The place where you can walk around, in sweats, bra-less (to the men reading this you won’t understand the bliss that is being bra-less, but my girls reading this understand the state of bliss I’m speaking of), fuzzy slippers, and your hair up.
I walked into my apartment at the time, which I shared with a room mate. I went straight to my room and put on my comfy house clothes. I emerged from my room to find nourishment. Hopefully in the form of chocolate or wine. Actually if I’m being completely honest I was hoping for both. It wasn’t an either or type of day.
Much to my surprise, there are two cookie sheets sitting out on the kitchen counter. Score! Touchdown! Goal! Or whatever sports term you’d like to use to express extreme happiness including freshly baked items with chocolate. When I looked at the cookie sheets to see what goods were on them I was ecstatic. My roommate made S’MORES! I got chocolate and marshmallows. Plus yummy graham cracker goodness. Bliss, party of one.
I grabbed two s’mores and a glass of milk. That was dinner. Possibly three s’mores. I didn’t want to be greedy. I could always go back. I took a bite of the chocolate, marshmallow, graham cracker goodness. It was good. It was a little crunchy. I found it strange. But my room mate wasn’t exactly Martha Stewart. Crunchy chocolate, marshmallow, graham cracker goodness it is!
My room mate popped into my room about half an hour later. She had a concerned look on her face and asked if I had eaten any of the s’mores? I replied yes, I had a few. It was the type of day where chocolate was needed. Her eyes got very LARGE. She seemed extremely concerned. I didn’t understand.
Inner monologue moment: They’re s’mores for heavens sake. Also if she didn’t want me to eat them she shouldn’t have left them out on the kitchen counter to tempt me. Friends share chocolate with friends.
I ignored my inner monologue. I told her that the s’mores were a little crunchier than usual. She cringed. I had no idea what was going on. She then informed that she was going out tonight. I thought okay, good for you, have fun. What the fuck does that have to do with the s’mores?
She then told me that the crunchy texture wasn’t chocolate. It was shrooms that gave it that texture. There were four per s’more. I thought OH SHIT. I ate four! Yes, that’s right. I know you just did the math in your mind. That’s sixteen shrooms. I don’t do drugs of any kind. I flipped a shit! Oh my god. What did I just do to myself?
She ordered these shrooms online on special. They were extra special shrooms apparently. She passed her finals. This was her gift to herself. I didn’t know you could order shrooms online. You really can get anything online these days.
She told me there was NO WAY she could risk leaving me at home. She and her boyfriend were going out. So I would have to come with them so she could keep an eye on me. She had no idea how they would effect me. At this point, I wasn’t feeling anything. I felt completely fine. She told me to dress comfortably. No heels tonight, flats only.
She, her boyfriend, and friends polished the s’mores off. We then made our way downtown. We got absinthe at the local dessert bar. I’m still feeling fine. We hit up a few more places, grabbed a pizza. Then we went down the stairs of death to a popular gay hole in the wall bar on the river. It was karaoke night. They gave me a board game. I was in happy land at this point. The shrooms had kicked in.
Everyone is eating pizza, playing on the board game, and my room mate is singing karaoke poorly. Her boyfriend told me that a guy keeps on looking at me from the bar. He didn’t recognize him as a regular. I of course turned around to see who was checking me out. I might have been high, but I wasn’t too high to check out a good looking man. I look, and OH SHIT.
My boyfriend is sitting at the bar. He waves. I of course wave back, thinking FUCK! Not the I’m getting some tonight type of fuck. Fuck as in the explitive, I’m so SCREWED.
I neglected to tell my room mate what my boyfriend’s profession was. I thought it would make things a little awkward between us. So I just omitted it. He was a federal agent. The federal agency that employed him was none other than the Drug Enforcement Agency. Yep, that’s right I was high as a kite in front of my DEA boyfriend. While drinking and eating pizza surrounded by others who were high as well. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!
He comes over, he didn’t know I was out. I left my phone at home. So I didn’t know that he had been texting me. He’s chatting with me, I’m more bubbly than normal. He puts his arm around me. Then tells me to focus on him for a moment. He get really serious after that and orders me a water.
I went to the bathroom.
The bathroom stalls have no doors. That’s right they are door deprived in this particular establishment. One of the stalls is backed up, the other has no toilet paper. I grab the toilet paper from the stall that’s backed up. Then I sat down in my door less stall. I take note of my surroundings.
The walls look like they are moving. The way the cement set on the walls it looks like butts were falling down the ceiling. Yep, butts on the walls. If only someone had started to sing, Sir Mix A Lot’s “I like big butts”. But I digress, back to the cascade of butts falling down the walls. It SCARED the shit out of me. Then I thought oh damn. I’m officially tripping, like for real. Not as a phrase or a joke.
I came back to my boyfriend interrogating everyone at the table. He thought someone had drugged my drink. He knew that I didn’t do drugs. Everyone at the table looked scared shitless. They all thought I had told him. I told them no I didn’t, he’s DEA. He’s trained to recognize the signs of drug use. By the way my room mate is still singing her heart out up on the stage, thinking all is well at the table. The shrooms were really extra good for her.
After I mentioned the falling asses, my boyfriend turned and said its time for us to go. The falling asses were a step too far.
Tip: Don’t follow the breadcrumbs like Hansel and Gretel. But really what someone should have told them, is don’t eat the chocolate-ly crunchy goodness. Like the witch and the oven, crunchy chocolate does not end well.