In reminiscence of the conclusion of my teen years.

Women. Drugs. Women. Drugs.

I made sure I always used each one equally, as I was not a barbarian and had a healthy respect for symmetry.

Banging broads as a teenager was like fishing in an overstocked pond with dynamite. Teenage girls were quick to showcase their newly grown bodies and I was quick to appraise each one. In contrast, older women have learned the power their bodies have over men and use it to their advantage. Young, impressionable teenage women simply want to be accepted and don’t weigh or are unaware of the impropriety of their actions. Knowing this will cause me to put bars on my teenage daughter’s windows and threaten any potential suitors with death for any degree of palpation. I look forward to that time as much as I look forward to having someone hook up electrodes to my testicles.

Bolstering my teenage credentials was my PhD in pot smoking. Joints, blunts, pipes, etc. are nice ways to smoke if you are a novice but for a pro a 3 foot Graffix bong is necessary. The thing may as well been referred to as the Eliminator. (See what I did there? Refer-red!) That thing destroyed all wannabes and posers. It definitely weeded (Again? I’m on fire!) out the beginners from the big boys/girls. First time hitters would take a hit from it and slowly become part of the couch not to be heard from for several hours.

My ability to live this lifestyle was made possible by my desire to not work. I stayed home and sold and smoked weed all day. Girls would come over at all hours and do whatever was clever. Life was magical for a young E. I was the consummate whore and pothead but constantly strove to be better at both. An unfortunate result now is that I am stupid compared to what I used to be because of all the weed I smoked. Pounds and pounds. If I had my druthers, I’d spend a weekend a month back in that time period. Not because I want to lose more brain cells, or can afford to, but because I had a lot of fun then. Zero responsibility, zero accountability equated to maximum enjoyment. With age comes complexities. Complexities in the form of responsibilities and other boring shit. Oft times I yearn for my nearly hippy-like lifestyle of old. Hippy-like only in the free love and weed smoking senses. Hippies are by nature filthy creatures with no redeeming qualities. I just punched myself in the crotch for even briefly associating myself with their breed. Sorry sack.

Back to the skirts. Being 18 and having an apartment makes a young man irresistible to legal teenage girls. I felt a responsibility to provide an environment for these newly budded girls to explore their bodies and mine. No exaggeration, every night was party night at my house. We had a 90 year old lady that lived directly below us and probably couldn’t hear the incessant partying and debauchery going on above. The next door apartment was rented to an out of state company that would let its executives stay there when they were in town, which was never. The other downstairs were a bunch of partiers that bought weed from me. The contiguous apartments were appropriately populated to accommodate the non-stop partying. I remember there always being varying groups of women to select from. I didn’t know what a dry spell was until about age 20. How I managed to escaped STD-less is a testament to condoms. Thanks Trojan, you make a great product. I should have looked into sponsorship by them so I could have saved some coin.

In all honestly, I much prefer my current life. I had a lot of fun during those years and subsequent partying years but couldn’t have known the happiness I now have. That lifestyle is fun for a while but gets really old. Time distorts recollection making past times seem much better than they really were. I am content to reflect back on these times and remember them as I do.

Partying. Let’s distill it down to what it really it is. A sugar laden lie constructed from multiple partial truths. Advertising makes it seems appealing as do friends and other influences. Once the novelty of it wears off, it is more of a labor than anything. A social maintenance labor. Tolerances become higher, which means more money and time are spent to achieve a favorable level of intoxication. DUI’s are so expensive they will nearly bankrupt you. Drug convictions and other consequences of that lifestyle are not worth the risk. The temporary “fun” you experience are most times not worth the next day’s recovery period. The funds spent are certainly not recovered nor are most recollections of the evening, depending on the severity of intoxication. Why even bother if you can’t remember? Unless you regularly wake up next to a fatty or a farm animal, I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to remember the night’s events.

So why did I do it? I don’t have a good answer for you. It was fun. Was. Ultimately maintenance smoking and social partying obligations burdened me and left me unable to live the life I wanted. My friends didn’t want to go hiking, play football, play basketball, etc. because these activities didn’t involve imbibing. It was pathetic. You could set your watch to what bar I would be at at any given night. That frightening realization somehow navigated its way around my ethanol soaked brain one night and immediately triggered a change. I never wanted to be that guy. I had slowly become that guy and my resultant dismay was great. The surreptitious demise is so subtle you only realize your predicament once you're under water. Luckily I never had to hit rock bottom and suffer its enduring consequences. My realization was as powerful as doing so.

Drugs, especially booze, are social lubricants but they also rapidly erode decency and social mores. They allow you to do things you normally wouldn’t. Some find this liberating. Rather than take sober steps to become the person they want to be they succumb to the easy route and use a substance that magically transforms them into that person. Laziness I suppose, or ease. Different people become partial to different drugs. I have friends that are alcoholics, cokeheads, potheads, speed freaks, injectors, meth addicts, etc. I don’t know what attracts people to certain drugs. Perhaps the drugs choose the person. Maybe it’s genetic, chemical or magic. I would much rather try to make sense of a Rorschach test made from diarrhea than spend more time analyzing it.

In conclusion, I am glad my history has forged me into the person I am now. My hope is that others currently trapped in the cycle can escape. People need to be the person they are and not some drug induced fabrication. That is truly liberating.