The Shroom Story

Hi friends, I have been told that now that people other than my friends actually read my blog, I should post more regularly, you know, for the maintaining of the fame. Due to my extreme lack of motivation for dating at the moment, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that it is hot as balls out, I don’t have any super new stories to share – yet. But I have started contemplating going on Tinder dates with dudes who seem particularly ridiculous just so I have good stories, which is probably bad, but perhaps good for all of you…

Anyway, a friend of mine from high school who was the catalyst for the story I am about to recount was recently visiting me. I realized that this story, while mostly not hilarious due to the actions of any dudes, does involve a dude. So here it is, for your reading pleasure, the famous Shroom Story, as it is called in my real-life social circles.

I had an internship in Boston the summer after my junior year of college. My cousin and a friend of mine from high school, who we will give the fake name Maya, went to school there. Maya is a genius, and went to MIT where she lived in a dorm that was more like a frat house than a dorm. Supposedly they invented PCP in the basement back in the day. These were the types of geniuses who get bored and have to do drugs to entertain their brains, and apparently also invent new drugs.

So that was the scene. It was a Friday night. Maya had actually just graduated from MIT that day and I walked over to her dorm from my internship on the other side of Boston to go celebrate, they were having a party. Maya and I hung out for a while and shot the shit, and before I knew it, it was about 9pm. I was crazy hungry at this point and Maya needed to go help set a few things up for the party. She told me she had a ton of leftover Chinese food from dinner last night with her parents in her mini-fridge and I would be doing her a favor to eat as much of the food in there as possible because she was going on a little road trip the next day. Awesome! So Maya heads up to the rooftop of her dorm to set things up for the party and I start stuffing my face with food. Imagine some sort of meme or gif that involves the phrase “nom nom nom” and that was basically what I was doing. As I eat my way through her fridge, I discover a plastic bag with several chocolates in it. Some of them are those mini-size Hershey bars, Mr. Goodbars, etc. and one of the chocolates in there is in a pink foil wrapper. I shove the foil wrapped chocolate in my face and down my gullet. It tastes a little weird so I conclude it must be old and eat a mini Hershey bar and a little more Chinese food for good measure. Then I head up to the roof for party time!

I don’t know anyone at MIT, and have literally just moved to Boston that week, so this is my chance to meet new people in my temporary new town. I mix myself a drink and start talking to random people I don’t know. I don’t even know where Maya is at this point, but a friendly couple with many tattoos between them start talking to me about fun things to do in Boston after hearing I’m new in town. As I am having this conversation, which I am enjoying, I get distracted by the fact that things look sort of wavy when I try to look my new possible friends in the eye and I can’t focus on their faces. Maybe I started drinking too soon after eating or something and I am dizzy from that, I think. I see Maya at this point and ask her if I could go lay down for a few minutes in her room. Of course, she tells me this is no problem because she’s probably going to sleep in her boyfriend’s room anyway so I can sleep in her bed if I want.

I go downstairs to lay down and discover that the fan on Maya’s massive multi-monitor computer apparatus is SO LOUD and it’s IN MY BRAIN, so I decide to go back up to the rooftop to ask her if she can unplug it or turn it down or something so I can rest. I don’t want to mess up her fancy computer situation, you see. One thing I have neglected to mention that becomes relevant at this point is that I was recovering from knee surgery the week before I moved to Boston and my knee was bandaged and not fully functional. Because of my knee/the amount of walking I had done that day, I decided my shoes were uncomfortable and I didn’t want to put them back on, so upon coming out of the elevator on the rooftop, I am barefoot. Maya strongly suggests I put on some shoes because there’s broken glass and things on the rooftop and I tell her I will if I come back up. She somehow does not think my request about her computer and the noise is too weird, comes down with me to shut it down, and goes back upstairs.

I lay down in her bed again and discover that this time, in the absence of the SUPER LOUD computer, I have a new problem that won’t let me relax. Every time my heart beats, I feel like instead of blood, it’s pushing tiny chains through my veins. I have chains in my veins! I conclude that I am either having a psychotic break, or I am on drugs. Knowing that I’m in the place where PCP was supposedly invented and I ate a weird-looking chocolate, I start to think it might be the latter.

Still barefoot, I decide to make the journey upstairs to the rooftop again to consult Maya about this situation. However, the second time, the route has somehow become much more confusing. I go up the wrong elevator and it does not take me to the rooftop. It takes me to a deserted area of the dorm where, I shit you not, there were murals of shrooms smoking joints on the wall. I have confirmed afterwards that this is true in real life, not just in drug life as I was experiencing it at the time. The shrooms were definitely looking at me either quizzically, or with disdain, I’m not sure which.

Eventually I make it up to the rooftop. “Why are you still not wearing shoes?!” is the first thing Maya has to say when she sees me. “Maya, will you come in the elevator,” I ask. She comes into the elevator. When the door closes, I literally say to her, “Maya, were there any crazy drugs in your fridge?” Not just drugs, crazy drugs! She asks if I ate something wrapped in pink foil. Yes, I did. “Damn, you just ate a lot of shrooms! I was going to try to get you to do those with me for 4th of July to watch the fireworks… That was like $50 worth of drugs!” she replies. She tells me that attempting to go to sleep is futile, so now that we’ve identified the issue, I might as well enjoy it.

I am up for this, but I have two primary concerns. 1) My knees, and my entire body feel straight up numb, or almost like pins and needles. This causes me to worry that I will damage my already fucked-up knee because I can’t feel anything, which in turn causes me to choose to do only seated or slow walking activities while on shrooms. 2) I am very worried that I will be discovered as a fraud because in my own opinion, I am not cool enough to do drugs on purpose, and I clearly did these drugs by accident! All the people here are cool enough to do drugs on purpose but I am a goody two shoes who only drinks and they are going to KNOW when they look at me! I share this concern with Maya and she says just to go up to people and say you’re tripping and they will help you enjoy yourself by doing things like smoking so you can watch the smoke, or wave their hands around, or give you a glow stick. People did do that sort of thing for me, but she was the one who had to tell them I was tripping. They also played me some sweet music that I could slowly bop around to.

Maya and a group of her friends are sitting around talking, smoking, etc. and one of them pushes a small table with wheels on it against the outer wall of the little area I was in. “Whoa, did you guys see that?” I ask everyone. “That table just kept going through the wall and out into space forever! Like cartoon space!” No one else saw that, but also no one made fun of me for accidentally eating mushrooms.

In this group was a guy who we will call Oswaldo, sometimes known as “Crazy Oswaldo” by people in the dorm. This is a messed up nickname because he actually has schizophrenia and is a genius but clearly struggled with life because of having schizophrenia and using weed to medicate it instead of the medications he should have been taking. Anyway, at some point, everyone else leaves and Oswaldo takes advantage of the opportunity to tell me that he thinks I’m really cool and beautiful but he realizes that this is probably a hard thing for me to think about right now because I’m tripping. Yes it is, Oswaldo, your face is getting bigger and smaller in waves while you are telling me this!

This weirds me out a bit, but Oswaldo is very nice, a lot shorter and smaller than me, and everyone else wants to go to bed because it’s 3am at this point. Oswaldo tells me he doesn’t sleep, he just stays awake most nights, smoking weed. I watch the smoke from his joint, it looks beautiful and like it’s in stop-motion. We hang out for a while and he suggests we go outside to watch the sunrise on the Charles River. That was probably the most beautiful sunrise I’ve ever seen.

He also suggests we go get breakfast. At this point I am tripping a little less and starting to feel tired and hungry, so I am in for this idea but also starting to realize that I need to somehow get back to the bedroom in an apartment I am subletting from a girl who I don’t really know, with two roommates I don’t really know. I know the cross streets and address, but don’t feel confident in my ability to successfully get back there while on drugs, on the subway, in a town I have only lived in for a week. Oswaldo says he knows a breakfast place over that way that has delicious Challah bread French toast. Sounds great. However, we discover that this place is not open. So we go to Dunkin Donuts, because those are open 24 hours and there is one pretty much every 2 blocks in Boston. And then Oswaldo walks me to my apartment. And I don’t invite him in, because I need to go to bed and am concerned that one of my new roommates who I don’t really know is going to see us and know about the crazy drugs! Luckily, no one appears to be home so I go to sleep. And then my brain hurts for a day and a half. The end. I hope you enjoyed the magical “Shroom Story,” perhaps the greatest and dumbest story of all.

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Come on, little guy!

Here is a nice recent story for you. It happened last week. To start, maybe I should tell you that of late, I have pretty much stopped trying very hard in dating. And the best way to date when you don’t want to try hard is the wonderful invention called Tinder. Tinder is like a weird game or that website they used to have called hotornot.com, but for sex/dating. Actually, I just looked it up and I guess they still have hotornot.com and it is actually trying to make itself like Tinder with an app and all, and even with their branding. Very interesting. Sad for them, they invented the concept of Tinder but are reaping none of the rewards.

Ok, so first a few interesting sociological notes regarding Tinder. Tinder is a very interesting sample of the dudes of the United States. I never knew how many dudes nationwide catch large fish on boats and consider those pictures to be the very best pictures to showcase in their Tinder profiles. There are a lot of them. Lots of fish. Sometimes I play a game with my friends who are also on TInder called “find the fish” and the first one to find a guy with a picture containing a fish he caught wins.

The other thing I have learned about the men of America from Tinder is that there are some regional Tinder trends. In Denver, mostly every Tinder guy has a picture of himself skiing. In Boston, the most common pictures are at Red Sox games and at the beach. In Chicago, there seem to be a lot of dudes who want to be/are DJ’s because there are surprising amounts of pictures of guys on turntables. But pictures with fish and pictures at someone’s wedding seem to be universally regarded as the most suitable pictures to show the ladies how awesome you are on Tinder. Note to the fellas, the fishing pictures, potential phallic imagery aside, do not actually impress the ladies.

The other thing that I have noticed on Tinder is that it is a place for guys to request immediate sex delivery (sort of like pizza delivery) from women. I often get a new Tinder match that asks me what I am doing RIGHT NOW because he is lonely and horny so I need to come have sex with him within the hour or he will die! What?!?! And then I tell him no, and he un-matches me and disappears into the Tinder pool again. Do women actually take guys up on this? Even if I am going to have a one night stand with a guy, I usually at least want to go have a drink with him first to a) try to assess whether or not he is a murderer and b) at least feel a little bit like I am having sex with a person and not just using a vibrator.

Ok, enough commentary about the wonderful world of Tinder, on to my story. I started talking to a guy on Tinder who actually requested that I meet up with him for a drink, rather than come have sex with him NOW, which was nice. We go have a drink on a weeknight, and he lightly alludes to the fact that he would like to take me home but that he’s ok if I don’t want to do that right then because he likes me and doesn’t want to jeopardize hanging out with me in the future. He likes hanging out with me! He has a job! He has normal social skills and we have things to talk about! It’s all great, really. He is also new to Denver (see previous reference in my entry about the United States of Bros on the benefits of new baby Denver bros), so that’s fun because he is so impressed with all the places I take him and is so excited about how great Denver is and wants to do all these fun things that he has never done before in this town! Hooray, Denver! So we hang out several times, and I decide to let him come over, “just to fool around,” he says. Fine, great, let’s do that.

We commence “watching TV” aka making out and getting partially undressed. It’s good, we have good chemistry, I am enjoying myself and it seems he is, too. We start undressing a little more and he starts, as one of my dear friends so eloquently calls it, “fingerbanging” me. So I decide to return the favor and see about a hand job for him. Here is where the trouble starts. There is nothing going on in his pants. It is the opposite of a pants party. I try really hard to get him hard (haha, I’m funny) but nothing is happening. I also continually resist the urge to say, “Come on, little guy!” which keeps popping into my head and I know is definitely the wrong thing to say in this situation. He keeps apologizing and telling me it’s not because he’s not turned on, he thinks it’s because he’s been working out a lot lately, or watching too much porn. I don’t know how much porn it takes to make you have weiner issues with real women, but I have heard that that’s a thing.

I keep telling him it’s ok and not to worry about it. I feel bad for the little guy (both of them, really), so I decide I will be extra nice and try to give him a blow job. It starts helping a little bit, and I feel a little encouraged but I have to take a break. I go back to trying to give him a handy, and very suddenly we have the opposite problem, namely, a lot of jizz in my hand. At least it wasn’t on my face. I awkwardly go wash my hands and by the time I get back into the room, he is dressed and ready to leave. He says he’s going to go, and that was embarrassing, and keeps apologizing. I genuinely don’t think it’s a big deal and do indeed like this dude as a person, not just a weiner, so I tell him that we should still go hiking the following weekend (this happened on a Wednesday, that’s probably why we had this problem, Wednesday is not an especially sexy day, despite being sometimes called Hump Day. I’ve never found it to be a particularly great day for humping). He says ok, let’s go hiking, I’ll call you later, etc. But, my male friends tell me this is the sort of thing there’s no coming back from. And he definitely didn’t come back. He did not respond to any of my attempts to contact him about going hiking and I saw that he was on Tinder at the very time I was texting him. Looking for the next girl to have weiner problems with. Good luck with that, my friend. Better take a break from your constant porn watching.

Dating the “United States of Bros,” Part two

Now for the much-awaited (by me! I am having so much fun writing about bros!) second installment of my commentary on the wonderful Jezebel piece about the “United States of Bros.” Again, for your reading pleasure:

http://jezebel.com/the-united-states-of-bros-a-map-and-field-guide-1550563737?utm_campaign=socialflow_jezebel_facebook&utm_source=jezebel_facebook&utm_medium=socialflow

I didn’t have enough time to write about two of my favorite bro categories yet, so here they are!

Per our friends at Jezebel:

The Masshole

Uniform: Polo shirt, backwards BoSox cap, white Adidas shoes. Shamrock tat. That. Accent.
Habitat: Dive bars. Fenway. Massive L-shaped couch in a white-walled apartment.
Hobbies: Driving like an aggressive dick, throwing around homophobic insults like it’s the early 90’s.
Secret shame: They feel very little shame.
Celeb brospiration: The Wahlberg brothers

This is a rather accurate description of the Masshole. My experience with these bros comes in two forms. First, many of my male relatives are some variant of a Masshole because they grew up in New Hampshire, which is has pretty much been annexed into Masshole territory. I mean, let’s be real, there is nothing cool for a New Hampshire bro to rep, their state only had the Old Man in the Mountain going for it and that fell off, so any self-respecting bro in that region is going to need to stick with the prevailing bro culture of Masshole-dom. My other bro experiences stem from living in Boston for a summer in college. During that summer, I learned that the wealthier Massholes like to throw big parties in empty North End luxury condos that their rich mafia relatives own, and the less well-heeled ones like to throw big parties in their tiny apartments in Back Bay. Both like to throw things out the window during said parties.

How to date the Masshole:

Massholes enjoy underage drinking, like all bros, so my advantage with Masshole bros while I lived in Boston was that I had just turned 21 and could bring booze to their various bro parties. Being good at beer pong is also a good way to impress a Masshole. I honestly would not say I have “dated” a Masshole. I would say that I have hooked up a few times with a Masshole that I met at a bro party that my cousin’s friend threw. I also had to seriously question my life choices when said Masshole went out in public intentionally wearing TWO POPPED COLLARS. Let that sink in. Not one, but TWO popped collars. Also, one of the two golf shirts he was wearing was pink. I was hanging out with him and some of his friends and pretty much just had to make an excuse to leave after about an hour because I could not deal with that level of douche clothing style and not laugh in his face. Pro tip for bros in general (I know many bros across this beautiful country still enjoy popping their collars although the height of that trend is over), wearing two popped collars is a good way to cockblock yourself. There are some levels of bro-dom that ladies can cope with, even enjoy, but that crosses the line. But yes, this bro that I hooked up with in Boston mostly seemed to like me because I was good at listening to the various very smart and funny and awesome things he had to say in his Bawston accent… Massholes enjoy hearing themselves talk and a) being told they are so right about everything or b) having people just smile and nod, implying they are indeed right about everything. At least I never had to drive with any Massholes because we just rode the “T” everywhere.

The Colorado Bro

Uniform: Also known as “The Winter Bro,” the Colorado Bro is dressed for the slopes as often as the weather and his budget permits.
Intoxicant of choice: Bales and bales of pot.
Hobbies: Skiing/snowboarding, smoking bales and bales of pot.
Celeb brospiration: Olympic skier Gus Kenworthy

Of all of the broscriptions I have quoted from the Jezebel article, this one is actually the most lacking. As many people not from here seem to do these days, all mention of Colorado has been reduced to jokes about legal weed. Colorado bros do love weed, but they also love hiking, having dogs, drinking craft beer, and as a dear friend of mine pointed out, wearing button-down shirts and going out in LoDo. The primary habitat of the Colorado bro is either LoDo (maybe at LoDo’s or the Viewhouse bro-ing out, maybe getting drunk in the Rockpile at a Rockies game, tailgaiting for a Broncos game, or maybe trying to impress a lady with a fancy dinner at the Cheescake Factory) or the mountains (skiing, snowboarding, drinking, camping, drinking, smoking weed, hiking, etc.). Another important thing to note is that the Colorado bro is mostly NOT from Colorado. No one here is from here. So much of Colorado bro culture is shaped by the heavy influx of Chicago, Portland, Dallas and Great Plains Bros, as well as a generous sprinkling of East and West Coast bro transplants. Probably the non-native bro species most likely to be found in the wild in Denver are Chicago and Portland Bros, to the point that Colorado bro-ness is actually more defined by these other cities than by Denver itself (we are trying so hard to become Portland but we haven’t fully made it!). We’re going to stick with Denver for now for the purposes of my broscription here because other major metro areas in Colorado are a whole different ballgame.

How to date the Colorado Bro:

Let’s be clear, this whole blog is basically about dating Colorado bros… So apparently, my strategy in dating Colorado bros involves hitting on dudes in bars, lots of online dating, getting asked out in the grocery store, and meeting bros through friends… I think one important strategy for snagging your very own Colorado bro is being really hard core into skiing or snowboarding. This puts me at a huge disadvantage because I do neither of those things. However, I am really into hiking and backpacking, other favorite pastimes of Colorado bros, so at least that helps a little. Another skill that I have that has gotten me play with a specific subset of Colorado bros is speaking Spanish. Colorado is a pretty white state, but there is a fair population, at least in Denver, of what I will call Chicanbros and Mexicanbros… Chicanbros are born here and don’t actually speak Spanish any more than your average white dude but are impressed that you do and it makes them think you are hot and smart but also makes them feel vaguely ashamed that they are a fraud because they don’t speak the language of their ancestors. Mexicanbros either spoke Spanish growing up or are straight up from Mexico and still learning English. Their dream girl is a white girl that speaks Spanish. Other strategies that I have seen my fellow Colorado girls employ successfully to snag Colorado bros include: being really into the Broncos or Rockies, wearing a sundress at Jazz in the Park, going out in LoDo and drinking a lot and grinding on bros, or being a tour guide for a brand-new bro transplant that just moved to Colorado and doesn’t know anyone… The potential of this last strategy cannot be overstated. It works especially well if said bro transplant is also from your home state. You have at least an 80% chance of making that bro want to marry you. Newly-arrived Colorado bros are unsure and in need of stability, like baby horses learning to walk. So providing that stability and having sex with them is a sure-fire strategy to get them to fall in love with you, whether you want them to or not. This strategy can also backfire if your bro never forms social bonds of his own and becomes annoying and clingy. Some advantages of dating Colorado bros include the fact that they tend to be willing to have fun and try new things (as long as it’s not during a Broncos game), they tend to be calm and not prone to anger issues because they are either high on some sort of substance, or on life because they are YOLO (in bro language, I am pretty sure YOLO can indeed qualify as a state of being) and SO EXCITED to live here and not in whatever shitty place they came from. Disadvantages of dating Colorado bros include the fact that they will never love you more than their new snowboard/mountain bike/climbing shoes/bong, and the fact that maturity and emotional intelligence-wise, they have about a 50-50 chance of remaining in the equivalent of a college frat bro phase for their entire lives.

Ah, so many wonderful bros of America! Hope you enjoyed my tips, now go out and get your very own regional bro!