I recently hosted a bachelorette party for a good friend. Since it was the sort of occasion where people expect to get a little wild, I laid in provisions: champagne, wine, vodka, some really great Denver Cup-winning concentrate in a vape pen, and some sticky, icky nugs.
I also wanted to provide the ladies with a little extra somethin’ somethin’, but my friends and I ate all the mushroom chocolates last summer when we were on vacation, and I forgot to grow more. (Note to self: grow more mushrooms, immediately.) I asked around, but all my connections drew a blank. The day before the girly wildness was slated to take place, I fired off a text to a friend who I’d heard might know a guy: “Hey J____, I’m looking for some treats. Have all the green I need. Hoping for other favors. Any chance you can help?” He got right back to me: “50/50 chance. Let me get back to you.” I crossed my fingers that he would come through, put it out of my head, and went about putting up streamers and arranging tickets to the male strip show.
Saturday dawned bright and beautiful. I jumped out of bed, packed my “go bag” for the day with hairpins, makeup, a slinky outfit and a bunch of pot, and trekked over to my friend’s house to drop off my little dog for an overnight visit. No need to subject the little guy to the crazy lady party we were about to have! I gratefully took my dog-sitting friend up on his offer of some Adderall; knowing that I had an entire day, evening, night and late-night ahead of me, and that I’d need to be on point as hostess, I figured the little blue pills would get me through.
I took a quarter-pill at 11:30am, just as my phone buzzed. It was J____: “How do I find you? Got something for you.” YES! I texted him my whereabouts and he arrived within minutes, just as the screwdriver I was drinking began to mix ever-so-pleasantly with the pharmaceutical speed I’d ingested.
Much to my surprise, J____ opened a bag to reveal little white packets of powder. Aaaah. Of course. He totally came through -- with cocaine! Whoa. Not what I expected, but kind of awesome to have for a bachelorette party that was hotly anticipated to be Off. The. Hook. So I thanked J____ profusely, and happily trotted off with my little baggies of Bolivian marching powder.
I won’t go into the details of our bachelorette shenanigans; suffice it to say, there was plenty of carousing, limousine travel and male nudity. I fueled myself through the day with two more quarter-pills of Adderall (and plenty of drinks). And at some point in the evening, I whispered into the bachelorette’s willing ear, “If you want it, I have some… coke.” Her eyes flashed wickedly. It wasn’t a group of women you’d find doing anything much harder than smoking a joint, that was for sure… But our gal was setting sail into marriage, so she was going to have it all. Late in the evening, she gave me a nod, and she and I snuck off and giggled like schoolgirls while we did bumps in the bathroom.
It was saucy fun, illicit and mischievous, and we tidied up our powdered noses and went back to the party feeling very pleased with ourselves. But you know, I gotta say.. After a day of legal speed keeping me fresh and perky, the yayo fell a little flat. I was surprised to discover that it didn’t get me much higher. If anything, it was like drinking a couple of espressos and burning some $20 bills. So, in the (recreational) Adderall vs. coke showdown: Adderall, every time!
Signed, your faithful correspondent in all things illegal and fun,