I’m opinionated about drugs

Every so often, I come across a news headline saying that magic mushrooms may have more benefit than science originally thought.  Apparently, this is shocking news…unless, of course, you’ve tried mushrooms before. 

I truly believe there is a misconception about psycedelic drugs that needs to be clarified.  Taking them is frequently referred to as “expanding your mind”, which is accurate as far as the experience goes but physically, these drugs do quite the opposite.  Psilocybin, the active ingredient in mushrooms, for example, actually supresses brain activity.  Essentially, you forget about the day-to-day stuff and all those little things that can get you down disappear for awhile.  Your understanding of time and space is somewhat altered but your memories and visual experiences are heightened.  While the experience in and of itself is amazing, you’re really spending several hours being as unproductive as possible.  Which, in my mind, is a healthy behavior to participate in every now and again, particularly in a world that seems to move at the speed of light and everything passes you by.

For those of you wondering what the benefits are (other than a totally fun afternoon!) let me point out a few: relieves stress, anxiety, and pain, promotes positive changes in attitude, behavior, and mood, increased sense of life-satisfaction (ongoing months after taking psilocybin), increases creativity, and offers a sense of spiritualism in some users.  Also, it’s non-addictive.

The negative effects that I’m familiar with are: bad taste and the possibility of a “bad trip” (which is most commonly experienced when one takes mushrooms with alcohol [a depressant, mind you], creating a more frightening [or depressing] occurence than usual).

The thing about mushrooms is that you have about a 99% chance of really enjoying yourself and feeling happier the next day than you have in the past without the need to take more.  Not to mention, you’ll remember what happened and there are no empty calories involved.  If only alcohol could make these same promises.  Sadly though, alcohol which is addictive, dangerous, and unhealthy is the legal substance while this naturally-growing miracle is outlawed.  Sounds logical.  Now to go burn off the 700-some-odd calories worth of hard cider I drank yesterday.



About five-and-a-half years ago, Dude opened up his tiny apartment to me and all my shit, including what could be called an alarmingly extensive shoe collection for someone in my tax bracket.  In that move, came a range of marvelous changes that I never could have prepared myself for.  Namely: the holidays.  It only took one Christmas of sitting on the couch in my pajamas with a burrito in one hand and a cocktail in the other and I was like “oh my god, I’ve been doing it wrong!” 

Most people don’t get it though.  Every year after Christmas vacation from work, I get asked by about 15 people what I did for Christmas.  The answer is always the same, “I sat on the couch and got drunk.”  This usually results in some sort of puzzling sympathy for me, as if drinking excessively and battering Dude at a couple games of Monopoly while watching the box set of Sopranos wasn’t exactly how I wanted to spend my holiday.

What’s the matter with everyone?  Can’t they see that the worst part about Christmas is the entire holiday season?  Forget all the consumerism bullshit, I hate all the ubiquitous feelings of joy and unity that Christmas offers.  Although, that Campbell’s soup commercial where the snowman melts into a kid doesn’t help any.

The fact is, when you’re not religiously affiliated, religious holidays don’t mean anything beyond a few extra days off work.  Apparently the bulk of my office as a group becomes more Christian this time of year though because when I do exactly what I did for Christmas for Easter, nobody says “boo”.  Go figure.

Dear Sierra, I fucking miss you.

Remember the first time we talked and I didn’t say anything and you told me this narrative about some dick-for-nuts co-worker at an old job giving you gay-ass Christmas ornaments and how you laughed your tits off when you saw that episode of The Office where Angela breaks all the Christmas ornaments and I had no idea what to say to you, then you walked away?  Christ in a sidecar, I fucking miss you.

You and I have not indulged ourselves in nearly enough vodka-drenched dialogue, which will be fucking remedied come the end of February when I drink your sorry ass under the muthafuckin TABLE where you’ll savor the zest of whatever baked delicacy you’re eating that week and I’ll relish the sound of your goddamned laughter while you tell me some fucking story about getting caught skinny dipping on camera or some shit.  Then I’m going to get in the hot tub and smoke a joint and YOUR bitch-ass is going to join me because FUUUUCK!!! 

So.  What you’ve been missing lately is my growing affection for run-on sentences and over-indulgence of bananas (I’m hoping for a potassium overdose so I can have what would OBVIOUSLY be the funniest obituary in fucking HISTORY!).  Each morning as I eat bananas, I wonder how many blow-job jokes you could make at me, especially if I was simultaneously sporting a pearl necklace because apparently, I love pearls, like some old grandma or some shit and OHMYGOD I almost ran in to Susan Easter at the grocery store last week, but I ran down an aisle then wasted like 20 minutes just waiting for her to get through the fucking checkstand so I could buy my shit undetected but, of course, she has to choose the longest line with the slowest fucking checker like some kind of ass hat.  Seriously, who does that??  And while I love her absence from the office in general, the downstairs bathroom has become the goddamn social event of the season!  If I knew I had to sacrifice bathroom popularity to not listen to some old bag sound like she’s stirring the soup in the next stall, I probably would have gotten rid of Susan anyway but STILL!!  WHAT THE FUCK?!!  Anyway.  She’s been replaced by this lady named Diana who is pleasant and adorable and well-dressed and I hate her for being so unflawed because it’s the right thing to do.

The other thing you’ve been missing out on (and I honest-to-goodness MEAN IT when I say you’re missing out) is Sabrina’s horrifying wardrobe that I’m quite certain she purchased entirely at whatever store is worse than Ross.  I wish you were here to yak about what a fucking bafoon she looks like day in and day out because she’s seriously been sporting leggings of all bright and obnoxious colors that have a plethora of holes along with her crocs of all colors that squeek every fucking, shit-smeared step she takes.  It’s totally fucking gruesome, borderline blinding and keeps me from taking my afternoon naps at work.  Shit.

That’s what you’ve been missing and ohmygod I fucking miss you.

P.S. Tom just walked by my desk and rolled his eyes when he saw that I was reading the news instead of working.  I can call him a faggot now, right?

Now that I’ve registered, it’s really hard to unsubscribe from this sex offender list.

Unfortunately, I spent my Thanksgiving in Salt Lake: a place I’d like to forget existed.  Every time I go back there, I hate it more than I previously did and I find myself having more pity on all the fools who choose to spend their lives there.  Namely, my entire family and friend base.

Dude’s sister was telling us how many registered sex offenders live in their neighborhood.  Having kids must be scary in a place that sucks so hard, people are resorting to child molestation to pass the time.  Of course, in a place that’s absolutely littered with kids, how else are you going to show them who’s boss?

Relax.  It’s a fucking joke.

While we didn’t pass our time touching helpless children in their no-no places, we did manage to make a half-decent pizza.  Not our best, but it was okay.  Dude’s friend wants to expand his culinary skills so I’m offering my help via recipe writing.

First recipe: Chili

My Dad thinks his chili is such hot shit but I’m telling you, he’s wrong.  My chili blows his chili’s nuts off.  The proof is in the peppers.


Splash of olive oil

1 lb. ground beef

1 lb. ground sausage

1 yellow onion, diced

1 green pepper, diced

1 red pepper, diced

4 cloves garlic, minced

1 giant can of crushed tomatoes

1 small can of tomato sauce

1 medium can of kidney beans

1 medium can of black beans

Whatever hot peppers you want (I like to use 2 or 3 jalapeno because the flavor works well with chili but you can substitute serranos, anaheims, or habenaros), diced or minced

Brown sugar

1. In a big-ass pot, heat some olive oil and brown the ground beef & sausage. 

2. Add all your chopped veggies and let cook until veggies begin to soften.

3. Add all your cans of crap and stir until all ingredients are well mixed.  Let cook for 30-45 minutes

4. Add a sprinkle of brown sugar to taste.

5. Cook until you’re ready to eat.  Chili tastes better the longer you let it sit on the stove.

I like to also add some fresh herbs to mine although their not necessary.  Feel free to throw in some bay leaves, rosemary, thyme, whatever.  Just remember to take them out before you serve.


Seriously you guys, I’m starving

I realized the other day that between Dude and I, we go through two gallons of milk a week.  This morning, we were out and I realized something else: I don’t get how breakfast works when there is no milk in the fridge.  I stood in the kitchen this morning, a fridge packed with fresh veggies and fruits from the farmer’s market, a loaf of really good multi-grain bread, and I couldn’t find shit to eat for breakfast because there was no goddamn milk.  I ended up settling for one slice of toast and a glass of water.  That was at 5:30am.  Seriously you guys, I’m starving.

The real bitch is that I work for a company that grows and processes fruits, vegetables, soups, toppings, etc. for restaurants and grocery stores.  Guess what we have to snack on in our office?  The bullshit at the “Pay It Forward” table, the bullshit in the vending machine, or the free coffee that is so terrible, I’d rather drink someone else’s urine.  Occasionally we’re blessed with someone bringing in some kind of baked delicacy that is usually gobbled up within minutes of arrival by people so fat that the term “sausage fingers” is no longer accurate.  It’s hard to explain but I work with a few people who are so fat that their fingers aren’t so separate and distinct anymore, they work more like mittens.

This rant I’m on reminds me of an ad I saw once on a website that proclaimed that they had found Oprah’s weight loss secret and all I could think was, “who the fuck wants to look like Oprah?”  Gross.