amazingly, I did not have a scratch on me. And also AMAZINGLY, my mother managed to SAVE MY LIFE. She saw me start to go- it must have been in slow motion… or at least that’s how it felt for me- and so she grabbed my two hands at the last minute. She knew there was no saving me. My feet were well over my head by that point. But her intention was simple: Keep my head from slamming into the cement.

And although I did break 3 glasses, one by falling on it, at the last minute my arms extended to the max and my head was saved. I had a wicked case of whiplash the next day, but my brain was intact! Or at least mostly.

Now, this is where I did what most people wouldn’t do. Instead of being embarrassed and mortified… I laughed. I started laughing my ass off! People were encircling me, strangers were picking me up off the ground, my mother was pulling my dress back down over my crotch and I just thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen.

At that point I looked at Ship who was standing directly in front of me, still outside the bar, and I’ll never forget what he said:

“It’s time to go home.”

And so it was…

Once we got home, it was as if nothing embarrassing had happened at all. I was causing quite the drunken scene. I was very insistence upon Ship taking me home and home meant his house. As it stood, my mom and step dad were sleeping in my room, the fold out couch had already been claimed and the only thing left for Ship and I was a blow up mattress in the dinning room. I found that totally unacceptable. But Ship refused to drive me because he had been drinking and he didn’t want to make a bad impression on my mom. (Way to see that through). And so he did everything in his power to keep me laying down on the mattress. And trust me, I was putting up quite the fight. I was yelling at him and I was calling him every name in the book. I kept telling him that he was the worst boyfriend ever, when in fact, this might have been the ONLY night in our entire relationship where he actually was a good boyfriend.

And to top it all off, I went off on my step dad about how much he had been drinking. Apparently, he hadn’t had anything. Nope… just me. Great.

So that is the story of the night I graduated from college. It would appear that the only thing I learned in my four years… was how to party.

The land where everything is legal

Yes, I am speaking of Amsterdam.

And I am speaking true. Really, everything is legal. Drugs, prostitution, running people over on bikes… it’s all good to go. And it was quite an experience to be there, I assure you.

The reason I am writing about Amsterdam today is simple. I was at lunch with Burny the other day and I was talking about MacTen and somehow that segwayed into talking about eating Space Cake in Amsterdam and before I knew it, I was laughing uncontrollably and Burny was completely lost. I guess it was just one of those things where you had to be there. But then I called Mac after lunch to see if my story was as funny as I thought it was and sure enough… she started cracking up as well. So even though it is one of those ‘you had to be there’ stories… I am going to do my best to bring you readers there.

Enjoy…

So we arrived in Amsterdam, MacTen and I, on June 28, 2005. We had been traveling before hand- New York, London, and then Ireland- and we would be traveling after our program in Oxford, but the exciting thing about Amsterdam in particular was this: All 8 San Diego State students who had been accepted into the Summer Abroad program in Oxford had agreed to meet in Amsterdam the weekend before our program started. And that was this very trip. So not only were Mac and I in a brand new country… we were there with 6 of our college friends! What a completely different experience.

Mac and I flew from Ireland into Amsterdam in the afternoon. We then caught a train from the airport to the part of the city where our hostel- and the rest of our friends- would be waiting for us. We knew we were going to be the last to arrive. We were armed with directions given to us by Rossco, our only friend who had been to Amsterdam before. Now, the directions we had in our possession made me nervous, I have to admit. It’s not that Rossco can’t give good directions, it’s just that he can’t give real directions. The street names in Amsterdam are, well, laughable. They can’t possibly be real words. There is no way Rossco would have been able to say them or even spell them correctly so instead he gave us a different type of directions.

“Get off the train and go straight down the stairs. Head into the square and take a right at the giant phallic symbol.”

I am not kidding you… these were are only directions.

When I asked Mac about the phallic symbo,l she said that Rossco said we would definitely know what he was talking about. Okay. Here goes nothing.

So we got off the train and it was nearly 10pm at night. Now, don’t be alarmed. At 10pm in the summer in Amsterdam the sun is still setting. It actually looked more like 7pm. But the night life had definitely started, all the same. Did I mention that we were staying in the Red Light District? Yes, that’s where we were wandering around at 10pm at night in Amsterdam. So when we got off the train, we immediately  noticed several sets of stairs. GREAT! If we didn’t pick the right stairs, we certainly wouldn’t run into the phallic symbol. Damn it Rossco!!

So Mac and I chose as best we could and headed out into the nightlife of Amsterdam, backpacks and all. There was no obvious ‘Square’ and there was certainly no obvious phallic symbol. Not even in the Red Light District. We made a quick attempt at the map but could not find the address of our hostel anywhere. We found a street sign and tried to locate that on the map to no avail as well. We even went so far as to ask a passer by- by showing him the street name on our piece of paper hoping he would just point- and even he had nothing to offer us.

So we just started walking. No sooner had we began, a man who was clearly under the control of the police officer who was walking beside him, reached out and grabbed Mac’s boob as we passed. He said something rude of course, and then the police man quickly reestablished his hold on the drunk man. I was so flabbergasted by the fact that the police in Amsterdam simply held hands with those people who were under arrest and escorted them to jail. Mac, on the other hand, was scarred for life. I could see she felt very violated and scared. She was on the verge of tears. Oh man… not good. So I grabbed her hand, told her it was okay and started walking even faster towards… well, towards nowhere. I had no idea where we were going at that point. I knew we couldn’t be far because the directions were very short, but we had seen no phallic symbol at all. I was starting to get really pissed at our stupid directions.

Finally, after wandering down crowded allies and in and out of stores, we found someone who spoke a little english and who could point us in the right direction.

We walked up to our hostel- the Bull Dog Hotel- at the same time as one of our male friends from San Diego. We could not have been happier to see him, even though he was clearly high, drunk, and quite frankly just as useless as we were. He did help us check in and find our room though, that was helpful, and then he led us down the street to where the rest of our friends were many, many drinks deep.

I was 21 at the time but for many of our friends- Mac included- this was their first time drinking in a bar. It was quite hilarious, I must say. It’s always funny showing up last to the party. You really get a good idea of where people are at. But don’t worry… it didn’t take Mac and I long to catch up. We drank a lot of ciders, our drink of choice abroad, and met many interesting people. One man in particular I will never forget. I can’t remember his name at the moment but he was very much Italian with a very thick accent and he was very intrigued by the girls in our group. Speaking generally, foreign men were often very interested in the fact that we were American. And this man in particular, was very interested in everything about all of us. He was… to be blunt… asking us for sex. In Amsterdam. Where he could literally walk outside and buy it for cheap. He was telling us all the nasty things he would do to us if we would let him. There was something about his crazy accent that made it more hilarious than creepy, but overall… I was keeping my distance.

Allow me to offer you a direct quote: “I will take three hours to go from your shoulder to your belly… and one and one half hour to find your cheese spot.”

Gross.

Now add an Italian accent.

Really gross.

That was it. We had to cut him off. He was just getting way too graphic for us. And it was at about that time that Mac and I realized that her wallet had been stolen. We had it when we came into the bar, because we had ordered drinks, but now it was nowhere to be found. It was quite a blow, let me tell you. Again, Mac was on the verge of tears. All her credit cards, her ID and her phone cards were all in that wallet. It was really very tragic. Luckily for us, I had plenty of money and she still had some travelers checks. We ran over to the hostel and immediately called her mom and told her to cancel all her cards and send new ones to Oxford. Overall, we dealt with it pretty quickly and moved on as best we could. Mac and I both tried to keep it from ruining our night. After all, there was really nothing we could do about it.

That night we all slept in bunk beds in an 8 person hostel room, where we all tried desperately to hear our Ipod’s over Rossco’s snoring.

The next morning we all walked to the Van Gogh museum. It was a beautiful walk. Rossco led us, confident in his own directions, and we happily followed him up one street and down another. We passed by the phallic symbol that Rossco had mentioned before and yep… it was pretty obvious. Had we have seen it, we would have known exactly what he was talking about.

Amsterdam is stunning. I had no idea. I was definitely not expecting that at all, but it is. It is so beautiful. There are canals between nearly every street, much like Venice. There are bridges and cobblestones and color. Oxford is nearly all the color of sand stone, London is gray and Amsterdam is colorful. There were lots of flowers and the buildings were made from lots of different materials so there was a lot of contrast. It was quite a lovely walk.

Once we got to the museum, I was not nearly as impressed by the art as I was by the city that housed it. I could really take it or leave it, personally, but I am happy that I went and saw some of his original work. I always think that’s very special.

After the Van Gogh museum, we headed back to the hostel, stopping at Hard Rock Cafe of course. America is everywhere. Right smack dab in the middle of this amazing, new culture was Hard Rock. And we were craving burgers. Once we got back to the hostel, we all showered and hit the town yet again. I have to warn you, this is where both the histerical-ness and illegal activity come into play- well technically it’s legal in Amsterdam, the land where everything is legal.

All of us, minus Rossco, took space cake together.

Don’t judge me! If you know me, you know that I am usually totally against this behavior but you know what they say… When in Rome!

So all 7 of us went into what they call a ‘coffee shop’ in Amsterdam and asked the bar tender- who conveniently spoke English- some questions about what would be the best plan for our group. We told him that some of us had smoked before and some of us had not. We told him that we wanted to have fun, but we didn’t want to lose our minds or anything crazy like that. He suggested Space Cake. We agreed. We each bought a muffin of Space Cake and sat down at the bar. The bar tender said that one muffin should be plenty but not too much so we all had our fill. It tasted just like a bran muffin… nothing else.

After we all finished eating, we headed back down the street to the bar were we had been the previous night. If you have ever eaten pot in any form before you know that it can take up to, or even over an hour to kick in, so we were all just waiting patiently. Our eyes were shifting from one person to the next, just waiting for the first person to go. That, in itself, was hilarious. Those of us who were new to the whole experience kept saying “I think it’s hitting me” and those of us who were veterans kept saying “trust me… you will know.”

It was a little unnerving. The only thing that kept me calm was knowing that it was legal, and regulated and safe.

And then we met this guy… I can’t remember his name either, but he was cute enough and he started talking to Mac and I. It had only been about 30 mins since we had eaten our muffin so I was willing to chat for a few minutes before finding a way to ditch him. He kept telling us that we needed to go to this amazing club with him later called ‘Escape.’ We knew our plans did not really exceed tripping out in the bar, but we told him that we would think about it. He was unaware of what we had recently ingested.

About 45 minutes into muffin land, Mac realized that she hadn’t talked to her boyfriend since we had arrived in Amsterdam. We made a rash decision to literally race the drugs and run back to our hostel, use the phone, and run back. We really thought that there would be enough time. And more than anything, I really thought that we were going to be able to feel the effects coming on slowly…

JumpSki, who was there with us, decided to go as our chaperone back to the hostel. What a gentleman. But between the three of us, we had maybe smoked a half a joint combined before this experience so not one of us was going to be any help in that department. Oh well…

We made a run for it. I tried my boyfriend, SinkinShip (aka cheat #3)  first and SURPRISE SURPRISE, didn’t get ahold of him. Then Mac jumped on the phone and started chatting with her much more devoted boyfriend. She was just talking with him, completely normally, and Jump and I were trying to hurry her off the phone, when suddenly… quite literally out of nowhere… I BURST into laughter. I am talking about sitting completely still and normal to laughing very loudly and crazily and uncontrollably in an instant. I guess the drugs had hit me. And the world around me was absolutely the most hysterical thing that I had ever been a part of. Poor JumpSki was trying desperately to quite me down. But lucky for all of us, it didn’t bother anyone. Everyone else around us was already high.

As I was laughing uncontrollably, in walks the same, cute guy from the bar. The same guy who wanted us to go to the club with him. There was no being inconspicuous at that point, so he came right over to us and tried to convince me to go with him to ‘Escape’ again. I couldn’t even answer him I was laughing so hard. He must have been on something too because he didn’t seem phased by my erratic behavior. He said ‘Escape’ a few more times and then walked away and left me to my laughter. Jump finally calmed me down enough so that I could catch my breath. That is when I turned to Mac to get her to hang up the phone so that we could get back to our friends. As soon as I looked at her, I burst out in laughter again. But this time I was laughing for a reason… Mac was still holding onto the phone, but her eyes were closed and her mouth was wide open in the most hysterical silent laughter that I have ever seen. It was amazing.

 Two down!

I don’t even think that she said goodbye to her boyfriend. She just hung up the phone and the three of us stumbled out into the street. Jump was holding both of us up, unsure of what exactly was happening. Apparently he was still unaffected by the bran muffin. The three of us only made it about half way down the street before we had to stop and catch our breath. I just could not stop laughing and Mac could not seem to hold her head up. Jump had his arm around her and every time she tried to lift her head, it jus slumped back down and around and into Jump’s chest. This, of course, was the funniest thing since Dumb and Dumber. Even Jump couldn’t help but laugh as Mac continued to proclaim that she couldn’t hold her head up, and then would prove it by swinging back into Jump’s chest.

Suddenly, Jump got this very funny look on his face. Mac and I stopped laughing and asked him if he was okay. I’ll never forget what he said:

“My underwear just got tight!”

Three down!

He said it so calmly, but Mac and I knew that he had finally joined the club. He continued to describe how the elastic on the leg part of his boxer briefs was slowly cutting off the blood flow. He didn’t seem too concerned… just reporting the facts as he felt them. Mac and I just continued to laugh.

It was at that point that the boy from the bar appeared again… or I can only assume it was him… all I heard was ‘Escape’ over my shoulder and then he was gone. It was so strange.

We finally made our way the rest of the way down the street and into the bar, where our friends had all clearly started experiencing the effects of the bran muffin. Again, Mac and I were the last to the party. And again, it was priceless. It’s at this point where the night gets a little fuzzy but I do remember a few more things:

We were all standing around the bar like models. I kept saying out loud:

“Oh my God. We are all standing like models right now, it’s crazy!”

I took about 8 pictures of us ‘standing like models’ but sadly lost the camera before I could develop the pictures. I assure you though, we were such good models that night.

At some point Mac insisted on finding doughnuts. Now, in all the years that I have known Mac, I have never heard her request a doughnut, let alone even see her eat one when they are available. But this particular night was different. She wanted a doughnut and there was not going to be any substitutes. After we announced our mission to the group, naturally, they all felt the unbearable need for doughnuts as well. So we were off…

Again, lucky for us, Amsterdam was prepared for the munchies. Not more than a block away- or so it felt- we found a magical store with an endless assortment of desserts, doughnuts, french fries, kabob, and anything else you can think of that wouldn’t normally be found in a store together. And other than the one brief freak out by one of the girls when we initially left the bar- it was too dark outside- everyone seemed to be handling themselves well enough.

When we were in the store, and Mac was enjoying her doughnuts, I remember a spider dropped down from the ceiling on its web. My friend Nickle- our veteran druggie- looked at me with the most serious look on his face.

“Don’t tell anyone that just happened.”

I agreed and decided that the reason was because everyone would suddenly be seeing spiders in their food. I wasn’t eating so there was no risk of that with me. But sure enough, as soon as we left the store to head back to the bar, one of the girls started freaking out over her food.

“My fries are glowing. They are poisoned. They are glowing neon.”

Mac and I just lost it again. We tried to hide our laughter from our friend, knowing she was seriously concerned that she was about to die from her neon fries, but we just couldn’t hold it in. And somehow, Nickle trying to convince her that they were fine by eating handfuls of them, just made it that much more funny.

And then, of course, I remember the end of the night. We were all back in our 8 person hostel room, Rossco was snoring loudly, Mac had “sunk into her bed and become tv fuzz” and was sleeping with a huge grin on her face, and Jump and I, along with one of our girlfriends, were sitting on the floor still enjoying the effects. I was just talking and talking and talking, about what… no one will ever know, and Jump and Checko were just laughing their butts off. I felt like quite the comedian. I could do no wrong. I felt like I had never been funnier! And I am a funny girl.

And then suddenly, out of nowhere, Checko stopped laughing… leaned over to JumpSki… and whispered in the loudest whisper I have ever heard:

“She is really freaking me out!”

And then she continued laughing as if I hadn’t heard her, clear as day.

I have to tell you, my high ended right there. I stopped laughing, got incredibly self conscious and said:

“I’m going to bed now.”

And that’s just what I did. I put in my Ipod and went to bed. I didn’t even allow the thought, ‘Why am I creeping her out?’ to creep into my head!

It was about half way through our walk to the Heineken museum the next morning when we all realized that we were still high…

Tune in next week for the rest of our weekend in Amsterdam!!