Weed Story- Have I Shat Myself?

Man, I miss weed.

I do not miss the person I was when I was a wee stoner. But, it was such a wonderfully simple life. Wake up at 3:45 pm, shower, a bowl of tortelloni and head to work at 5. Come home to a score bag and stay up until 4am. Rinse and Repeat.

It's as if I had no thoughts back then, which was, on the surface, fucking great. Admittedly, I was only comfortable around two or three people. We weren't the adventurous stoners. Na, we were the socially inept stoners. Often, I think about that scene from Pulp Fiction where she talks about when you are really comfortable with someone, you sit in silence and do not feel compelled to fill the void with bullshit. When we smoked, we heard the silences but didn't tell ourselves stories. We didn't investigate every bit of eye contact.

I got the munchies hard, but I never left the house whilst stoned. Too scared. My friend had the stones to do it, so he would head down to Aldi and pick up some stuff. If he wasn't hungry, I'd pay for any food he wanted if he went down and got me some yum yums. Quick side note: the name 'yum yum' is absolutely ridiculous. I don't think I need to go into more detail about why.

Back when we lived in the south side, instead of going to a gig, my girlfriend and I at the time decided to stay in and hot box my room. It was a pal's band's gig, so our flat volunteered as the venue for an after party. I wonder if I was apprehensive before it happened, but as I heard the door chapping, I was terrified. We had only smoked. No alcohol lubricating the conversations. People came in half cut, ready for fun, loud Blair. Not the Blair who had just had two tins of pringles and three Rustlers burgers.

I was thinking about this the other day; I wonder what the workers at the local Co-op thought of my pals and me. Shopping in the evening for breaded chicken steaks and vodka. Also, my dead pal got really into raw meat at one point. So you had the stoners wandering around picking up processed, easy-to-make food whilst the autistic goat searched for some soon-to-be out-of-date raw meat. It was always a nightmare shopping with him anyway, as he was the type to not actually talk to you when others are around. Instead, he spoke in front of you to the people surrounding us. You know the type, yea? In hindsight, it was probably social anxiety plus autism. You can tell when someone is talking through you by over contextualising the conversation.

For example, if we were talking about, god, it is even hard to imagine what the fuck we spoke about back then, say we were having some minor disagreement. Futile shit. If we turned the corner of the store and there were a couple of fellow customers there, he would over explain the scenario loudly to… feel cool? Show his intellectual superiority? Did he want to start a conversation with a stranger? I don't know, people don't want to talk to strangers in supermarkets. Well, I fucking don't anyway. Nor do people want to talk to a goat who is desperate to discuss his new fake and fragile love of raw meat.

Anyway, so all these cunts arrive at my flat. Friends that are only friends at a party. You've maybe seen them once sober, and it was a fleeting and awkward experience. But, drunk? You're slipping them the tongue. Brothers for life. Everyone conversed in the living room, and my girlfriend and I felt desperate. She could handle it because people didn't know her, so she wasn't forced into conversation. People looked at me with an expectation. They had the gall to expect me to say hello! I looked at their necks unless they noticed my lack of eye contact.

They were all loud. Just back from a gig and forgotten the typical social volume. Me and the girlfriend didn't last long in the living room. We retreated back to my bedroom. I had another tin of pringles. Number three. Probably watched some shite on my laptop. I was told the next day that my girlfriend was very horny that night. Horny and frustrated by my stoned mind.

So, she is horny whilst I am confident I have shat myself. Really felt like I had. A big shite dildo sticking out of my boxers like a screen mirroring of an erection. As if it was hanging out so far that there was no sucking that back in. I'm lying on my side pretending I'm shattered or too stoned to talk. "How do I get away with this?" I wondered to myself. I couldn't risk going to the bathroom because cunts are still here, and cunts will celebrate my return! Blair is awake! Blair is awake and won't have shat himself because he is eighteen! The bathroom was close to my room but not close enough. I played the waiting game.

I wondered if she was facing my back. Witnessing the disguised pokes at my asshole. “Why does Blair keep poking his arsehole? I thought he was asleep?”

Jesus Christ.

Well, I've got some good news, folks. I passed out, and when I awoke, no shite in sight. There was no shite in sight. I survived to tell the tale.

Cheers