Tuesday, September 1, 2009

monkey on your back, literally

Today's guest blogger has sworn me to secrecy about her identity. And when you read the entry, you will probably understand why. So thank you to my super secret friend, for saving everyone from a guest blog-less Tuesday. Much appreciated, and I know that everyone will enjoy the story as much as I did!

Seeing as it’s the end of summer and the festival season is winding down I feel like I can tell this story with some anonymity. This is a kissing frogs exclusive, fyi. I haven’t even told my friends (that weren’t there) this story yet, and honestly? I probably won't.

This summer I’ve been experimenting with some new mind altering substances and the experiences have run the gamut from becoming the new “this one time..” story my friends tell to me swearing them to secrecy on my antics. They’ve learned how to handle me while not entirely in my right brain, and I appreciate that.

So when we decided to go to a music festival at the last minute they asked me whether I wanted to do some brain bending or not and of course, I was down. We got a hotel room for the show and pregamed with a lot of hydroponic indica weed, a volcano, some rx grade mescaline and a decent amount of Bombay Sapphire gin.

We got in line at the venue and I was starting to feel everything kick in. I felt in my purse for my phone and it wasn’t fucking there so of course I hollered..


Mike smiled and told me no, it was indeed back at the hotel. I had lost my text messaging privileges after the last time we did a lot of drugs because I sent some pretty cruel messages to people that I hate who were still in my phone and one by accident to the wrong person with the same name as someone I hate. Oops.

So after calming me down from my momentary flip out we get into the park and no sooner had we stepped in the gates then I felt them put some weird pressure on my shoulders and my back. I turned around only to feel a sharp tug. Mike was holding something akin to an animal tail and I was fucking baffled and then it hit me..

They put me on a kiddie leash. On a fucking monkey leash meant for toddlers and babies. I glowered at mike and spat “REALLY? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” and he just smiled back serenely and said “trust me, it’s for your own good.” I tried to get it off but I gave up. Do you know how complicated those buckles are when you’re fucked up? It’s like doing a rubics cube.

Do you know how easy it is to trip yourself in one of those things? How if someone holds firmly to the leash and you book it you fall flat on your face? How devastating it is that issac from modest mouse saw me in such a state?

There will be no pictures from this event, this will not be a story they tell my other friends over a beer and a joint. This is a story that will remain locked in a vault of anonymity for years to come.. because well, it ended up being pretty necessary in the end. And more then once did they realize only too late than I was running away in the opposite direction and random strangers grabbed the tail and held me prisoner until they caught up.

I think the most memorable moment from being on the leash is when we got back to the hotel I managed to get my dress off without disturbing the contraption and ran out into the hall in just my tankini and the monkey, fortunately mike caught up before anyone saw me.

I guess the moral of the story is don’t do drugs and if you do don’t be so utterly out of control that your friends feel they need to strap a leash on you. I’m more humiliated about the fact that they felt this was a necessary precaution then the fact that thousands of strangers saw me in such a state.

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