A Pledge To Get Better (Part 8)
Melissa gave me her signature squint-and-nod while I entertained the patio. She was taking notes when she looked at me over her clipboard, wanting specifics. “What’s your dosage?”
“—Huh?” Blindsided, in the middle of my monologue.
“Your prescriptions, for Adderall and Xanax, how much are you taking?”
When I go about
lying embellishing, I actually try to do it as lightly as possible in a hypocritical attempt at lessening my guilt.
“Maybe one of those blue Adderal and, uh, one of the tiny white Xanax each day?” I watched her squint, nod, and jot onto her clipboard. “They’re generic…and I felt kinda sorry for myself while I did it, if that makes a difference.”
The pills I was talking about are the vitamins we force-feed third graders to round out their public school lunches and curb their overactive tendencies. I’d wager there are higher doses of these drugs in L.A.’s drinking water than in the aforementioned pills.
Some junkie I was. I couldn’t even binge properly. I imagined what I might find on that clipboard of hers.
- Affliction(s): girly mixed drinks, pot, child prescriptions, delusions of grandeur
- Financial Means: Questionable (re: cargo shorts??)
- Miscellaneous Notes: great calves, nice tan, kinda gay
- Admit/Deny: Deny. Not X-core enough.
“Well,” Melissa began to rock out of her chair, “it was so nice to have you come here to see us, James…” She was wrapping things up. I was losing her for sure. And there I was, just about to tell her about the time I flashed my junk to paparazzi while getting out of my car in a skirt, the good part.
“Can we get a tour?” I blurted. This actually seemed to surprise her.
Do people seriously not get tours here? I mean, if you were going to fork over six figures, wouldn’t you want to know where the money was going? What are the amenities? Is there a club soda bidet? That would feel good, right? And totally work for cleaning your ass? I’m not the only one who thinks that, right?
—Part 9 coming soon! This is taking too long!