Hey Kiddies,
I wanted to be the first to introduce you to the newest member of cosmiccornblog, Huckleberry Tea. Huck, as you will see her called from time to time comes to Aspen via Dallas, TX. She will be writing a column for us called, "This Aspen Girl" and will read something like this post frfom a lil' while back. If you would like to become a meber of the crap that is cosmiccornblog contact me, I would love to talk to you.

Here's Huck:

It’s Not Me, It’s You

I had a profound thought last night. Brace your self for this one: Love is blind. I was in shock when my relationship got the ax, it was, I thought, completely out of the blue. What happened? What did I do wrong? What has changed? And then, about the time that I took a breath and let it go, the blinders fell off. I have been ignoring all the signs. This break-up isn’t a bolt of lightning, coming in an instant and lighting up a cloudless sky. This is a tropical storm that has been building momentum for weeks. And while the cause of this storm is not one clear issue, but rather a number of colliding forces, I have been standing out in the rain with my eyes closed, wondering why my hair is getting wet.

I tried marijuana for the first time my senior year in college. I laughed, I cried, I hallucinated. I saw my friend Debbie’s head in a kaleidoscope, twenty little Debbie heads floating around in a circle. I shouted to the streets of Hamilton, NY, “Vote for Nader” and “Join the Green Party,” because someone suggested I get a little fresh air. Upon arriving home I engaged a pink stain on my bedspread in a conversation, “Hello stain. Where did you come from?” I promise that this all happened, and these incidents represent only a handful of many similar episodes that occurred that evening. No one else hallucinated, so we concluded that it wasn’t the pot. The only reasonable conclusion: I am allergic to marijuana. This is particularly ironic and humorous because my mom, while pregnant with me in 1978, smoked pot to alleviate morning sickness. And that wasn’t exactly her first or last experience with the substance. She has been a fan of the “gonjola” since it was built, and pretty recently she spent a little time on Willie Nelson’s tour bus. Like mother, like daughter? Maybe not so much in this area.

Most recently I have been experimenting with controlled substances. Not illegal drugs, just drugs that require a medical doctor’s prescription. On my most recent bender I ate 80 Percocet in 10 days. It started the day that I had my ACL repaired. I don’t remember much, just that I fainted, cried a lot, consumed nothing but saltine crackers and ginger ale and slept through roughly 15 DVD’s. My friend Katherine, who is an attorney, informed me that distributing my Percocet to anyone would be a felony. Not a problem, keep your friends close and your Percocet closer. I needed every last one those babies.

Following the Percocet coma I was downgraded to Vicodin. This was a real treat. Weeping and sleeping gave way to nausea and drowsiness. At this point I was trying to get back to work and life, and yet all I wanted to do was throw-up and take a nap. And I have already mentioned the disastrous affects of mixing Vicodin and alcohol on an empty stomach; an ill-fated experiment that resulted in an ugly scene at Belly Up.

On a positive note, I lost any semblance of an appetite, and I lost ten pounds just in time for my upcoming trip to Mexico. This is not a diet strategy that I would recommend to anyone, however, as I find that waking up in dry heaves is far less appealing than a little junk in the trunk.

Why anyone would choose to take this drug recreationally is completely beyond me. I can only imagine planning a night out with friends. “Well, I will have to skip Kenichi because upon first sight of the Dynamite Shrimp I will have to flee to the strange Japanese toilet to vomit. So call me after dinner, except I will probably be asleep by then, in fact, I am going to turn my ringer off so that your call doesn’t wake me, so have fun and I’ll see you later.”

Don’t get me wrong, I am no teetotaler and I like to have fun as much as anyone else in Aspen. Drugs just seem to be rubbing me the wrong way lately.

So what do break-ups, blinders and drugs have to do with each other? Well, as far as I can tell, you can end up on a crash course to What the Hell Happened Town and not even notice, because the route passes right through Ignorance Is Bliss-Ville.

Drugs and break-ups have their place, but I’ve had enough for now, so I’m going to take a pass on the next round.