the birthday i can't forget − 8 June, 1995
so, my 22nd birthday. drinking was old hat by then, but smoking weed was not. i worked with a couple black guys who could not get over the fact that there were white girls who smoked weed, so they'd give us big fat joints all the time.
i was pretty high-strung then, having panic attacks and shit all the time. so when we got really stoned on my birthday, i completely freaked out and thought i was going to die. i was begging heather to call the ambulance. she thought that was a bad idea, so we came up with another good plan: calling my dad. he was a DEA agent! he'd know what to do!!
right.
we had to go to my parents' the next day to celebrate my birthday. it was rough. the thing that kind of bothers me, though, is that they were more angry that they were buying us groceries and stuff because we were poor, and yet we were spending our money on drugs. which wasn't true at all, but i wasn't going to be the one to tell them that.
i was pretty high-strung then, having panic attacks and shit all the time. so when we got really stoned on my birthday, i completely freaked out and thought i was going to die. i was begging heather to call the ambulance. she thought that was a bad idea, so we came up with another good plan: calling my dad. he was a DEA agent! he'd know what to do!!
right.
we had to go to my parents' the next day to celebrate my birthday. it was rough. the thing that kind of bothers me, though, is that they were more angry that they were buying us groceries and stuff because we were poor, and yet we were spending our money on drugs. which wasn't true at all, but i wasn't going to be the one to tell them that.
