Bounding...

Is that a word?

Why did I pick the hottest week in the history of Buffalo to stop smoking weed? And what really p's me O is that I don't feel one motherfucking bit clearer than I did a week ago. If anything, I feel worse. Every day at about 8pm, I get an almost unbearable craving to smoke up. And just about everything is pissing me off. Like Angelator's "Cherry Pie" Firehouse ringtone that is going hizzy in the other room. Or the fact that i'm pretty sure i've smoked myself retarded this time around. I haven't registered a clear sentence since 2001, you think I'd be happy that I've taken this step towards a more productive life. But I miss maryjane. I'm dieting, i'm exercising, and now i'm not smoking weed. I have to wonder when this shit is going to blow up in my face.
Ryonce and I have decided to move to Los Angeles. I can't even type out those two words without getting a little poop cramp in my stomach. Why are we going to Los Angeles? Why does Angelator's phone keep singing "Cherry Pie"? I'm not funny enough to be a comedian, i'm barely funny enough to be human. I haven't written anything good...ever. I'm fat, my hair is ugly, I need to get my welfare baby teeth fixed, and my hump straightened out, I think I've developed a skin tag on my arm, and I am really afraid that everyone is going to hate me. I've lived in the same house, in the same shitty city for my whole life, and I know I have to at least try to do this, because it's all I've ever wanted. What if i'm that trashy girl that everyone is too afraid to tell me that i'm not good enough? I mean, i'm not going to completely stop smoking weed, but I think I might have to. If there's one thing I do know, it's that I am definitely a drug addict.

Sensible Joe where are you?
posted from the stoner photo gallery

This is my stepdog Apollo. He hates my mother.
posted from the stoner photo gallery

My dog is sick of me buying him jackets. Me and Birdman went to Target today and found him a trench coat. Luckily for him it was too big. He's inbetween sizes right now, because he's a little bit overweight. There's still a picture of Jesus on my door left from my sister, who occupied this bedroom before me.
posted from the stoner photo gallery

so then I said...

A couple of days ago I started a really long post and it is missing in action. My original excuse for not putting up a new post on the Stoner Chronicles was that I was on strike until brucio.com was updated. But, as usual irony seems to smack me in the ankles with its big dick. As you can tell, I smoked ghetto weed this evening so things aren't going to pop up very clever. Hi. How have all of you been? I'd like to tell you the story of my week/life.

On tuesday, I decided to go to best buy to purchase the new White Stripes Album when I got a call from Angelator. My father had himself a serious heart attack. I was about two blocks from the store, so instead of losing my religion in the car for a couple of minutes, I decided to be in public. I wandered around the store and thought about cigarettes and heroin and what Jack White was holding, was it a giant penis or a white zucchini and what exactly did it have to do with religion? I checked out and jumped back into the car, hauled myself rather tragically to tim hortons for some waiting room coffees and then straight to the hospital. I probably would have turned right around there on Niagara Falls Boulevard as soon as I heard the news if anyone taught me how to play some motherfucking baseball or not call on my birthday and wish my grandmother a happy anniversary. So I get up to his room and he looked nearly beat up. I guess in the time it took me to get there, Angelator got to witness him suffer a mini heart attack all by her lonesome. We think he went into shock when she walked in the door. My mom arrived several minutes later and commented on how tired he looked. I think she had mistaken the abject guilt on his face for a post-heart attack somber grimace. But I knew what he was thinking.

I think it's a little bit harder for kids who grew up knowing their father was a fuck up to sort of let go when the time comes. When I was 18 and in my first round of college the doctors told us he had less than 4 months to live. So I prepared myself by nearly dropping out mid semester and smoking up with my friends. I haven't really thought about it in a while, but that very ironically might have been the reason I stopped caring about school to begin with. I can't pinpoint when I became an actual drug addict, but if I had to guess, it would be right around that time. I guess I let the cycle continue, and I do feel an immense amount of guilt because of that.

Sometimes I want to write my old drunk dad a letter. Sometimes I want to tell him that I smoke up everyday, and I love him, and maybe we could be addicts together, or just do something together. One day every kid like me has to wake up and realize they aren't the 15 year old cynic that blamed their parents for things they really couldn't control. Afterall, this isn't the fluffy rabbits hopping through picturesque landscapes chronicles.

Yes, one day my father is going to die. And I think I've been waiting in the same spot for him these past three years. He won't have a funeral, no one cares to spend that much money on him. He won't have a spot where I can take my kids, and even if he did I probably wouldn't go with them anyway. And when he dies the surgeon will not bust out of the swinging doors, covered in blood and throw his little blue face mask on the floor, and we'll just know. I have made my own daddies over these many fatherless years. But they'll never know how much stock I put into such imaginary familial situations, just as much as my father will never know how much I ache for him to have been a success. I guess I have, nor will I ever have, a daddy. And you know the funny part is, neither did my father. And that is what tore him apart, in the end.