High, How are You?

I don't really like weed that much. Usually I find myself feeling way too high after smoking next to nothing. But usually when I'm around it, I end up taking a hit anyway, just to see if this time I'll like it. Maybe that's the wrong mentality going in, although in all the time I've tried it, there have been only a few times where I actually felt really good.

Perhaps it's what people call paranoia, but in sober life I don't think of myself as paranoid. It's weird how when you're high you realize different things about yourself. Usually I think about the people and things going on around me, and often fail to understand them. I don't know a lot about celebrities, lyrics to rap music, sports, name brands, and other forms of pop culture. I sometimes think that all I understand in the world is sex. I usually smoke with guys, who usually become so high that they are no longer motivated to sleep with me, or even try to sleep with me, and that somehow confuses the shit out of my high brain and I can't relate to them on any other level because all they want to talk about is shit I don't understand.

In high school, we once smoked by the train tracks. My girl friend "turned into a train" as she recalls. I mean... this girl thought she was a train, and that her life was determined by where the tracks were going. She wondered whether the tracks would take her to college, and how she would get home later. She hoped she had enough fuel to get her passengers where they wanted to go. Damn. Wish I had that kind of metaphorical insight sometimes.

Last time I had a symbolic high, I thought I had died and went to hell. I got sick of being high and just wanted to get fucked, but I was stuck in the passenger's seat of JW's car as we drove through some back roads late at night, and I thought I was never getting out. The roads seemed to never end. For some people this might be called a bad trip. For me this was the night preceding the day I lost my virginity, to the very same JW that had given me the weed. And who was also a virgin at the time. Notice the time frame. Yeah, it was a long time ago.

Point of story, I don't get symbolic and inquisitive about fun stuff when I'm high. Not that I haven't had good times smoking weed before, but usually it involves some combination of weed and alcohol, which makes me feel a lot more socialized. I'm probably too much of an extrovert to enjoy the feeling of "I just don't give a fuck," because I always have, and I always will. People say that it takes some getting used to. I guess I never want to get used to the feeling of being alone and unproductive.

You Again

You verified my address and made sure I'd be home in the evening. Then you had a dozen roses delivered to my door from 1-800-FLOWERS with the most adorable note attached. The roses were cliche but the note was very personal. I'd write it here but I'm afraid you might see it one day and realize what a hopeless romantic I can be, falling for you this way. It's not supposed to happen like this. I'm not supposed to care about you that way. You are not supposed to be sweet on me. I am not supposed to like you.

Alkaline Dependence

Actually I just need to replace the batteries on my mouse, but this is very frustrating. A wireless mouse isn't supposed to be more of a pain than a wired one! Darn batteries die every few months, and then I have to keep pressing the button on the bottom to squeeze every last ounce of energy out of those suckers. Even rechargeable batteries suck. Who invented batteries anyway? Why can't we just have Bluetooth radio waves power everything? They don't need batteries, right? Gosh I hope not, or I will never buy anything Bluetooth ever.

I mean really, how archaic are batteries, in this so-called technology age. What about touchscreens, virtual reality, fingerprint recognition, voice activated commands -- and when can I get some? Are we really going to be dependent on alkaline to take us into the future? Someone please come up with a better solution IMMEDIATELY and let me know. Thank you, and have a nice day.

My Alter-ego Loves You

You are passionate and temperamental. Seductive and exotic. My parents hate you and I could never date you. But my alter-ego loves you.

You interfere with my life plans and get in the way of my goals while simultaneously praising me for them. You deal drugs to buy me expensive dinners on the weekends and will probably work for your father for the rest of your life despite any faith that I'm inspiring to you. You make me crave a taste of imperfection, leaving behind years of hard work for a few nights in your arms, and my alter-ego loves you for it.

I will never have your baby and you don't envision life past 40, what a rush. You bring me back to that adolescent naïvitey that I usually run away from, and my current ego hates you for it. But my alter-ego loves you, and sometimes I really love my alter-ego.

Multicultural Dating

RT said he would never touch a girl who had ever dated / hooked up with a black guy. Meaning a white girl, no need to specify. So my chances are kapoot with him but I suppose that's a good thing. I wouldn't want to date someone who thought like that anyway, even if he didn't know I've hooked up with not only black, but Hispanic and Asian men - not to mention women. His rationale: black men "disrespect" white women. But of course, RT has some supporting evidence, because he played football with a number of them so he knows how they talk. Boy, if I could just get a voice recording of locker-room conversations... I'm sure black men are not the only ones disrespecting white women.

Working at Btos as a waitress years ago, I had heard similar feelings expressed by what I like to call a DOM (dirty old man/men). In conversation, I told him that my ex was Jamaican and he reacted as though I had said he'd been a monkey. "Why would you want to do that?" he'd said, partially referring to the dating and partially referring to the sex. At least DOM didn't bother me after that. Perhaps I should have tried this strategy at Hooters. "Hi, my name is Delia and I have sex with black men. So what can I get for ya tonight?"

Call me Dee.

There are a number of reasons for my nickname DD. I'm sure you can guess one of them. It paid off when I worked at Hooters one summer to help offset the cost of my education. But that's another story completely. More than one story, even.

Another reason is also obvious and pathetically uninspired. They're my initials.

You can call me DD, if you're a sexual man. Or a hot lesbian. Or if you know me well enough to know my last name. If you want to be friends, call me Dee. I look forward to sharing my life with you, but it will be unpredictable and uninhibited. Keep checking back for updates, or subscribe to my feed if that sounds like fun to you ;-)