Mammoth Christmas Party 1956: From Left to Right (Part 2)

THE SOCIALITE

Seven faces.

Well, six and a half faces. Four women -- three men. A couple partially empty bottles of champagne, pearl necklaces, and an empty chair in the foreground.

The couple on the left is the purest. They are truly in love and produce envy from onlookers because of their natural displays of affection. She looks right into the heart of the camera lens. She always does. Sure, she dresses nice to impress her peers and random passersby, but really, she does it for the photographs.

Her eyes truly are the window to her soul -- so transparent and open. It's those eyes that tell her story: where she's been, whom she's been with, what she's seen. Her eyes weave the tale of how she was born into wealth with everything in abundance. However, all these things she later grew to appreciate, and even love, were mere ways to coat her early years with as much gold and fine jewelry as possible in order to blind the poor girl.

From the minute she came into this world, her father had a strong affection for her. He loved her -- in every sense of the word. Although he was a very busy businessman with a small empire in the palm of his hand, he took the time to be the one there for his daughter. He would insist on changing her, bathing her, and putting her to sleep. But he did not do these things out of love as much as he did them out of desire. Before the girl had even developed a substantial memory, she had already endured things she would want to forget. Her father's hands were tools of disgust that would forever frame her as someone always drawing attention. He loved her red hair and those big, beautiful, deep green eyes. They saw everything he ever did. Sometimes they were glazed over with tears but they could always make out the blurred vision of subtle force joined with a smile.

As she grew older, her father showered her with gifts -- any and everything she wanted. At first, it was simply because he was in love with her. But as he continued this behavior, he realized that it seemed to make his daughter forget whatever unbearable things he would do to her in the night or when his wife was away. The girl never brought up the sexual encounters. She acted as if they had never happened. All she cared about was the attention. She got it at home. She got it at school. She even got it on the street. If she wasn't getting attention, something was wrong and she would run home to Daddy, who was always there to give her what she needed. The girl's mother was unaware of the two's relationship in the beginning. But one night, her building suspicions came to fruition.

It was Christmas Eve and the teenage girl was opening the presents designated for that night. Her father was drinking. He had just lost a dynamic piece of his empire. His wife was in the kitchen baking desserts and preparing for the following day. Wandering over to his daughter, he sat behind her on the ground. She was full of smiles and she revealed expensive gifts. After opening a diamond-encrusted necklace, she hugged her father. He squeezed her tight and kissed her ear. She went to pull away but the scotch-induced strength was overpowering. He kissed, and licked, and groped, and smiled. She stared at the necklace to take her mind off of it. Then the girl's mother entered and screamed. She was holding a knife. She dropped it and stood against the wall as her husband turned to see her. She questioned his actions through tears and he slowly approached. His secret was out. He picked up the knife and stood in front of his wife. The girl sat on the floor, watching it all. Her father told his wife that she would never be able to let his secret out. She promised to keep her mouth closed but this was not enough. He slit her throat and she fell to the ground. He turned around slowly and saw his daughter silently crying. Dropping the knife, he walked upstairs. A few minutes later, a gun blast echoed through the house.

Years went by and the girl came to be nothing less than a local sensation. She used her mass inherited wealth and status to demand attention from everyone around her. When she met her husband, it changed everything. He didn't pay as much attention to her as everyone else. She decided this is what she needed -- someone completely opposite her father. That way, there was a lesser chance of her past and volatile instability coming out. After all, she didn't want someone close to her to die because of overaffection. Everyone who knew her secrets was dead and she yearned for the companionship of someone normal. The veteran she married after knowing him two months was perfect. He had a simple life and an uncomplicated past. She had found someone who wouldn't read the fine print written on her cavernous eyes.

This is why she looks straight into the camera lens. This is why her eyes seem vast and endless. She still wears the pearls, still dresses up, still makes people turn their heads. She loves her husband. His normalcy is the perfect compliment to her disturbing past. She can't risk anyone learning of her secrets. If someone did, she would have to do exactly what she had seen her father do all those years ago.

Daze of Yor (Part II)

...but that wasn't the end.

By the time Spring Break had come around, I had reached a crossroads in my life -- my second "trip out." During a trip to Santa Barbara, I had picked up some highly powerful mushrooms. Now, the only reason I considered mushrooms after my LSD experience was because I had eaten the hallucinogen before and it wasn't that intense of a high. These little power caps were a whole different story though. After about an hour or so, the high came on. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The air had texture, music was playing that wasn't on (sounded like Led Zeppelin), and complete euphoria surrounded my body. There was a rug that I thought was an animal. The bed was playing games with me. Then I needed to be alone and think about something really quick.

As soon as I alienated myself from the others participating in this drug adventure, I freaked out. Hyper spiritual sensitivity took over again and euphoria quickly transformed into a nightmare. Dirt and darkness was crawling on the ground, working its way up my body. My friend's face had gone fat and pig-like. Everything everyone said had multiple layered meanings and the entire world seemed to be acting out the thoughts in my head. Long story short, I contemplated suicide as my only solution and by some miracle was able to call my dad and explain to him that I was strung out on hallucinogens and needed him to pick me up. He had to stay on the phone with me the entire way so that he could fill my ears with uplifting conversation so that I wouldn't kill myself. He finally got me and I was a mess. Besides hallucinating that the devil was talking to me through my father, I questioned jerking the wheel while on the freeway and vomited the most intense vomit I had ever been exposed to. My dad said it sounded like an exorcism. I made my dad drop me off right outside of my neighborhood so that I could puke more and walk the rest of the way. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't be comforted by any man, and at some point hours later, I was able to fall asleep on the couch.

Upon waking up, I was faced with a huge decision. I made the right one.

The dorms weren't the best environment for me. Besides having a nice little collection of paraphernalia pieces with humorous names like Rainbow Warrior and Bloody Mary, I was prone to getting caught for things. Thank the good Lord I wasn’t selling. I was on residence life probation before the semester had started. I got caught three times by public safety on St. Patrick's Day night. One of which, I was wearing a girl's bikini and holding a duffle bag full of beer. Needless to say, they sent me a notice, after I had talked my way out of things through meetings and letters, and said I needed to leave my Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd decorated room. What a bummer. Of course, me being as adamant as I often am, I scheduled a hearing with the residence life board and told them a tale and struck a deal. I was off campus every weekend and if I had one more violation, I was out for good. In addition, I was not allowed to consider living in the dorms for two years and was not allowed to even set foot on the dorms for a year after the completion of my freshman year. Luckily by this time, I had cooled off on the drugs. Although, I still drank. Mostly though, while all my friends were coming and going and getting wasted, I was sitting in my room reading the Good Book. It's pretty strange holding a Bible while druggies are popping their heads in and trying to persuade you to go on a journey.

Drugs were done and I turned a new leaf. Although I did mess up with partying and got in trouble at the dorms, I was doing better than before. I couldn't smoke pot for a long time because it tripped me out. Then I found a way to somewhat enjoy it. However, I've since stopped. I'll still have a couple drinks here and there but nothing like the days of yor. Although they were excessive, destructive, and painful times, it's what I needed to go through in order to get where I am today.

I hurt many people along the way and led many friends and strangers astray. It's over now. My hands are clean. What's done is done and there's no turning back. Yesterday is gone forever and we can't depend on tomorrow. Today, right now, this moment -- this is all we have and all we'll ever know.

Drugs. Huh. Good God, y’all. What are they good for? Absolutely nothing.

Daze of Yor

Drugs. Huh. Yeah. What are they good for? Eating Lays and Puffins.

Although glamorized by redundant portrayals of humorous and "cool" characters in cinema and other media formats, drugs are nothing more than a great way to waste time, alienate yourself, and steal your drive and ambition. That is, except for your ambition to consume more drugs.

I've had first hand experience with the dark side of the force and let me tell you, it was a party at first but in the end, it was no picnic.

Age was of no concern to me. I smoked grass for my first time when I was thirteen. Didn't get high the first time actually. But the second time, I thought I was literally flying. Phases were the name of the game for the next few years. I'd get as stoned as a Hebrew whore for months on end and then I'd write marijuana off and just stick to getting soused. Of course when I was in full "go get 'em" mode, I would drink while smoking and end up singing mysteriously intelligible made up song lyrics in Spanish. Also, I would cackle like a witch -- typical of any adolescent really.

It wasn't until my last year and a half of high school that I really began to hit my prime. By the end of my junior year, I was getting glassy eyed at least two or three times a week -- depending on the weather and my cash flow. Finally, in my senior year, I was wasting so much money on pot that I needed to come up with a plan. Bingo. Sell that junk. And sell that junk I did.

Selling drugs is pretty easy if you're in the right circles. I never could understand how people could fail at it but then I found that most low level drug dealers are not only stupid, but they're more focused on intoxication rather than business. It came naturally to me. I found a guy through a friend. He'd front me some pot and I would pay him back in no later than two days. I didn't have to but that's good business. Who cares if I put some of my own money in initially, I could make it back easy. Before long, he couldn't keep up with my pick ups so I got in contact with another guy, who happened to be a buddy of mine that I had no idea sold the sweet leaf. He was my bread and butter. Not only did he have great stuff, he introduced me to some more people and filled me in on the local scene. I put my same business ethic to work and he really appreciated that. I was getting quarter pounds of high-end bud for between fifty and two hundred dollars cheaper than the average retail price. Being quick was my secret and it paid off -- I was a mover and a shaker. I even ended up selling to my original supplier up until my disbandment.

Never getting caught was the most important thing I ever did. I've now come to find out that after I quit the game, my supplier did some hard time after a raid. The closest I ever came was unforgettable. I was at a party that I didn't drive to and I was smoking, drinking, selling, and doing what dumb little late teens do. My friend came and picked me and a buddy up and we were on our way to a KFC so that I could make an exchange. Of course, the driver was hammered and we were taking hits from the bong on the open road. Long story short, after an illegal turn, we got pulled over. I was sitting shotgun with about an ounce under my thigh (enough to go to jail) and a six pack behind my feet, wedged up against my seat. My buddy in the back had the bong in between his legs. After this cop walked the perimeter of the car, noted a busted head light, ran the driver's I.D., and shined a Maglite in my face, he let us go. We drove away and the car was silent for twenty seconds. Then unstoppable deep laughter ensued. Retarded.

Yes, I made the transaction but the twenty dollars from someone I didn't really care for that much wasn't at all worth it. Through that wild and crazy senior year where the calls came in like wildfire, I got into mushrooms. Sold some because I could and tried it out. It was pretty fun. I'm not going to lie. It was a strong body high that was the next level from pot. In this stage of my life, I did some strange things. I smoked some kind of leaf bug out of a gravity bong. Didn't do anything for me. A couple of girls with a Dustbuster noses started hanging out because they were all about getting high as well. They were trying to kick the dandruff and had the remainder of an eight ball left. They didn't want to snort it so we made a deal where we would use it solely for smoking with marijuana and doing "gummies," which if you're unfamiliar, is when you rub some blow on your gums until they go numb. So basically, I was a bona fide crack head for a week or so. Never snorted cocaine though. Glad I didn't. I don't like things up my nose so it would have been a bad relationship from the get go. I freak out if I get sand in there.

As college approached, I had to make a decision. Keep selling or quit. I had elaborate plans to start selling in my new college town while keeping someone back home to handle business and working out a deal with a friend going up to Santa Barbara. After a bunch of useless stony planning. I decided I was out. I still got calls from dealers and users, which was hard because it made me feel like I was missing out on business but I got over it and focused on just being a stoner. The night before my first day of college, I did mushrooms with my roommate and was up until the sun doth shine. The first day I moved in, my roommate and I smoked a Bob Marley sized joint on a bus stop bench. Real smart. We were something else. We found all of the druggies on campus and made friends so that we had people to smoke, pop pills, or whatever with and so that we had a place to go if our resources were dry.

We had an awesome Asian drug dealer in the dorms that would always smoke with us free of charge as long as we either bought something or played some video games with him. He had these mushrooms candies that didn't make you want to throw up like normal shrooms and they were concise and potent. I did those everyday for a week at one point. Did a ton of strange thinking and though I came to some revelations. Turns out, I was just high.

After getting my hands on some LSD, my roommate and I walked what seemed to be the entire town at night, finding all kinds of weird things going on. My second experience with acid was on Halloween of my freshman year. It was wild. Everything was moving and had personality and it was a whole different world. When I was walking in, I didn't know if I was coming back out. I sat on a log with two buddies and we smoked some pot. We got up and looked at this heap of cut grass or something like that. However, we had no idea whether we had really gotten up or just hallucinated the entire endeavor. To this day, it's a mystery.

This particular event also marked the date that I had my first official "trip out." I didn't know if I was ever going to be the same, felt like I was slipping toward the dark side, and had all kinds of intense spiritual feelings I could not control. It was pretty bad. I sat on a log for God knows how long and had a good cry while engaging in what passersby would consider "talking to myself." The rest of the weekend was strange and tainted by that experience and I then decided that LSD was something that would never enter my system again...