« admit it, you liked the spice girls movie | Main | minus the archives »

this is your brain......

Harry Potter on Ecstacy

Well, sort of. Intrepid drug dealers have emblazoned poor Potter's logo onto to their magic beans. This is not a new thing; drug dealers have been engaging in "branding" since the good old days of the 60's drug culture, when Mickey Mouse himself appeared on acid tabs.

I saw that picture (linked above) on Smoking Gun last night before I went to bed. So when I tossed and turned for a while and my brain eventually drifted into the mode of "things to keep you awake," I reviewed my sordid history with drugs. No, I am not going to chronicle the entire pharmacutical laundry list of my rebellious years. Just this one. For now.

In 1980, I went on the senior trip to Disneyworld. Looking back, I still can't believe my parents let me go, given my reputation for causing or getting into trouble. I'm sure they thought the chaperones - teachers from my Catholic high school - were of high moral fiber and integrity and would never let me get into trouble.

On the first night staying at the motel, we caught the typing teacher making out with one of the students. One of the other teachers spent the night in the motel lounge. Another one disappeared for a few hours, but he was spotted in a rent-a-car making out with what looked to be either a really big girl or a guy with a blonde wig.

High moral fiber, indeed. No chaperones, no problems. A bunch of us left the motel in search of a convenience store. We found one down the block and bought more beer and Boones Farm wine than we could carry (The drinking age at the time was 18 and several of my classmates had already turned the magic age). We found an abandoned shopping cart outside the store, dumped the beer and wine in it and then bought enough bags of ice to cover up the goods.

We carted everything back to the motel and didn't even have to sneak around, as no teachers were in sight.

Back in my room, someone filled the bathtub with ice and we put the beer and wine in.

And then it started. I had some ridiculous flavor of wine in my hand - not a glass but the whole bottle. The pot was free flowing; joints were being passed around the room at a pace I could barely keep up with. I was doing shots of something that one of my friends had stolen from motel bar.

Now, let me explain something. First of all, I could not hold my liquor. I didn't even like drinking. Hence, I earned the nickname "One Drink Michele," due to the fact that all it took to get me wasted was one drink. Boones Farm wine to me was what a bottle of tequila would be to a hardened drinker.

So there I was, stoned and drunk and feeling the room spin around me. Voices went in and out of my head; I comprehend none of what my friends were saying. I swayed and slurred and stood on my feet only to fall down again. Who needed the rides at Disney when you had all this?

I developed an intense headache. It was partly from the wine, and part from the tension I was feeling at the prospect of a) getting caught; b) getting sick in front of everyone and c) getting homesick. I was never very good at traveling without my family. Oh yea, I had this cool exterior and a reputation to match, but inside I was just a run-of-the-mill nerd.

Tina was taking care of me, putting a cold towel on my head and rubbing my back. Tina was my best friend at the time, even though I was really starting to hate her slutty ways, her giant breasts and her penchant for getting me into trouble.

Tina pulled a little tin full of white pills out of her purse.

"Take these," she said.
"What are they?"
"Just Tylenol. You'll be better in a few minutes."

In my half-stupor, I trusted Tina and took two of the little pills she handed me. She smiled and patted me on my head like you would a two year old.

Within minutes - or maybe it was hours, I couldn't tell - my headache was gone. Unfortunately, it was replaced with other ailments.

For starters, I was having trouble breathing. My chest was tightening up and I felt like my lungs were going to collapse.

My senses were dulled. I could barely hear anything. I couldn't feel my hands. Everything was a blur, a haze, a slow motion movie of my friends laughing and throwing their clothes around while I was sinking into oblivion.

I felt my eyes roll in back of my head, the way it happens when you are falling asleep while watching tv. I kept trying to snap myself out of it. I was terrified. I was going to die. Right there and then, in some skanky motel room in Kissimmee, Florida, in a room full of half dressed Catholic high school students while my chaperones fucked each other and several classmates in the rooms next door.

I think the last word that went through my mind before I fell on the floor was scandal.

Tina was there first, panic written on her face. I started to say something, but she put her fingers over my mouth to shut me up. She leaned in close and whispered harshly in my ear, "don't tell anyone I gave you any pills."

That bitch. I should have known better than to trust her. Those pill she gave me were not Tylenol.

"What the hell did you give me?" I asked her. At least I think I asked her. Maybe I said it in my head but thought I said it out loud. Everything was so unreal. She didn't answer me, anyhow.

I felt some hands on me and suddenly I was being lifted up and then thrown on the bed. They would make me better, I thought. My friends would make it all better.

They left me laying there. They continued partying and undressing and drinking and smoking. I laid there on one of the twin beds, with that itchy motel comforter scratching my skin like a thousand needles.

And then the scariest moment of my young life happened. I thought I had died.
Tina came over to say something to me and I tried to answer her. I couldn't. I could form the thoughts in my head; I could see and hear everything that was going on, yet I couldn't respond to it. My limbs were stiff. My entire body was frozen in a semi-concious state. I struggled to reach my hand up, to scream at Tina to call an ambulance or get one of the teachers, to make them know I was dying.

I heard Tina scream "OH MY GOD, SHE'S DEAD!"

Shit. They thought I was dead! I tried again to talk, but it was like one of those nightmares where you want to scream, but nothing comes out. A million thoughts ran through my head at once, none of them good. They would bury me alive. They would throw me on the side of the highway and claim that I had just gone missing. My parents were going to be so pissed that I died in such a stupid way.

They were shaking me and poking me, but I just could not respond. I think my muscles had just gone slack and were rendered useless from the wine and liquor and pot. And whatever that was Tina had....

"What the hell did you give her, Tina?" Some voice. A male voice. A panicked voice.

"Tylenol, I swear!" Tina's voice was shaky. Fucking liar, liar pants on fire. That's what was going through my head.

They had propped my head up on a pillow so I didn't choke on my own vomit like Jimi Hendrix. I was watching. Just not responding.

Kerry dove for Tina's purse. Tina tackled her. Tina's little tin fell out of the purse. Kerry grabbed it, opened it, looked at the pills and hauled off and smacked Tina clear across the room.

"What the FUCK?" Kerry screamed. "What the fuck is wrong with you? These are Quaaludes!"

"I just wanted to see what would happen!" Yea, that's what Tina said.

Oh shit. I was going to die, die, die. Overdose. My poor parents.

The rest happened on super speed. Tina ran from the room. I was lifted off the bed, stripped down to my bra and panties, and thrown on top of the ice in the bathtub. They turned the shower on so I had hot water streaming down on my face and frigid ice up my ass.

Finally, a scream escaped. It came from the bottom of my soul, traveled through my heart and gathered momentum all the way.

"Tina, you fucking cunt!"

And then the typing teacher whore was there, telling everyone there was no need to call the police, no ambulance needed. She took me back to her room where she and the music teacher watched over me through the night. I felt like such an ass.

That was the end of my friendship with Tina and her giant breasts. I spent the rest of the Disney trip with the drama club, ignoring those who would rather have watched me fall into a coma than ruin their party by calling for help.

Last I heard, Tina was living out in Mastic Beach, making her living as a crack ho.

That was more than twenty years ago. I still can't look at a bottle of Boones Farm wine without feeling sick. Then again, isn't that the natural reaction to the cheap wine, anyhow?

So, do you want to hear the story about the mescaline laced camping trip or the acid washed 3D movie?


Listed below are links to weblogs that reference this is your brain......:

» In Vietnam It Was 19... from Ipse Dixit
Carnival of the vanities #19 drew over 50 entries (Charles Austin was involved - go figure) from all over the [Read More]


NO!!! I do not want to relive the camping trip! PLEASE DONT!!!

heh heh heh. Gawd, that little tale brought back some memories...well, SOME memories. The rest is a blur.

Disney World and drugs... I ended up trying to pick up Minnie at the contemporary hotel near the end of a four day binge. I almost convinced her to come up to my room. How could I resist the fishnet hose and red CFMPs?

Psychedylics and that place are a definite no-no... think about the lines to get on the rides... now think cow pens at the packing house... I kept Moooooo-ing into my hand and folks would look around, trying to figure out where it was coming from...

"You are cattle heading to slaughter!!! Beware the pneumatic hammer!!! Don't go in the BAD PLACE!!!"

And don't even get me started on "Pirates of the Carribean"... Whoa dude... my friends had to sit on me to keep me from jumping out of the boat...

It says something about me that I thought all that was funny...

Man that's why I am way too chicken to even try shit like that. I guess I'll live okay without experiences like that. Glad you made it though!

You should go down to Mastic Beach and kick that crack ho's ass all up and down it. She probably would have no idea who you were or why you were doing it, which would make it even better.

I want to hear the story about the acid washed 3D movie.

Re: the Mickey Mouse acid. According to Jan Brunvand the urban legend expert, the Mickey Mouse acid tabs. As close as he could find, there was a drug pusher who was busted with 5,000 tabs of blotter acid with a blue star on each one. None of the stars were found to contain LSD. Although there have been actual police bulleteins warning about the Disney acid, it appears that none were ever created. -Per "The Choking Doberman"

The double ferris wheel at the Coastal Empire Fair on two hits of blotter in 1974. With cotton candy, I had a religious experience.

Umm, JohnO, you're confusing the urban legends. The Blue Star thing was a scare over lick on fake tattoos supposedly laced with acid. Which is bunk, marketing acid to eight-year olds doesn't make any 'business' sense.

Normal blotter acid comes with a million different pictures, I've personaly seen ones with Bart Simpson, Fat Freddy's Cat, and Daffy Duck imprinted on them. Err, on photos, of course.

wow...that just sucks. Sorry, but my brain is reeling over the fact that you REALLY could have died there. OMG. I'm never letting my child out of the house again! Sheesh. Kids are SO stupid.

Jesus fucking Christ.

2 Quaaludes?!?

On alchohol?!?

That fucking stupid slut. And your typing teacher: is she in prison yet?

I would love to hear about the mescaline camping trip, except that sounds like a weird combo really. Mescaline was my favorite for a while. But mostly during eathquakes while sitting on bus stop benches. Man that was a hoot. Um, I mean: drugs are bad, stay in school.

I did a lot of drugs as a teenager - only when people offered them to me, but they kind of offered a lot. But I (no, seriously) believed in moderation. I hung out with people who did a lot more, and even junkies who would shoot up in their necks would tell you it's not fucking nice to give a teenage girl even one lude, if she's touched alchohol, and two is just...
I almost died, very similar exp to yours, when someone fed me 2 grams of MDMA, when it first hit the scene. No HP pills back then, no wacky additives, just powder in bindles that didn't sit well with me at all. Shudder. Poor Michele.

Fucking crackwhore hellbeast Tina.

Wow ... there's a tale that brings back some memories.

You know, Michele, you are so very, very real. That's why I love reading your blog. And that's why I'll never de-link you -- even though I disagree with a lot of what you say. ;-D

Jesus fucking hell on wheels.

What a story. Girl, you're damn lucky.

Aren't Senior trips just the most fun, like, you know, EVER?

Kissimmee is no place to die on drugs. You escaped a dreadful fate. Is Tina now fat, toothless, living in a trailer and married to an unemployed drunk? I hope so.

Whoops -- missed the last line about the crack ho bidness. I am definitely up past my bedtime.

Wow. With friends like those, indeed.

ouch, ludes and alcohol, a very bad combo, you could have died.

i did it once but i knew what i was doing (yeah right), just one drink and some ludes. you feel great, like a superman but you look like a falling down drunk bum.

ludes are a great high, like alcohol without the bad side effects.

i most definitely want to hear the other drug stories.

like travelers to the dark side, you have returned alive with fabulous tales

Took the day off and was just reading up some blogs and thought I would post here