One of my major goals for the last two years has been drink less, smoke more weed. I've actually written it out: Get an agent, write a book proposal, drink less, smoke more weed.
Growing up with my parents, nothing good ever really happened when drinking was involved but a lot of my fun childhood memories involve weed. I never really smoked it that much in comparison to my parents and brother but it was part of the family framework.
In fact, the year I was born my dad made a bong out of pewter and glass and engraved the year into it. This bong was so cool and my brother and I loved it so much that we actually argued over who would get it when our parents died.
My claim was that since it had my birth year engraved in it, it must have been a birthday gift for me and so I was the rightful heir. My brother's rebuttal was that he actually used it and so cared more about it.
Never mind that we were about 10 and six years old when we were having this heated debate. But this was normal for us. In our house, we had three cardinal rules to obey:
-- Don't open the door for strangers.
-- Check for snakes before sitting down in the outhouse.
-- Don't tell anyone where we keep the stash.
We lived in the middle of NO where on a road called Boar's Head with woods so dense that at night you couldn't see your hand even if it was an inch in front of your face.
We had the privacy needed for truly enjoyable pot smoking. When I was about 10 years old, we had one particularly bawdy Halloween party which included a big bonfire and four lesbians dressed as the members of Kiss. At one point "Gene Simmons" and "Paul Stanley" started making out in front of me. I don't know which was more of a mind freak: seeing two women passionately kiss or seeing the "Demon" & the "Star Child" go at it. I drank discarded beers and passed around the joints and got a huge contact buzz. Toward the end of the night, I was clearly stoned which made a few of the adults laugh hysterically and whip out their cameras to take pictures of me. It was the trailer trash equivalent of a college kid blowing pot in a dog's face.
One day I saw my horse Charlie Brown running in big graceful laps around the outer perimeter of our land. He was running but it was weird...like it was slow motion and his mane and tail looked so beautiful blowing in the wind. I called out to my mom and brother, "Hey y'all come here quick...something's wrong with Charlie Brown." They came to my side and my mom is like, "Yeah, something's not right with him." Kyle immediately flew off into the woods behind the shed and then I heard his blood curdling scream "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCK!" He had been growing these giant stalks of marijuana for weeks and Charlie Brown had eaten the tops off of every single one.
Growing this weed made my brother very popular with some undesirables...particularly Jerry and his older brother Eric. Eric was about 21 and was always in trouble with the law. He was short and thin with jet black hair and a bonafide moustache. He was really muscular and tan and liked to walk around shirtless with his t-shirt tied through a belt loop and his pants resting low enough to show the trail of black hair leading down to...I knew exactly what.
One night when we were living in our trailer, he hung out with Jerry and Kyle and he called me into Kyle's bedroom where they were all getting high. Eric wanted to share the joint with me but I had never actually inhaled a joint before so I was too chicken. So instead, Eric and my brother just blew their smoke in my face a few times. Pretty soon we were all high as kites and got the munchies. We ventured into the kitchen and Eric froze in his tracks. He was like "Holy shit, who the fuck are they?!" We had forgotten all about my Deaf grandparents who were in town and asleep on the hide a bed couch in our living room.
Eric was clearly freaked out – I don't know why. It isn't okay for a 21 year old man to be stoned with a 13 year old girl at two in the morning? I was like, "Don't worry they can't hear you they're deaf like my parents. See." And Kyle and I started banging all the kitchen cabinets screaming "FIRE!!!!" Eric flew out of the trailer like one of those cartoons where only a trail of burnt smoke is left in the wake. And I never saw him again. Ever.
The first and only time I got stoned with my mom I was sixteen years old.
My dad had been stalking and harassing us because my mom had filed for divorce and she was letting me sleep with a 23 year old sailor. She and I were so stressed out and one afternoon we found ourselves wanting to get away.
She asked me with an mischevious glint in her eye, "Do you want to smoke a joint?"
Are you kidding me!? My Mom wants to get me, her high school daughter, stoned?!
So she whipped out a joint and we got high in the dining room. A few minutes later we got the bright idea to go to Six Flags amusement park which was not far from our house. We were dirt ass poor due to troubles with the IRS and Dad not helping pay the bills, so we counted out all our loose change and found a Pepsi can with buy one get one free admission offer on it. We went to Six Flags and hoped we had enough change for us to get in when this guy walks up to us and says, "Hey I bought these passes for the week but we're leaving town tonight so can't use them...you want them?" Good things happened to stoned people, I guess, because that meant we had money for FOOD! We ate ridiculous amounts of hot dogs and junk food and rode every ride before coming home and collapsing.
About two nights later my dad broke into the house and tried to kill my mom. Guess what? He wasn't stoned. He was DRUNK.
So let this be a suggestion to all you out there when you're making your New Year's Resolutions:
DRINK LESS, SMOKE MORE WEED!
* Kyle ended up with the bong.