Friday, May 31, 2013

abashed the devil stood and saw how awful goodness is

Hey y'all, look what I found!

Remember me bemoaning my non-uniform-clothing detentions? I knew I had kept a memento....


I found several fun things cleaning out one of my memory boxes. A pile of fantastic stuff near the bottom all came from Halloween, 1999.

In 1999, Halloween happened to fall on a Sunday. This was glorious, because in Catholic School you get All Saints Day (November 1st) off as a holiday.

I'm pretty sure the mention of Halloween 1999 still causes a collective shudder amongst the cops in at least eight different towns (in four different counties, in two different states).

....A little back story first. Not long before Halloween, a few of my friends (among them Mike#1; you remember him) decided to make their own LSD. Mike#1 was a super genius who normally applied his skills to making explosives* and so was extremely knowledgeable in the realm of chemistry. Jason's father worked for some pharmaceutical company and had stashed all sorts of [stolen] equipment in their basement. Matt#1's parents were filthy rich. They each bought some of the stuff they would need, so that way they weren't buying everything at once and thus would not tip off the authorities. They made the stuff in Jason's basement (and tested it themselves to make sure it worked without killing anyone--THAT was a fun weekend -___-) and then realized a small problem.

They had bought the ingredients in bulk. They made a crap ton of acid. They broke even selling it that first weekend, and that barely put a dent in their supply. Jason didn't really want vast quantities of extremely illegal things hanging out in his basement and even Mike#1 wasn't sure if the acid would eventually go bad or not, so they were like f*ck it; let's just give it away. After that, pretty much everyone who knew Mike#1, Jason, and/or Matt#1 had more hallucinogens than they knew what to do with.

Fast forward to Halloween. Or rather, Saturday, the night before Halloween.

Devil's Night.

Being die-hard fans of The Crow, we had to celebrate Devil's Night in such a way as to make Top Dollar proud.

I began the weekend by doing my usual I'm-totally-sleeping-at-Friend's-house routine and had the friend's older sister pretend to be her mother to confirm this (Mum refused to let me sleep anywhere unless she spoke to the other kid's parents first). Mumsy dropped me off at Sara's house, where we proceeded to get ourselves as gothed up as humanly possible, with fishnets and leather pants and spiked jewelry.



From the memory box: an actual photo of what I wore to school the previous day!



Then Mike#1 and Matt#2 arrived. Mike#1 brought laudanum (he was the best friend to have ever if your favourite pastime was killing brain cells). We watched The Crow. Sara and I painted Mike#1's and Matt's faces so they would match us. Matt and Sara pretended to go upstairs to use the bathroom and then had extremely loud sex in the attic. Mike#1 and I went outside and committed similar sins in his car. Mac liquid eyeliner is the sh*t, because we had barely any smudges to our makeup afterwards.

Then we went to pick up Rocko, who had just gotten his license back but because of a separate offense, he had to be drug tested weekly, which made him the perfect designated driver.

(Despite being a bunch of delinquents, we were at least responsible delinquents. Most of the time, we had a sober "babysitter" when doing things like acid or mushrooms, just in case anyone needed to call 911 or drive to the emergency room, or escape the police.)

We painted Rocko's face, too. And dropped some acid.


We went to the hardware store by Rocko's house and bought $40 worth of charcoal lighter fluid. Then we went down the street to the supermarket--the Big V.

I loved the Big V because it was sketchy as hell and the first time I went there, they had these signs hanging up all over the store:
 
...another gem from the memory box...

Sara, the most artistic out of the five of us, attempted to make a giant bird out of lighter fluid in the Big V parking lot. We set it on fire.

It did not look like a bird. It looked more like this:



We could not accept failure. But the parking lot was on fire so we weren't going to wait around and get arrested. We moved on, heading to the Chester Mall and parking in the corner near the bowling alley. This time Matt#2 tried to make a bird.

He failed miserably.



We drove five minutes north to Rocko's ex-girlfriend's house. Rocko attempted to make a bird in her driveway.

It sort of looked like a bird?



It also sort of set fire to the shrubbery in the front yard, so we ran back to the car and floored it out of there. Rocko didn't stop until we were safely in the next state.

Any of y'all ever been to West Milford, New Jersey? It's friggin weird.

And because it contains so many weird things, like Clinton Road, the jet in the woods, Route 23, the Germantown Road houses, and the abandoned Jungle Habitat, it tended to attract a lot of kids like us. We ran into quite a few of them in the parking lot of the A&P, where it was my turn to try and make a bird out of lighter fluid.

It's not as easy as Brandon Lee makes it look. I think my bird was the worst one yet.
Basically:



By the time we left the parking lot, there were six flaming attempts at birds from all the kids we had just met, and we could hear sirens. It was time to move on. We drove around aimlessly (remember when petrol was only like $1.00 a gallon and you could do that without going bankrupt??) and ended up in Franklin Lakes, NJ.

Mike#1, for some reason, got extremely offended by all the enormous houses. The following madness ensued:




Matt#2 and Sara wandered off into someone's bushes. Mike#1 was setting fire to everything. Rocko was getting increasingly irritable because he no longer wanted to be sober, and he had thought Sara was single. (Technically, all of us were single; everyone was just doing it with everyone else.) Then Rocko and Mike#1 started arguing about hockey, which turned into a screaming match. I'm presuming someone in at least one of the giant houses called the cops on us, because we heard sirens getting alarmingly close.

At which point Rocko (who was kind of a large dude) picked Mike#1 up and hurled him onto the ground, then ran back to Mike#1's car.

And drove away in it.

He didn't come back.

At least not in the 30 seconds we waited in the street. The sirens had gotten much much louder, so Mike#1 and I fled. We had no idea where we were going; we were just running, trying to cut through yards and woods and whatnot to outrun the cops. By the time we stopped, we had NO FREAKING CLUE where we were.

This was in the times before cell phones, remember. Some of our parents had cell phones,



and some kids still had pagers, but most of us had nothing.

Then Mike#1 and I remembered that Sara and Matt#2 had gone off into the bushes before Rocko stole Mike#1's car.

Whoops.

But we couldn't do anything about that now. All we really could do was try and find a payphone and get someone to pick us up.

We walked for a looooooooooooong ass time before we found one.

We found a payphone by the gas station next to the Market Basket and Mike#1 called his house. His mom was the best chance we had of someone coming to get us and actually finding us (pretty sure she was the mellowest mother who ever lived, though I suppose she had to be to stay sane whilst raising Mike#1). 

But the line was busy. In the days of dial-up internet, that's what happened when you tried to call someone's house and they were on AOL.

So Mike#1 tried calling Jason (not sober), Sara's sister (didn't answer), and the few other friends we knew who had cars (all not sober or not answering). He tried his house again, but it was still busy. So Mike#1 fed like $5.00 in change into the payphone to get the operator to do an emergency break.

In the 10 seconds it took for Mike#1 to get off the phone with the operator, put more change into the payphone, and dial his house again, his mother had somehow managed to get back on the internet.

Do you guys remember dial-up AOL?? 99 times out of 100, it took like 5 whole minutes to connect to the internet.



Now what? It would take kind of a long time to walk to Mike#1's house.



So we were like f*ck it, let's go sleep in the bushes by that church over there (they can't kick you out of a church if you claim sanctuary, right?) and call mom in the morning. It was around 2:00 AM by then and we'd been going insane since like 7:00.

It is a damn good thing that I tend to wake up at the ass crack of dawn if I'm not in my own bed, because that particular church apparently had their first Mass at 7:00 on Sunday mornings.

....wow this is getting really long. TO BE CONTINUED......

(Mike#1 and I went back to Franklin Lakes in the car a couple weeks later to try and figure out how far we had walked. This is basically the route we took)


*Mike#1 eventually went to jail for this, as well as for hacking into some government/FBI database. Idk the details, but apparently it was epic enough that when he got out of jail five years early, he vanished and is now working for the Department of Defense.



Wednesday, May 22, 2013

The day the music died


...A real post!! (yay?)


I love telling my mother about all the horrific/illegal/immoral things I got up to as a teenager without her knowing about them at the time. The most recent accidental revelation trumps all of the others.

I don't know who started the conversation, or what they were specifically talking about when I joined in. I heard one of Mum's friends say something about an acquaintance posting their photos of Woodstock '99 on Facebook, and said acquaintance claiming that they had a blast at Woodstock '99.

And without thinking, I said, "Are they kidding? IT SUCKED."

Woodstock 1999 was a shitshow of fail from start to finish.

Mum fixed me with a horrified stare like I'd just told her I was about to perform a coat hanger abortion on myself on live television.

....understandable really, as that weekend I told her I was going down the shore with a friend and her parents, and friend's older sister spoke to Mum on the phone, impersonating their mother so that Mum would let me go.

We left on Friday morning, thinking that since the festival started on Thursday, we wouldn't have to deal with all the awful traffic getting up there.

Think again, my friends.

The trip should have taken roughly four hours with a normal person driving, and three with Mike#1 driving. Except Mike#1 couldn't drive as fast as he usually did because the kid following us driving the other car (I forget his name, but we'll just call him Mike#∞ since pretty much every one of my male friends was named either Mike or Matt which got REALLY F*CKING CONFUSING) did not drive as fast as Mike#1.

We got lost a couple times, which added about 90 minutes to the trip. (This was in the days before us poor folk had the internet, and before they invented Google and Mapquest and GPS, and myself and the two other girls were outnumbered by the nine boys who refused to stop and ask for directions. You'd think at least one of the drivers might keep a map or an atlas in their car, but NO. Although for some reason Mike#1 kept numerous firearms in his car [for which I was very thankful later on, but we'll get to that...].)

Then we hit a huge mothereffing traffic jam like half an hour outside of Rome, which added another hour to the trip. Mike#1's air conditioning died approximately 10 minutes into that traffic jam. There were six of us in a car that could barely seat four people comfortably.

But we arrived safe and sound, and sweating profusely because pretty much all of us were supergoths wearing nothing but black and leather.

So we planned to camp out there like everyone else until the thing ended on Sunday. But being a bunch of idiot teenagers ranging in age from 14 - 18, we had not exactly packed accordingly. We brought with us:



1. One tent that could uncomfortably sleep 3, but ended up holding 5; and another minuscule tent probably meant for one person that ended up sleeping 3 (I did not sleep in either tent. Mike#1 and I slept in his car, with the doors locked and the guns within easy grabbing distance.)

2.  Two bags of potato chips.

3. One liter soda bottle filled with water

4. One 12-pack Diet Pepsi

5. Fifteen hits of acid

6. Six oz. black tar opium

7. One oz. marijuana

8. One gallon Everclear, disguised as water in more soda bottles

9. Two sleeping bags, one blanket, and a biohazard Mike#∞ insisted was a blanket but I'm pretty sure would have infected anyone who touched it with smallpox

10. One bag filled with an assortment of candy (mostly Now & Laters, peanut butter cups, salt water taffy left over from someone's shore trip, and Pop Rocks)

After parking, we had to walk like a frigging mile to the "campsite" and where the stages were set up. The campsite was INSANELY crowded. But whatevs--we set up our tents and made some friends with the nearby campers, and then decided to check out some of the bands that were playing after we had dropped a hit of acid each (2 in the case of Mike#∞, my BFF Sara, and this other kid whose name I forget), basically just killing time before Live started at 4, after which we would have to haul ass over to other stage to catch Buckcherry at 4:50.

At least, that's what half of us thought was the plan. However, for some unfathomable reason, Mike#∞ and his obnoxious girlfriend wanted to see Cheryl Crow (GAG) at 5:15. This led to a ridiculous argument because ∞'s girlfriend really liked starting stupid fights, and also because she was of the opinion that all of us MUST do everything together.

Mike#1 saved the situation when he got fed up fighting, told the girlfriend to go eff herself because HE was going to see Buckcherry, dammit, so she and Mike#∞ could feck off and go see Cheryl Crow on their own.

We got to see the Offspring and Korn as well, but were unable to fully enjoy Bush because Mike#∞ made a new friend.

Let's talk about Phil.



I don't know where this kid came from. He didn't seem to have any other friends or companions.

Phil had beer. Lots of it, and wanted to share it with us, and join us at our campsite.

And for some reason, no one else seemed to pick up the fact that Phil was possibly a serial killer/sex offender/cannibal except for me.

We had run out of acid, and by like midnight, the stuff we took earlier had started wearing off. But thank the Lord for Phil! He had lots of acid, and was more than happy to sell it to us for an insanely cheap price.

And I was like are you guys f*cking serious.

They were. I was the only person, out of the twelve of us, who refused to touch Phil's "acid."

So while my idiot friends took some unknown substance from the sketchiest kid to ever walk the earth, I hid the more valuable of our belongings (the weed and the opium, and the car keys) in my boots and bra.

I don't know what the fuck Phil gave them. My guess is roofies, or something similar. Whatever it was, the night began to go rapidly downhill about half an hour after they all took the "acid." Sara was first.

We had gorged on all the potato chips had candy. My friends projectile vomited all of it back up, all over our already extremely muddy and filthy campsite. A few of them had it coming out the other end as well, and as anyone who attended Woodstock '99 could tell you, the bathroom situation left quite a lot to be desired, so they just squatted in the bushes and prayed for death.

And all the while, Phil stayed at our campsite, happy as you please, as if all this was totally normal. That's when I got kind of nervous.



I figured my friends were on their own. I had tried warning them against Phil and his "acid," and none of them listened. As far as I was concerned, at that point it was every man for himself. As I was sneaking away from the campsite,  Mike#1 came up behind me and nearly knocked me over (and nearly made me piss myself because I was sure it was Phil, and that I was about be raped, dismembered, and eaten). Mike#1 was also done with Phil and the campsite, so I more or less carried him a mile back to the parking lot.

Mike#1 and I locked ourselves in the car and huddled down in the backseat. He had at least stopped vomiting by then (most likely because there was nothing left for him to vomit), but was half-conscious and dangerously dehydrated, sweating and shivering uncontrollably. I did my best to keep him warm while also keeping a firm grip on the handgun he kept in the glove compartment. I'm pretty sure that night is why the two of us were super-BFF's for the next two years.

I woke up on Saturday morning around six-thirty. Mike#1 and I left the car. I forced him to drink some water. He was no longer shaking and sweating, but I can't say he felt any better. Same went for the rest of our friends, we discovered when we walked all the way back to the campsite. Eight of them had squeezed into the two tents, but I don't think they slept much.

At some point, Mike#∞ and his girlfriend had left the campsite and no one knew where they went. We gave them another hour and then we were like eff this, it's time to go home. So we packed up our stuff and fled back to the cars, where we found Mike#∞ and his girlfriend. They, too, had spent the night in their car.

Of the twelve of us, only Mike#1 and Mike#∞ had drivers licenses. Rocko was a delinquent with a suspended license. Matt#2, Danny, and Chris were 16 and only had permits. ∞'s girlfriend, Matt#3, Zack, and other kid were 15. Sara and I were 14.

Mike#∞ and his girlfriend were still puking occasionally, as were Zack and Matt#2. Mike#1 was having trouble remaining conscious. No one wanted to go in Mike#∞'s car because it turned out he and/or his girlfriend  had vomited all over the back seats and floor during the night.

It heats up real fast in July. And that car was sitting out in the sun for like 2 or 3 hours before we gave up on Woodstock '99 and went home. Guess how many people wanted to go in Mike#∞'s car?

Cue epic fight.

I did not join in with the fighting. Neither did Mike#1, because he was still in a rather bad way. The way I saw it, they could argue round in circles until they were blue in the face--none of their arguments made a bloody difference if the driver of the non-vomity car could not actually drive.

But at the same time I really really really wanted to get the eff out of Woodstock '99 like now. Time for desperate measures.

I took Mike#1 aside and more or less forced him to smoke opium until he no longer felt like he'd been hit by a truck. By around 10AM, he was ready to roll. That still didn't solve the problem of who was going in which car.

Mike#1 drove one of these:

We somehow managed to squeeze six of us into the backseat--Matt#2, Zack, and Chris (who were all pretty small), and Matt#3, Danny, and Rocko, plus me and Sara in the front seat.

That left Mike#∞, his girlfriend, and their friend whose name I forget in ∞'s car. We lost them like 20 minutes into the drive home.

Guess how long it took us to drive home.

Guess.

NINE BLOODY HOURS. With no air conditioning. In July.

Matt and Zack were still throwing up, so we had to keep pulling over. Mike#1 kept feeling lightheaded, so we tried to feed him water and whatever sugar-based foods we could find in the car, and then pump him full of more opium so he would feel nice instead of sick. This only worked for the first two hours. After that, he needed real food, so we stopped at a McDonald's. Everyone ate lunch, so we had to stop a million more times once we got back on the road so everyone could vomit up their lunch.

We had almost arrived at Sara's house when I realized something: I couldn't go home. I wasn't due home until Monday afternoon. If I went home, Mum would know I hadn't gone down the shore, and she'd murder me on the spot.

But I wasn't the sort of person who could just invite myself to someone's house for 2 days.

Thank God Mike#1 felt too awful to drive all the way to my house (everyone else lived up in Orange County, near him). We both passed out on the couch in his basement as soon as we got there (probably around 9.00 by the time we dropped everyone home). We stayed there most of Sunday as well, playing Goldeneye on Nintendo 64 and occasionally switching to the news to watch all the horrors that were going on at the festival we had left.



And I silently thanked Phil for being the cause of our early departure from Woodstock 1999. 

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

I spin with the world, but it is no help to me

Yeah so I'm still here. I guess.

Depression is a strange thing. Especially this longterm-bullshit-depression. it has been A YEAR  since this started. Really Really AAAARGGGHH Bad Days are getting more frequent after they had petered out somewhat back in mid-winter. General Bad Days are common--probably about every other day. Meh days and Really Bad Days make up the rest, probably in even amounts. 

This can be better explained with a chart:

So yeah that's why I've been absent from here for like a month. Depression is a full time job. (or at least, fighting it is.)

Since I have nothing else to offer you people, I thought maybe I'd share one of the book projects I'm currently slaving away on (middle grade, NON fantasy, and according to some beta readers, hilarious at times). Because there are footnotes of the narrator's snide remarks, I made it into a pdf so 'tis easier to read. You may sample it here

...also let me know if that link doesn't work. 

I'm sorry, my friends. I'll try to get round to all of your blogs, but I'm not making any lofty promises. I still read most of your posts, I just never know what to say. :/

Hope y'all are faring better than I am.