March 8, 1999 |
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Okay. So I want to "briefly" describe some weird things I did this weekend. (Brief? RF asks herself. Isn't that men's underwear?) Josie and I drove up to Vancouver British Columbia for our Saturday night. I decide I want to get really spankin happy stoned, but my pipe STAYS HOME. You see, I am learning from past experience. Last time I went through customs, me and 2 friends got frisked for drug trafficking. There was no way in HELL I was going to attempt to bring marijuana over the border. NO WAY. Nonetheless, I have no qualms against getting seriously FUCKED UP for the drive. To be polite, I offer a hit to Josie. Now, I have never seen her smoke from a pipe before. I KNEW she was an idiot on a bong. She can't figure out what the thumb hole is for. She has to get someone else to light the bowl, and then when the flame is lit, she doesn't even inhale enough to start the weed on fire. So, bongs just aren't Josie's forte I guess. But pipes are completely different. They are a lot easier to light, I have to admit. There are no "confusing" holes. It's just light one end, suck on the other. I figure as much head Josie gives, simply sucking should be more her forte. I was wrong. God that kid is weird stoned. I thought she'd be descriptive and swave. OR at least boisterous by how much she brags about how stoned she was last night, and every other night for that matter. She brags about getting stoned at her friends houses all the TIME. But when I actually witness her smoking pot? It's like watching a virgin trying to put a condom on upside down. God, it was just ALL wrong. You LIAR Josie. I know you ain't no stoner! I mean I was being a good pot veteran. I knew the weed I had that Friday night had a bit of a bite to it. It was my duty as a Stoner Host to warn of my weed's potency before I offer it to someone. So I TRIED to warn her about how strong my weed was. She can't figure a bong out, and now she hits herself TOO HARD on my pipe. God, that one drag really shocked the hell out of her. I watched attentively as she gobbed all over our livingroom floor in a coughing FIT. And I said: " I WARNED you to hit lightly on this pot!" But only amateurs don't listen and Josie was most DEFINITELY a marijuana amateur. So, after 2 hits and somewhere between coughing fits, Josie gets REALLY stoned. It was perfect because I was really stoned too. It's just that Josie and I are really DIFFERENT on pot. I guess our bodies just process the smoke differently that's all. So on the drive up Interstate 5, Josie manages to eat a whole box of wheat thins, a small carton of chocolate milk then a HUGE molassas cookie. Later on she turns to me in the car to complain about how sick she is. Sometimes I would tell her a joke and she'll wake up from that baked bliss of hers to give me the cheesiest laugh I've ever heard. Like she's thinkin, Oh yeah! That's where I'm supposed to laugh now. So I'd better laugh now, okay? Ha. Ha. Dribblahhhhhhhh. Snore. Josie wakes approximately every 40 minutes when she is truly stoned. I guess when the turkey is baked on one side, she must be flipped every 40 minutes or so. In these brief waking moments, she will want to pee and eat some more. Except one time where she only woke up long enough to notice I was driving 80 miles an hour. Then she promptly lapped back into a deep baked stupor without having to eat or pee. But it's not like I'm without my little stoner idiocyncracies. Even as loopy as Josie was, it was HER after all that remembered to get gas. Then when we finally stopped, Josie went to pee and I stayed behind to pump my tiny little Geo engine full of Diesel gasoline. (Well, I ALMOST did.) Then when I went in to pay, it was probably the weed talking when I bitched at the sales clerk for his lack of math skills. The total came to $11.05. I give the idiot kid $21.10. And I don't know whether it was my one dollar bill that confused him (or maybe it was that WEIRD dime!) Yet there he stood. Staring blindly, as he slowly removed the creases from my bills. I could hear those brain gears working, but the math had completely cut off his mind from reality. I snapped him out of it. "The total comes to 10. 05." I tell him. He believes me right away, but I couldn't help but harrass him more. "See? It's simple math really. 21 dollars and 10 cents MINUS 11 dollars and FIVE cents will EQUAL 10.05." I made sure he gave me the nickel back too. By the way, I wrote all of this last night in my stoner logue. Following rules of the book, I must be stoned before writing an entry. So there I was lying on my livingroom floor last night recording all this completely stoned. And the whole time I kept checking the gap in my livingroom blinds. Alabama can peak into my apartment through there, and I did leave a message inviting him over last night. At any moment he could just stop by. Or maybe he won't after all. It's exciting because he doesn't always respond to my messages. He just does HIS thing. I love that guy. Just love 'im. Anyway. Back to the road trip. Josie starts coming out of her stupor when we near Vancouver. We were driving in blindly. Both of us have indeed been to Vancouver before, but neither of us could navigate. I ask Josie: "How's your sense of direction?" Wow, that sounded good asking her that. It made me sound like a Special Agent. I really didn't know whether Josie could navigate or not. She tends to surprise me a lot. (And I like that about her!) So she could just as well have a GREAT sense of direction and I just didn't know yet. She did after all, know the names of the streets we're supposed to get to. Even now, I STILL can't remember the names of these streets, and I was JUST THERE 2 days ago. But Josie leaves the navigating to me. I take a ramp off Interstate 5 as soon as we hit the outskirts of Vancouver. Josie tells me I exited too soon. I am good at recognizing suggestion when it's given to me. I guess that's part of being a good navigator. So dumping my original plan, I turn around right there to try and get back on I 5. But we miss the re-entry ramp. I make quick driving decisions and maneuver us to the boulevard running parallel to Interstate 5. Josie tell me to get back onto the interstate again, because she KNOWS we exited the road too early. "I 5 should dump us right into the city." She says. Indeed neither of us could SEE the downtown buildings from where we were driving, but I remembered Vancouver to be so hilly that it was hard to see tall buildings in it all. And I knew we were running parallel to the interstate anyway, so I disregarded Josie's suggestion and remained on MY road. Sure enough, we find our route over the bridge. Even without EVER having to return to the highway. After crossing the Vancouver bridge, Josie felt better. She started recognizing things. This and That looked familiar to her. I wondered out loud what road we were on anyway. I say the street name out loud. It was a street Josie recognized. So my point is here, 2 very smart girls worked together and successfully navigated unfamiliar territory just by cooperating. The club scene was no big deal to me, but Josie really enjoyed getting to dance. This is the whole reason why she wanted to go to Canada in the first place. Being 19, Josie is under aged in the U.S. But Canada's legal drinking age is 19. So this is only like the 4th or 5th time she ever got to go to a dancing at a real night club. And it was the first time ever without a boyfriend chaperoning the whole time. So while I was humored by the differences between U.S. and British Columbia clubs, Josie was just out there shakin' booty. It was a ball watching her cut her tail. I know how she loves it so. And from my balcony standpoint, she really looked perfect out there in her tiny white sex clothes. I had to get more dunk on Smirhonff and crawled up the stage there too for a while. We knocked hips and jiggled breasts at each other. We fought happily for the attention of the ground dancers. Okay. I admit it now. I had a lot of fun there dancing. Even if the ugly men were UGLY, and the hot guys were flacid. Only the Vancouver women seemed to be following the fun mood of the club. Vancouver women were stylin Saturday night! They had bra-less, backless dresses and the belly for some DIRTY partying. Shit AL, maybe you SHOULD"VE come with us after all! Josie and I get off the stage together to go get more drunk. I'm scoping the guys all the way, but the pickins were pretty slim. But the bartender knew our drinks by sight. He points at me: Shot of Smirnoff. Then he points at Josie: Shot of Jim Beam. Josie and I were both impressed. I took action on my admiration for the guy. "Come on bartender. Give us a kiss!" I offer him my cheek and point to it. "Come on now. Kiss it." Josie reminds me of this cheek kissing scene the next morning while leaving the hotel. I remembered to empty out my car's ashtray from old bits of marijuana dust. I was a little worried about the smell the dust may leave behind for the Custom's drug-sniffing dogs. Emerging from the office of our hotel, Josie hops in the Scarlet Pimp. She had to sign my name to the registry. I thought that was awfully clever of her. One more stop had to be made before Josie and I left Vancouver that Sunday morning. We just HAD to find a White Spot restaurant. I think it's so damn charming that all my friends love Denny's as much as I do. And a White Spot is the Vancouver version of a Denny's. Josie and I land a beautiful wide padded booth in the White Spot restaurant we found easily and successfully. And I liked our waiter RIGHT from the beginning. I wish I ahd a business card to give him. I'm gonna have to get some made just for these occasions. Shit. I wanted our waiter BAD. I started off by being as polite as possible. Oh by the way, I should mention at this point that I am wearing my candy pink stretch-velvet top. I'm all powdered and primped for the occasion. Not to mention, Josie was looking rather gorgeous herself. I love having sexy friends. They look great and I can learn from them. They also make me look better in front of attractive waiters. Even when our waiter was out of the picture, Josie and I both managed to attract the attention of the rest of that White Spot personnel. I poised a "toonie" Canadian coin on a spoon in launching position, then just left it that way. Josie floated her coffee creamers in her glass of water. And we both managed to make loud clunking noises with our body parts. I talked louder and saucier whenever our waiter came around: "What? You say you like TIGHT men? Is that what you said. Tight?" I knew the waiter could hear me and Josie realized what I was trying to do. She thought he was hot too, except for the facial hair. When the waiter stops to ask if we're ready to order, I say loudly to him: "We're bitches." Josie smiles oddly and tells him: "Nooooo. That's just HER opinion." "I don't care," the waiter says. " Do you need more time to order?" Josie and I order. I wanted a gardenburger. I ask for the fat-free ranch dressing on my side salad. Jsoie wanted to the chicken burger and fries. But at the last minute she decides the fries were too fattening, so she went for the side salad instead. And she requests for her honey mustard dressing to be put in a cup. My ears perk up. "Honey mustard?" I ask the sexy waiter. "Is that fat free too?" "Is it Sunday?" Jen and I look at each other confused. "Yeah......why?" "EVERYTHING is fat free on Sunday." Josie recognizes the sarcasm right away. "Oh good. Maybe I should get me the french fries after all." And AGAIN I was impressed by a Vancouver man. The waiter was now sexy AND cocky. I liked him A LOT. So humbly, I settle for the fat free ranch. When our meal was over, I needed to pay the bill by using all of my Canadian coins. I know from experience that I can exchange Canadian bills in the U.S. no problem. But I might as well chuck the coins in the Peugot Sound. NO ONE excepts Canadian coins in the U.S. So I end up leaving our waiter nearly 7 dollars in tip. All coins of course. See, I gets me this weirdass idea. I figured, I'm not gonna ever see this guy again, so it's a perfect set for a real shocker. The next time our waiter neared the table, I snapped my fingers at him. Then I sweetly apologize for the snapping. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I know how rude that is. But I just wanted to point out I gave you the largest tip I have ever given in my life." And I point to the change. Josie counts out nearly 7 dollars there on the table for him. The waiter found my apology exceptable, so I continued: "Well. The reason I gave you such a big tip is because we're leaving the country soon, and U.S. banks don't exchange Canadian coins." Josie contested this theory, but I held my ground. "Eh, I don't mind giving you all my change anyway." I tell the waiter. "See, if this was a night club I would've tried to get you to sleep with me. But it's not. It's a White Spot restaurant, and a great tip is the best I can do in these circumstances." The waiter is now impressed with ME. "Woe." Is all he could manage to say after I spill my guts to him. He take a moment, then notices the "toonie" coin I had poised on the spoon. "Were you planning to launch that?" He asks. "Nah. I thought that would be too disruptive." "What's the key for?" He asks me, motioning to the key around my neck. "My car. I locked myself out one too many times. But not any more." "Isn't it hard to get that key from your neck into the car door?" He was making interesting sherades with his hands as he describes this. I respond. " You know, it WAS pretty hard to squat down like that, but I make such a lovely specticle of myself when I do it." I managed to change our waiter's whole outlook on Americans at that point. Just from meeting me, he said. Most of the Americans that come through there are from LA he admitted. So maybe that has something to do with it. I tell him that Josie is originally from Texas and I'm from Wisconsin. Apparently he knew nothing about these kind of peoples. Of course. Like I ALWAYS manage to do, I got pulled over AGAIN at Customs for the routine inspection. I guess I was right to dump the pot dust out of my ashtray back at the hotel, because a drug-sniffing dog walked right next to my car. Before the inspection took place, Josie looks at me seriously in the Customs parking lot and asks: "Are you SURE you have no marijuana in here?" "Yeah. I made sure I didn't bring ANYTHING." I tell her. Of course, to myself I notice a film container with a bud in it. But I didn't tell Josie that. I thought it would make her nervous to know I dumped my pot in the garbage can JUST OUTSIDE the custom's door. I thought it would've been funny for that drug dog to freak out on the Custom's garbage can because of me. The handler would think her dog went loony. Of course, the cops found nothing offensive and sent us on our merry way. But I did notice that they had gone through all my photo albums in the back seat. The albums I just happen to have EVERY dirty photograph of myself. Even some total pussy spreading shots. (Jen says those are called Pink Shots in the porn industry) Going through all my Pink Shots must have been the best search those fat old cops ever made! Then the bastards almost stolen both our driver's licenses. Josie noticed her license was missing when we stopped just a mile out inside the U.S. border to get chocolate milk. So we had to drive back to Customs, and the same cops that once frisked me for drug trafficking now had an apology letter for taking my driver's license. Ahhh! I love it when I can make the oppressors look bad. |
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