dangers of re-entry

In high school I experimented with various mood-altering substances. There was alcohol, naturally, but also marijuana and one really lovely afternoon on hash trying to play it straight in front of our friend’s mom as she drove us home. To this day I don’t know if she knew how high we were, but I can’t imagine how she could have missed it. But I never did a LOT of drugs, and never tried anything harder than the aforementioned. Also, incidentally, I’ve never bought drugs. I wouldn’t know where to get them. I suppose I could find my way through people I know, but I’ve never been that inspired to try. I basically gave up smoking pot after college. At some point I started to have rather strange reactions to it. Like my whole body going numb and noticing I couldn’t feel my heartbeat or my stomach and I might actually be dead but not know it and that’s just not a feeling I really wanted to seek out, you know?

So I admit it was a little random when, the other night, while hanging out with a bunch of parents from our son’s preschool, I decided to try it again. Before I describe what came of all this, I should probably back up a little. There were a few factors which contributed to this turning into a particularly festive evening.

There was the decision to postpone our roadtrip until after Kate’s housewarming party. We were supposed to be out of town, but wanted to go celebrate her new place. Next, walking instead of driving. The party was nearby, and we figured if we walked who’d care what state we’re in by the end of the party? If we’re on our feet, we can get home. In hindsight, had we driven, the car outside might have served as incentive to control the intake of alcohol and other substances. But this was not to be. There was also the bottle of wine we shared over with dinner before the party, the several glasses once we arrived, and having almost no water. When one of the other preschool moms mentioned she’d brought some really good pot, and then one of the dads fashioned a bong from a Coke can and the screen from the sink faucet and started passing it around on the back porch, I was like, “meh, why not?”

So I took a hit. 

Having done this a few times before, the technique came right back to me – inhale deeply, hold it in, talk like Tommy Chong, let it out slowly.

That went fine, so I took another hit. And another. 

And the thing I remembered much later was that unlike booze, I don’t feel the effects of pot right away. With wine or liquor, I basically get drunk as I drink. There’s not much delay, so I know when to slow down, and when to stop. Pot is different. I took three (really large) hits because I wasn’t really feeling it after the first, or the second. When I started feeling it, I stopped smoking. That was so too late. 

First things got a little fuzzy. Like my head. I poured another glass of wine, but didn’t finish it before realizing water was probably the better choice. Pretty soon, things became outrageously funny. That is, laugh my ass off funny. Someone said something (do not ask me what it was because I have zero memory of it) that sent me into complete tearful hysterics. I had to leave the room, weeping with laughter. Around that time I lost track of most of what was going on. 

This is another thing about being high versus drunk. When I’m drunk, even really really drunk, I can still kinda see, through the haze, what’s going on. Not like “I’m in complete control, no really I can drive, no problem.” Not saying that. But it’s almost like I can watch from outside myself what’s happening and still have clear pictures of it in my mind. I can tell roughly how drunk other people around me are, for example. When I’m high, I have no idea. Everybody else could be totally sober, or just as fucked up as me. No clue. You’re all fucking hilarious.

Some time passed. I probably did some stupid things. At some point I might have casually suggested a threesome with my wife and the hostess. That didn’t happen. We walked home. I vaguely remember this. I was none too steady on my feet. I know we walked home because eventually we arrived home, paid the babysitter, and I started tweeting. This began with “Dude, I’m REALLY fucked up.” Progressed to “I should go to bed. Anybody know where to find the “off” button for the spinning?” And arrived at the classic, “Dude, fuck cottonmouth.” There was some other stuff I think my followers on Twitter found quite amusing which I won’t go into here. My parents read this blog. But I’m not sure broadcasting my state was the best idea at that point. Of course, now I’m posting this. Whatever.

In the end I managed not to throw up, got myself into bed and closed my eyes and next thing I knew the kids were up at 6am. Which was when our 8-hr roadtrip was scheduled to begin. That’s a whole other post, one that may not even be worth writing, so I won’t go into it. Suffice to say I did not feel well, it was surface-of-the-sun hot, and one-year olds do not take kindly to being strapped into a car seat for seven hours.

Is there a lesson here? I will say there are indeed some nice things about the weed. Different things than with wine or booze. There are also some downsides. If I do try it again, I’ll probably stop before I start propositioning my kid’s friend’s moms. Hopefully.