Weekend Getaway Gone Wrong

THE BELOW WAS WRITTEN PRE-WEEKEND GETAWAY (11/1/2019):

I’m going upstate for two days starting tomorrow, and you’d think I was going on a three-week tour of Europe or like, staying on the beach in Bali for 10 days.  That’s how excited I am.  I feel like a child on Christmas Eve right now… waiting for tomorrow to arrive so we can pack up and get the hell out of here.  I haven’t had two days in a row off with my boyfriend since the last week of August.  In fact, I think we’ve only had one day off together in the last 15 days….

I don’t know if I’m more excited for myself or for my cats though – I know they love going upstate and being able to watch birds (other than city pigeons) and squirrels/chipmunks and taking in that fresh, upstate NY air.  We had to split our stay between two places, because after we realized we could go away on Saturday instead of just Sunday, every rental was booked.  It’s cool though – one of the guys we’ve rented Airbnb’s from before loves us and so we texted him and he gave us a great deal and told us we can stay in one of his houses that we’ve stayed in before!  The cats are going to be stoked – so much more room to run and play, not to mention I can walk them around on the leash outside.

I am really so excited.  I’ve been saying this all week – this is the only thing that has motivated me through another dull work week…. the prospect of getting out of this hell hole city, grilling seafood, chilling in a hot tub, walking around a lake, and just generally not seeing anyone other than my boyfriend, whom I legit haven’t seen all week due to our work schedules/sleep schedules.  I am going to grill shrimp and fish.  I’m going to drink wine in the hot tub and by the fire I build.  That is all I need in life sometimes.

In other news, I went back on my regular birth control after being off of it for the last 10 months.  I finally bit the bullet after 10 months of suffering in my own body, and decided that it’s worth it to spend $200 on a monthly prescription that used to be FREE with my old insurance.  Fuck it.  My sanity was at stake.  I have been gaining 10 lbs in water weight every month… 10 lbs in like a week.  That is NOT cool when you’re only 5’2″ with a small frame.  My stomach has been unbearably bloated each month, and I feel like I have PMDD in the sense that I’m PSYCHOTIC before and during my period each month without birth control.  I literally feel like the world is ending, I hate everyone, especially myself, and the 10 lb. weight gain that I can’t control (no matter how little/healthy I eat and how much I work out) sure as fuck hasn’t helped with my self-esteem or anxiety.  I basically feel I’ve been living in a prison for the last 10 months… and that prison is my body.  I have been hating myself and my body 2 out of 4 weeks each month and that is no way to live.

I’ve lost 5 lbs in the last two weeks that I’ve started back on Natazia again and finally feel like myself.  I finally feel comfortable in my own skin again, well, apart from the severe breakout of cystic acne I’ve been experiencing since I started the pill two weeks ago.  I have huge, painful, red and ugly cystic zits on my chin/jawline right now that haven’t gone away despite my best efforts.  I haven’t touch anything greasy or sweet, I’ve been exercising and eating healthy.  I’ve tried hot compresses, icing the cysts, tea tree oil, witch hazel, benzol peroxide, Prid’s Drawing Salve… you name it, I’ve tried it.  I considered going to the dermatologist for a shot of cortisone (which is supposed to make zits of this nature subside within 24 hours), but since I am now committed to paying $200 each month for BC, I don’t really want to pay however much that would cost.  I’m hoping these zits will go away once my body is used to being regulated by artificial hormones again.

I’ve also stopped drinking alcohol during the week.  In the last month, I have only drank four nights, and all of those nights were Saturdays or Sunday.  I feel so much better having cut out alcohol during the week.  I was using it to kill boredom while I cooked since I’m home alone every night while my boyfriend works.  I will admit, cooking is more fun while consuming a couple of glasses of wine.  But I would always binge eat after a couple of glasses and then hate myself the next day.  Not worth it.  I also feel more rested, even though I still only average six hours of sleep a night.  But six hours of sleep is a lot better quality sober than six hours of sleep after downing half a bottle of red wine.

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The morning before heading upstate – feeling the best I’ve felt in months… minus the zit that has been lingering on my jawline for 3 full weeks now with no signs of subsiding. After the stress of last weekend I have a few more zits hanging out now too 🙂

FAST-FORWARD ONE WEEK (11/9/2019)…

Last weekend certainly was not the relaxing weekend I thought it would be.  I really should have known better since this is usually how things in my life pan out. We had a beautiful day and night Saturday – the sun was shining on our drive there, we dropped the boys (cats) off at the house and went to the local grocery store to get provisions to make dinner.  We had a couple of glasses of wine and chilled before we fired up the grill and made dinner.  We also started up the nice little fireplace on the deck by the hot tub:

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I love this little fire pit
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Tuna chilling on the couch

The cats were happy, running around the house and enjoying all of the space they don’t have here in the city.  They liked looking out the many ground-level windows and watching us from inside when we used the hot tub later that night.  Dinner was awesome and I was finally relaxing for the first time in a long time.  We watched a movie and decided to go relax in the hot tub.  Everything was going great until we finally decided to call it a night and head to bed around 3am.  That’s when I noticed Mr. Peeper kept going into the litter box and scratching furiously around.  I went to clean it each time he came out, and found nothing but a couple tiny spots of pee (usually there is a large clump of litter where he’s peed).  I didn’t think too much about it, thinking maybe he was feeling nervous or territorial in the rental, but then when I climbed into bed and tried to sleep, he kept going into the litter box and scratching.  I couldn’t sleep at this point, because of the noise he was making and because I knew something was wrong now.

I got about three hours of sleep and then the next morning I awoke to the sounds of Peeps in the litter box again…. he would go in and out every 10 minutes and was producing almost no pee.  I started Googling and posted on my Persian Cat Health Facebook group.  Naturally, these are two of the worst things I could do for my own mental health.  Everyone who responded to my post told me to get him to an emergency vet ASAP because it could be a urinary blockage, which are apparently fatal in cats if untreated for as little as 48-hours.  It was Sunday morning, I was running on 3-hours of sleep on what was supposed to be an enjoyable, relaxing, carefree weekend, and now I was convinced my cat was going to die.  I started sobbing hysterically and researching 24-hour emergency vets in the area.  We were supposed to move to the second Airbnb rental that afternoon and go to dinner at Peekamoose with my parents that night.

I called my mom crying and cancelled dinner plans since I didn’t know if we’d end up at the vet for hours or what was going to transpose of the current situation.  Peeper peed a little bit, so I thought maybe the vet could wait until the next morning, but then he started laying in his box like this:

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Nothing in my life ever goes smoothly or as planned… I really should have known better.

I spent the rest of the day stressed as hell, and then feeling guilty for cancelling dinner plans with my parents, whom I don’t see nearly as often as I really should.  I was now feeling like a terrible mother to my cat for waiting to bring him to the vet, feeling like a terrible daughter for cancelling dinner plans with my parents who I know were looking forward to seeing me and my boyfriend and looking forward to eating at Peekamoose, and like a terrible girlfriend since I couldn’t relax and stop fretting about my cat and just enjoy what precious little time we have off together.

We packed up our cats and bags and headed to the next rental early that afternoon. The next Airbnb was in Stone Ridge, NY and was pretty awesome with a fireplace and brand new renovations/appliances.  The cats seemed to enjoy this rental more than the first, because there were a couple of chipmunks hanging out that they could watch through the windows.  Poor Peeps was still using his litter box every 20 minutes though and looked like he was straining to pee, and leaving nothing more than a drop of urine behind each time, so I was still on level red anxiety.

Dinner at Peekamoose was awesome as usual, however, I was feeling guilty that my parents weren’t there and also extremely tired since I was running on no sleep. That night, my sleep was again interrupted by the sound of Peeper scratching in the litter box and yowling when he peed.  I couldn’t take it anymore when I heard him go in at 4am, and so I got up for the day. We were able to get him an appointment with the local vet that morning shortly after they opened.  I was preparing myself for the worst, and praying he didn’t have a blockage or something that would warrant surgery.

The local vets were really awesome and after an examination, determined he did not have a blockage.  I was so relieved.  He was prescribed antibiotics and an anti-inflammatory – they thought it was most likely a UTI or cystitis.  Apparently when cats get stressed, it can trigger bladder inflammation… awesome, right?! WTF.  I am thankful we were able to bring him to the vet upstate, because the cost also would have been double what it was in Ulster county if we had brought him here in Brooklyn.

IMG_4355I know I get crazy about my cats, but they are my kids.  I don’t have kids to worry about, so I put all of my stock into my pets – they are my life and one of the few things that bring me joy in life besides the few other things I actually like in this world.

After my weekend upstate went awry, it didn’t take long before the rest of the week followed suit.  I’m never ordering from All Saints again.  I bought my boyfriend’s present from All Saints and it’s been nothing but a fiasco.  It took a full week for the order to even ship, and that was after I called customer service multiple times to see why I hadn’t received a shipping confirmation yet.  Apparently the distribution center was backed up, but like, why didn’t they give me a head’s up after the order was first placed?  The order I placed on 10/29 shipped ON his birthday 11/5, when that’s the day it was supposed to arrive.  Then, ONLY HALF of the order shipped!  They said they couldn’t find the pants I ordered in the warehouse so they were checking stores to see if they were available there…. 4 more days went by without them telling me if they had in fact located the pants, and so today, I cancelled the other half of the order (the missing pants).  Like WTF All Saints?!

After I cancelled the pants today, I got an email saying they couldn’t cancel the rest of the order, because there was another problem with the warehouse or something.  Seriously? Fuck this shit. I used to love All Saints and have ordered from them in the past with seamless delivery, but this has been a shit show and more stress I don’t need in my life.

On top of all of this, our heat stopped working (always on the coldest days this happens).  So for the past two days, we’ve been dealing with our shitty building management company (literally THE WORST company in all 3 states), and technicians coming to fix the heat who still cannot seem to fix the problem in the long run.

We finally said fuck it.  It’s time to move.  So now, you can also factor in the additional stress of apartment hunting and moving into my life.  We are looking at an apartment tomorrow and trying to get all of our ducks in a row for a December 1st move.  We’re not even going to tell building management.  This apartment has been nothing but a problem since the day we moved in.  Fuck them.

I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.  No wonder I’m breaking out all over my face!  I never get a moment to just chill and be before another issue or problem rears its ugly head and I have to find a solution. LOL.  I guess that’s life, right?  Imagine how boring our lives would be if we didn’t have a shit maelstrom coming at us 51 weeks out of the year?!  I’d be so so SO bored. JK.

 

 

 

 

 

 

All About My Cats… and Maine

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Sunset behind our hotel, the Newagen Seaside Inn, Boothbay Harbor Maine

I am back from my “grand” vacation of the year… a week in Maine with my family and boyfriend.  It was relaxing, as was to be expected, way too full of eating (also to be expected) and not nearly a long enough escape from the hell that is my job and this wretched city (also, to be expected…).  What vacation would be long enough though? Apart from a permanent vacation….

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Lobster bake at the hotel… one of the best parts of Maine for me is the abundance of not just lobster, but all seafood – especially chowders.  I FUCKING LOVE chowders.

I didn’t do as much physical activity as I had hoped to do prior to embarking on my vacation.  The hotel had bikes to take out, but the roads surrounding the hotel were not at all conducive to biking as there was no shoulder on the road at all.  I also thought the hotel would have kayaks, but sadly all they had were some pitiful rowboats, which I conned my boyfriend into taking out with me one afternoon.  We didn’t last more than 40 minutes in the row boat, as the waves around the island we were attempting to skirt around got very choppy on one end, and the oars kept slipping out from the oar holders.

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Naturally the one time I took the row boat out the tide was going out and the waters were getting rough… it was still fun.  I love being on water, or in water, as long as it’s above 90 degrees.  

Boothbay Harbor itself is a sleepy little town with not much to do besides eat, drink, and relax… or go boating.  Which is precisely what we did.  We took a chartered sail boat out one day as a family which was really nice.  We also walked around the little town and explored the shops and restaurants.  I’d have to say, my favorite meal of the week was honestly at the local Italian restaurant, Ports of Italy.  Who would have thought that a coastal town in Maine would have such a good Italian restaurant?!  Not me.  I had the frutti di mare, and this amazing cold seafood salad as an appetizer.  Everything was awesome, including the wine. My second favorite meal, was probably at the hotel’s dining room on the last night of our stay.

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Mussels everywhere!  I ate a lot of mussels while I was in Maine…. I’d have to say they’re my favorite mollusk besides oysters.
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View from the sail boat… the captain and his first mate were very knowledgeable of the area, the history of the area, and very friendly and hospitable sailors!  I would definitely take another sailboat with the Schooner Eastwind again.
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More mussels… and a whole lot of butter. 

There was also an alpaca farm near the hotel, where my niece, my sister and myself got a lovely tour from one of the owners and learned a whole lot about alpacas and agriculture!  They also had some beautiful chickens that I was obsessed with spotting each and every time we passed their farm in the car.

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Hi there! 

We made a day trip to Freeport to hit up L.L. Bean’s and the outlets… I got some sweet plaid pants from Calvin Klein that I am VERY excited to wear this fall.  I’ve been looking for plaid pants for the last year, and these are JUST what I was looking for.  My other “big” purchase for myself was a copy of Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential, which I cannot put down once I pick up to start reading.  Sadly, my work schedule and demanding cats have been preventing me from picking it up more than I would like this week….

My boyfriend and I also took a drive to downtown Portland to explore.  Portland is such a nice, clean, small city with a lot of awesome bars and restaurants.  We are planning on going back for a long weekend stay this winter to do more exploring and see just how much worse winter in Maine could be than in NYC.

On our way back from Portland, we checked out a suburb called Cape Elizabeth, which had a surprisingly awesome park that we explored.  I was disappointed to find there was no beach though – just a bunch of rocks.  The rocks were beautiful, but I am sad to say I didn’t don a swimsuit once this vacation to either get in the pool, hot tub, or ocean.  I didn’t go to the beach even once this summer… now that is sad.

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Two Lights State Park

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I know… I know… I basically take the Instagram/fashion blog shots of others that I would hope they could take of me.  Sadly, no one ever takes good candids of me.  They get me when I’m looking down and have five chins, or from some weird angle where my body looks like Jabba the hutt.  I just know people’s angles… what can I say? I mean, even the shot of the alpaca up above is flattering.

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As you can see, the fake tan from my last post is long gone, and sadly not coming back anytime soon.  I did, however, acquire plenty of freckles on my face, shoulders, and arms. 

I milked my vacation for all it was worth, and scheduled a hair appointment when I came home for some red low lights (I’m going white in my temples, and color is now a necessity if I don’t want to look older than I am), and continued eating like a fatted calf for the remainder of the weekend spent in Bainbridge (you name it, I ate it… I did resist meat however, which I am very proud of).  I cooked a mean carbonara for my parents upon returning home Friday night, and then on Saturday night, feeling inspired and not wanting to let the trend of devouring seafood die, I made a linguine with clams for family dinner.

When I came back to NYC, fatter and broker than ever on Sunday evening, I entered into a dark vortex of negative thoughts and resentment towards this city and towards my job, which I am still trying to turn around.  I have to get out of this city as soon as I can… I’m just so over it. I also started resenting my choice to get low lights… I think the red is too dark and doesn’t flatter me.  But that could just be me being me.  I am hoping the color fades/lightens in the next couple of weeks.  I’m trying to eat healthy this week, so sadly, I won’t be cooking anything fun.

Ah yes, almost forgot – the second part of this blog:  while I was bored out of my mind one night on vacation (since the entire town of Boothbay Harbor shuts down after 8pm, and even the hotel bar was dead after 9pm), my boyfriend and I somehow came up with human profiles for each of our cats, which continued to escalate in absurdity until I wrote the full biographies on Sunday to post on IG.  If my cats were humans, here is the type of humans they would be:

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MEET TUNA:

Tuna is a door man at a strip club in Queens. He isn’t allowed at his uncles or grandparents house for the holidays because he was caught stealing Christmas ornaments off the tree to sell for cash to buy meth. He spent his high school days in remedial math classes and detention. When Tuna comes home, his parents have to lock up their medications. He usually shows up to family dinners with a 6-pack of Budweiser, and a half-eaten box of Enntemmen’s powdered donuts. Tuna enjoys tailgating at high school football games, fixing dirt bikes, dabbling in psychedelics, and fights at dive bars. Tuna’s idea of a perfect vacation is a week at Water Safari. Tuna’s greatest aspiration in life is to own a worm farm and grow magic mushrooms, as well as to make it to the Trump 2020 rally in Cincinnati. Tuna is a Dooms Day prepper who keeps a stash of ammo, AK-47s and ramen noodles in his parents’ attic. Tuna has a girlfriend named Crystal, who is five months pregnant with another man’s baby… but he doesn’t care, it’s true love. Tuna prefers to be called Chip.

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MEET MR. PEEPER:

Peeper is a professor of anthropology studies at University of Oxford. He has a Ph.D. in law and women’s studies from Harvard. Growing up, he was the pride and joy of his parent’s lives – he was a straight-A student, Eagle Scout, and spent his summers voluntarily de-worming orphans in underdeveloped nations. He speaks 5 languages fluently and works as a volunteer, teaching deaf children Cantonese. He enjoys wine tasting, oil painting, baking clotted cream scones, throwing elaborate dinner parties, and donating money to Harvard and Yale science departments. He was also a good friend of The late Jeffrey Epstein – for 10 years they ran a mathematics camp for underprivileged teenagers. When Peeper isn’t working or volunteering, he enjoys traveling to the Cayman Islands, South Africa, and to his winery in Provence. He is married to a woman 25 years his junior, and together they have three perfect, little globe-trotting protégées named Theodore, Eloise, and Amadeus who are all geniuses.

 

 

Cacio e Pepe with Scrimp, and More Meditations on Life

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This dish truly was a perfect 10, by my boyfriend’s accord, and by my own accord… which really says something since I’m usually full from taste-testing by the time I sit down to eat whatever I’ve cooked… I wanted second and thirds

Tomorrow is Thursday (actually it’s going to be Thursday in about 30 minutes), so that means I have almost made it to vacation.  I cannot wait to have a full week off of work… I haven’t had more than a few days off since last summer when I went on an *almost* three-week vacation.

I cannot wait to be off work, first and foremost.  Being out of the city and in Maine is secondary. Is that sad?! Probably.  I just really cannot wait.  I don’t want to do anything I don’t want to do (I will be on my own schedule, I will not be conned into eating breakfast (I don’t do breakfast, darling), or even worse, conned into eating a breakfast at 8 a.m.).  Life is about to be so good for 7 days.

I’ve been off and on fake tanning for the last week or so.  I did a heavy application of St. Tropez self bronzing mousse last weekend and loved the result, but then went to my friend’s house where I marinated in a hot tub all night, and as a result, lost the entire tan.

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As you can see, there is always some discoloring on the palms and around the ankles, but for a redhead who is pale as fuck and doesn’t tan…. it’s totally worth it to have a few splotches.  I get so jealous in the summer when every single person is tan as fuck – everyone looks better tan!  You automatically look thinner and your muscles look more defined when your skin is darker.  However, I must admit that I feel self-conscious walking around in broad daylight with my fake tan, because I feel like I look orange (like Donald Trump orange) and people are staring at me.  Than again, it could all just be in my head…. I don’t know.

I do know the tan photographs well, but that might be about it.  I also know my legs look way better in shorts when they’re tan and/or orange.  It makes it hard to choose between the lessor of two evils… white and bruised, or fluorescent orange and thinner…

Anyhow!  I cannot wait for Maine.  I am going to go sea kayaking, and biking, and eat seafood chowder, and just fucking relax. It’s really hard for me to relax….

I cooked this awesome Cacio e Pepe on Monday night, with shrimp on top.  I was inspired by an Italian food blog I follow on Instagram, although I couldn’t locate the post again to share here.  The recipe that follows is my own, made-up version, as the blog I follow doesn’t post recipes.. only pictures.

 

INGREDIENTS:

  • Pecorino Romano (whole wedge/block which you’ll grate a full cup of)
  • 1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano
  • 1 box farfalle (the Italian term for pasta “bow ties”)
  • 1 egg
  • 1 lb. fresh or frozen shrimp
  • Fresh basil leaves
  • 1 lemon
  • salt and pepper
  • garlic salt
  • pasta water (water taken from pasta pot)
  • 2 Tbs. butter
  • 1/3 cup olive oil

DIRECTIONS:

  • Peel and rinse shrimp (thaw first, if you’re starting with frozen), and then chop into fine pieces and set aside in small bowl

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  • Squeeze juice from one lemon over onto the shrimp, and add some salt and pepper to taste, along with 2 Tbs. olive oil; mix together and set aside.
  • Put on a large pot of heavily-salted water onto high heat and bring to a boil (for pasta)
  • While the water heats up…

FOR THE SAUCE:

  • In separate bowl, add 1/2 cup Parmigiano-Reggiano, grate in 1 full cup of fresh Pecorino Romano, add one egg, 1/4 cup olive oil, and a GENEROUS amount of black pepper (1 Tbs. plus some)

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  • Whisk the above mixture together until thick and uniform – set aside!
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  • Once the water is boiling, add in the box of pasta and stir occasionally
  • Boil pasta for recommended length of time (according to instructions on box)
  • BEFORE YOU DRAIN THE PASTA, ladle out 1/2 cup of pasta water using a measuring cup or ladle, and pour directly into your sauce mixture and whisk IMMEDIATELY until uniform!
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Whip it real good… or rather, whisk it real good
  • Drain the pasta and add back to pot and place over lowest possible heat setting, stir in the sauce, remove from heat, and set aside

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  •  You would have an amazing Cacio e Pepe at this point if you wanted to call it a day and/or you don’t want to cook or don’t actually like shrimp… the shrimp just brings it to another level of heavenly-ness and makes the dish look better

FOR THE SHRIMP:

  • Heat 2 Tbs. of olive oil over low heat in a saute pan
  • Add in shrimp and stir around until cooked through (shrimp turns orange when cooked)… DO NOT over cook.  Since the shrimp is chopped so finely, it should only take a couple of minutes max.

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  • Plate your pasta, and top with a couple spoonfuls of shrimp
  • Chop the basil and sprinkle fresh basil on top to finish
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Buon appetito bitches

Update:  I stopped writing last night because I was too tired to finish the recipe.  It is now Friday at 12:19 a.m. and I have only one more work day until I am home free and on vacation.  Hallelujah!

I have a great idea for my next blog… how to survive a recession from someone who has already been there and done that.  I have the ultimate tips for surviving on no money, minimal food, and the stress of being in a recession without a steady job or paycheck.

Stay tuned fam.

 

 

INDIGO WOKE UP IN MYKONOS

If you’ll recall from the last installment of Indigo Wren, Indigo landed in Ibiza, made the drug transaction, got his money, checked into a five-star hotel and lived his best live for a couple of days.  He ran into his arch-nemesis/love of his life, Lily Von Fustenburg at a club, and ended up on a yacht sailing for Mykonos.  They had another falling out after Indigo saved her from an attempted sexual-assault, after which he took a handful of Xanax he found in the bathroom to pass out for the remainder of the trip…

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Indigo woke up from his Xanax-induced slumber about 16 hours later… as usual, he was parched as fuck, didn’t remember where he was, or what had happened. He was still lying face-down, naked on the bedroom carpet, with a puddle of drool under his face.  Once again, he did not know whether or not he had been sexually assaulted.  He figured he was safe this time, since he had locked the bedroom door behind him.

Indigo dragged himself to a sitting position and tried to remember what had transposed between running into Lily at Amnesia two nights ago, and waking up on the floor of a moving yacht.  His head was pounding from being dehydrated, and he was finding it hard to piece together the events of the last 36 hours. He wanted to cry, but he was too fucking dehydrated to even produce tears. He would have killed for a cold Gatorade and a couple of lines of the good stuff at this moment, but he had neither.  FUCK. For the first time in a while, he was really lonely and he was really sad.  He wished he was back home with his parents right now, or hanging out with a friend on a sofa somewhere in Williamsburg.  Life was hard for a rolling stone.

What Indigo really need most right now, was a hug.  Sadly for him, there was no one available to give him one.  His parents were across an ocean, and they didn’t even know where he was.  He had basically pushed away every real friend he had with his behavior and drug use, and all of the “fake friends” (aka party friends) were only around when there was fun to be had – they didn’t actually care to check up on him and see how he was doing.  He felt so completely alone and wretched.  Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to live a life without drugs.  Maybe, he wouldn’t find himself in these predicaments quite so often.

Indigo realized the room he was in came fully-equipped with speakers and an Echo Dot.  He put some Incubus on to play, and he sat and listened to the lyrics of Brandon Boyd.  As he meditated on his life, listening to Brandon Boyd croon out “Wish You Were Here”, he realized that he didn’t need drugs to be complete.  He thought about Brandon Boyd, who seemed to have his shit together – he was fucking hot, thin and ripped, healthy, and didn’t seem to party or do hard drugs.  Dude looks like he smokes mad weed, but that’s about it.  Indigo considered all of these things.  Maybe he too could live a clean and sober life style; go on a Paleo diet, get ripped, make music… write poetry…. he too could be an honest, artistic, and emotionally-deep man.  “I don’t want to do drugs anymore.  I want to be sober and feel real feelings.  I want to experience emotions instead of suppressing them into nothingness – into blackness.  I want to feel a natural high where there is no comedown… I’m so done chasing temporary highs and pleasure, and feeling like shit about myself the next day.  I can’t live this way anymore.” He thought about all of it – about his life, sobriety, how fucked up his existence was…. how all of his friends were married and owned houses, and had kids… he thought about turning it all around and making an honest man out of himself.

But, honestly, what do you feel if you don’t feel high?  Think about it for me.  Think about it NOW.  Do you feel happy?  Do you feel fulfilled?  Do you feel relaxed and in control of your life? Maybe you actually do.  Indigo never felt these things when he was sober.  When Indigo wasn’t high, he felt a plethora of feelings and emotions, none of which were good.  He usually felt stressed and/or anxious, he always felt bored and restless, he usually felt sad and depressed and contemplated the meaning of his existence and of humanity.  He didn’t like to feel these feelings, and that’s why he continually sought out drugs.  Drugs were his only escape from reality and an escape from the prison that was his own mind. The only time he felt OK sober, was if and when he was in a relationship and had butterflies in his stomach because the relationship was new, or like, he was in the midst of an orgasm… those were the only natural highs he knew.  I digress though….

Indigo turned off the music, he got himself dressed and went out on deck to see what was up.  He would never be like Brandon Boyd.  He was honestly more like Jim Morrison – a total, drug-addicted mess of a person.  Except Indigo wasn’t 27 anymore, he wasn’t rich or hot, he wasn’t a rock star or a musical genius, and he didn’t have a following of millions of fans. Whatever – he was himself at least.  He wasn’t pretending to be anything he wasn’t, and that is honorable enough.

He could see land in the near distance…. he estimated that they would be docking within the next 40 minutes. Indigo needed to think of a game plan and he needed to think of one quickly! Despite the pleasant thoughts of sobriety he’d had only minutes prior, he decided his best course of action was to use his last few hundred drug dollars to grab a drink once he landed, and then check out Lindsay Lohan’s club and secure some blow.  He surmised he could just stay up and out all night, and then sleep on the beach to save money.  Who needs a hotel when you’re on an island where it’s warm and never rains?!

He ran back to his cabin and packed the few articles of clothing he had, then brought his satchel with him to the bar for a couple of stiff drinks before embarking onto land.  Naturally, he slammed back a couple of shots of Wild Turkey. He was ready to roll!

He stealthily bolted down the ramp and onto dry land as soon as the yacht docked in Mykonos.  Indigo decided since he didn’t have a phone, he should really catch up on current news since he’d been checked out of reality for several weeks now; he was starting to worry about his parents worrying about him. Indigo walked around until he spotted a couple of American frat-boy type tourists whom he then approached and asked if they knew of any local sports bars. They pointed him in the direction of Blu Blu, and so he trekked across the island in the ballz-hot 101 degree sun. He stopped at a bank along the way to exchange his currency.  When he finally reached Blu Blu, he was soaked in sweat and in need of water.  He sauntered into the dark bar and took a seat in one of the lounge chairs facing a large-screen TV. He ordered a water and a bellini and tipped the waiter generously.  He requested that they kindly switch the TV from the soccer match that was playing to BBC or any international news station… he also asked them if they had a contact to find blow, ever so nonchalantly, of course.  The waiter consented because he’d been tipped well and there were only a couple of other customers who didn’t seem to be watching the game.  He switched to CNN, and then looked through his phone and gave Indigo his coke contact.  “Tell him you’re a friend of Stamos, and  ask for the “special feta salad” *WINK*.

Indigo needed to sort out his priorities, so naturally he texted this Stamos fellow first.  Next, he slipped his bellini and watched CNN.  Ahhhh, how comforting it was to hear some American accents!  It was at at that moment, as Indigo read the current news banner on the bottom of the screen that he saw his own name:  “NEXT UP: THE SEARCH FOR INDIGO WREN CONTINUES….”  At first, he didn’t think this could possibly be him… after all, his given birth name was actually ‘Jonathan Arthur Willard II,’ then again, he had been going by Indigo Wren for the past 20 or so odd years….

Indigo snapped his fingers for the waiter, “Sir, please turn up the volume!” he yelled, as he stood up and inched closer to the TV.  A very HOMELY photo of him (pre-anorexia and really bad hair cut) took up the screen.  At that moment, the screen panned-in to a very somber-looking Anderson Cooper (whom Indigo had secretly lusted after for several years), who then introduced the parents of a missing American citizen, known by the name of ‘INDIGO WREN.’

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT BALLZ… FUCK ME IN THE GOAT ASS!!!,” Indio shouted for all to hear. Indigo was in shock… his jaw dropped open, as he realized he was THE missing American Citizen, and his elderly parents were live on CNN begging for information of his whereabouts and safe return.

Anderson Cooper then proceeded to interview his elderly, mid-western parents, Ingva and Jonathan Arthur Willard Sr..  His father was crying, and holding on tightly to Indigo’s white, Persian, one-eyed cat, Mr. Pickles (more on Mr. Pickles in just a moment…)

Anderson: “Mrs. Willard, when was the last time you heard from your son?”

Ingva: (strong Norwegian accent, sobbing) “The last I spoke to my boy, he had started a new job with the MTA, and he was so excited to finally be employed full time and have health insurance… I don’t know why he would leave a job he was so excited to start.  Our precious Jonathan Arthur has been such special, caring soul since the day I gave birth to him. He wouldn’t just leave without telling us where he was going; someone must have taken advantage of him.”

Anderson:  “Mr. Willard, do you suppose there are any plausible places he could have gone?”

Mr. Willard:  “Well given the time of year, I suppose he could have gone to Burning Man, and he did really liked this one bar in Chelsea called ‘Raw Hide’… he would talk about that place all the time.”

Anderson: “If your son, or anyone who knows where he is, is currently watching this, is there a message you have for them?”

Mr. Willard: “Son, just come home. We won’t be angry no matter where you are or what you’ve done.  Mr. Pickles needs his daddy”.

CAMERA PANS IN TO A ONE-EYED MR. PICKLES, WHO LOOKS PATHETICALLY AT THE CAMERA LENS, AS THE MUSIC CUTS TO “ANGEL” BY SARAH MCLAUGHIN

It is then that Indigo went into such shock that he fainted at the bar.

Indigo woke up to Stamos slapping his face with an ice-cold, wet towel.  Indigo opened his eyes, and his first words were, “Hey man, can I borrow your phone for a quick international call?”  Stamos said, “sure, but it’s gonna cost ya’.”  Stamos requested an additional 50 euros on top of the 80-euro gram of blow he’d secured from his dealer, Artemitis.  Indigo forked over the cash and dialed up his parents using Stamos’s phone.  The phone went straight to voicemail, since his parents were still at the CNN studio with Anderson Cooper.  Indigo left a distraught voicemail which simply said:  “Mommy, Daddy, I’m coming home to Mr. Pickles…. I love you all… kiss my baby for me.”

After that, Indigo made his way to the men’s room to do a couple of lines and set his head straight.  He looked in the mirror at his beautiful, emaciated, tanned frame and hysterically started to cry…. “who have I become?  My strangest friend? Everyone I know, goes away… in the ennndddd”

Indigo thought about poor, sweet, Mr. Pickles.  He had stolen Mr. Pickles on the last morning of a three-day drug binge, from another socialite friend he used to have, named Annabelle de Barcelona.  Mr. Pickles was already basically neglected, apart from the hired help that fed and groomed him.  He had never had real love though.  Indigo was high out of his fucking mind one morning, when he decided to change all of that.  He wanted to be Mr. Pickles Daddy, and give him unconditional love for the rest of his cat life.  Indigo didn’t even have to sneak Pickles out of his friend’s house, since she was knocked out, face-down on her own floor. He simply tucked Pickles under his arm, and made his way out the door that fateful morning, as the sun was rising over Manhattan, and made his way back to Williamsburg on the L train with Mr. Pickles in tow.  Once he arrived home again, he proceeded to do copious amounts of molly, and then passed out on his couch, with several lines of MDMA laying on his coffee table.

Unfortunately, as he slept, Mr. Pickles licked several two lines of molly, apparently having a grand-mal seizure, and going blind in one eye.  When Indigo woke from his slumber at 9pm that evening, he realized Mr. Pickles had a white, cloudy eye, and a hump in his back.  Indigo was inconsolable having realized it was his own gross negligence that had caused this sad state of affairs.  He couldn’t couldn’t forgive himself and punished himself by not eating and not drinking for a week straight.  He vowed to better Mr. Pickles life in whatever ways he could, and that is why, 2 years ago, he surrendered Pickles to his parents so that Pickles could live out the remainder of his days on a farm in Iowa.

Indigo did a couple more lines to try to forget all of these bad memories, and then decided it was time to leave this bar.  Indigo thought for a moment.  “I’ve got to get home to Mr. Pickles and my parents… they need me and they miss me.”  But then, he also thought, “holy shit, all of America has seen my face,” and so, in a moment of clarity, he thought “this is my only chance to get famous.”  Indigo walked back out to the bar, ordered a spicy margarita, and started chatting with the bartender.  The bartender mentioned that Lindsay Lohan had started filming a reality TV show with MTV involving her nightclub.  Indigo had a brilliant idea – he could get famous by showing up at LiLo’s club while they were filming as the “missing American man” and totally steal the show! He decided to take a couple of shots of Jameson for gumption, and then called a cab to bring him to LiLo’s club.

 

 

 

 

Indigo Took a Baggie in Ibiza

Recap:  Indigo was picked up by Colombian drug traffickers after he abandoned the cruise ship and stole a life boat.  He had a choice between being fed to the sharks, or serving as a drug mule.  Of course, he chose the later, seeing as how it meant free drugs and a free ride to Ibiza.  He landed in Ibiza and waltzed past harbor security with a suitcase full of blow, looking like Naomi Campbell strutting into a diamond mine…

As soon as Indigo had made the transaction (aka drug deal) and had received his cold, hard-earned payout (and, of course, after powdering his nose in the men’s room), he thought of the most expensive, posh hotel he could think of in Ibiza.  Indigo had one of the waitresses at the cafe call him a car, and made his way to the Sir Joan Hotel, a five-star luxury hotel, where he booked a master suite for the next four nights and paid in full, using cold, hard, drug-cash. He’d never been in such a luxurious establishment before… he felt so posh it was almost like he was in a dream…he felt like Posh Spice, actually.  He just needed some platforms and a bob.

After checking into his hotel room, he proceeded to call room service and order (and subsequently guzzle-down) a bottle of the finest champagne.  He then took a 15 minute power nap, and when he woke up, he snorted a couple of lines in order to wake up more fully.  He couldn’t possibly go out in Ibiza wearing the Bermuda shorts he’d borrowed from Fernando, and so he had the concierge order another car to take him shopping. If you’re wondering where his newfound wealth came from, let’s just say he got compensated very well for the drug transaction, darling!  But don’t ask how much he made… that’s just uncouth. Let’s just say it’s enough to afford a luxury hotel suite for four nights, and have a little left over spending money for shopping and ecstasy.

Indigo bought some white linen tunics with embroidered yokes,  and the tiniest denim cut-offs he could find…. his legs did look great after all, from days of not eating. He also bought some leather, Italian-crafted booties, Gucci sunglasses and some leather jewelry to adorn his tiny, emaciated wrists.  He felt like a million dollars once he was fully dressed, and he was ready to have some fucking fun.  Indigo gave himself a once-over in the mirror of his hotel room, snorted a few more lines for good measure, and then headed downstairs to the hotel’s bar/lounge area where he proceeded to park himself in front of the bar, making eyes at any man, woman, or child he thought might buy him a cocktail.

No one was taking the bait, or the queer bait for that matter, and so he bought himself a glass of champagne, and asked the bartender for a pickle back after he finished the champagne in three gulps.  The bartender didn’t know what a pickle back was, and so Indigo had to explain it’s when you do a shot of whisky and wash it down with a shot of pickle juice to get rid of the aftertaste.  The bartender had to send the bar back to the kitchen to ask the chef for pickle juice since no one had ever requested such a drink before in this establishment.   Indigo was getting bored of the hotel bar – it was mostly rich older couples, a handful of younger couples on their honeymoon, and a few families eating dinner at the tables near the windows…. AKA BORING AS FUCK.   Since he had no phone, he couldn’t even get on Grindr.  Indigo decided now was a good time to bounce, and so he asked for his check. When the bartender turned his back to print it, Inidigo sprinted right out of there as fast as he could and out of the hotel’s main doors into the night.  He was far too beautiful to be spending money on his own drinks.  Fuck it.

Indigo hailed a cab and went to Amnesia.  There was a line of botoxed posers and anorexic model-wannabes waiting to get in outside, but Indigo didn’t do lines (apart from the white stuff), and so he sashayed straight to the doorman to work his magic charm.  Indigo looked pretty fucking hot in his daisy dukes and tunic, and he slipped the doorman a lil’ baggie of blow when he shook his hand.  The doorman let Indigo right in, no questions asked.  He turned around to acknowledge the losers still waiting in line, and strutted his tiny ass through the entrance.

Once inside the club, he scoped out the scene… when who should he spot but Lily Von Fustenburg!  His arch nemesis – also the one woman Indigo went straight for.  He had loved this woman for the past 10 years that he knew her, but she had rejected him in the most public of ways after a year of casual sex.  Lily was a trust fund baby who had been cut off of her family fortune due to her rampant drug use, multiple stints in rehab, terrible public behavior that had been documented repeatedly by Page Six, and multiple arrests (including, but not limited to, shoplifting, drug possession, DUIs… you name it). Lily was rolling ballz and also spotted Indigo.  She made a wobbly beeline through the crowd to him, her eyes flitting back into their sockets, and a permanent smile plastered across her face.  God, she was hot.  She was bleach blonde and about 90 lbs., wearing black denim cut-offs, platform boots, and a sheer crop top.  She was the most perfect woman Indigo had ever had the pleasure of meeting – and right now, she was higher than a fucking kite.

Lily screamed above the thumping bass, “Oh FUCK ME RUNNING!  You dirt-bag! A) What the fuck are you doing HERE, and B) Give me all the drugs!”  Indigo was swept off of his feet, yet again. His knees went week and his stomach got butterflies as his heart raced and his palms began to sweat. How could one woman be so perfect? He emptied his pockets and handed over two vials of blow to Lily’s waiting hands. He would walk across hot coals for this woman…fuck, he would go sober for this woman.  He would hold down a 9-5 job if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with this woman!

The last time Indigo had seen Lily, they’d had a marvelous night on the town, ending in the bathroom stall at Tao.  Lily was going down on Indigo, when the stall door flew open. “Holy shit!  Indigo?!”  A scrawny Guatemalan boy stood in the door way, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Raymundo!!!! I thought you were working tonight!”  Indigo exclaimed. Lily stopped what she was doing and recoiled.  This was the last fucking straw.  She wasn’t about to be Indigo’s fag hag.  “You’re fucking the Guatemalan busser from Delicatessen?  Dude, I know he gives you the best blow, and possibly blow jobs, but I don’t want to be your fag hag.  I’m fucking done!  This is it.”  Lily got off her bony knees and marched out.  Indigo stood there with his 9-inch rod fully exposed, his size 0 leather pants around his ankles (side note: Indigo is very well-endowed and known to be a very generous lay… in case you’re wondering and in the market).  Indigo was in shock.  His heart shattered into a million pieces.  Meanwhile, Raymundo had gotten down on his knees and proceeded to gargle Indigo’s member.  Indigo disassociated.

Indigo had went home with Raymundo that night after several more lychee martinis.  He blacked out, HARD, and may or may have not been sexually assaulted.  He woke up the next day in Raymundo’s top bunk bed, in a 6-story East Village walk-up with no AC, sweating like a whore in church, coming down from the blow, hungover from the martinis, and in the midst of a serious panic attack, wondering where he went wrong and wishing last night had never happened.  He called Lily later that day, but she had blocked him on her phone and all social media.  He sent an apologetic email, professing his love for her, and letting her know Raymundo meant nothing to him – he was only in it for the coke.  Lily never answered his email.  This was two years ago… they hadn’t spoken or seen each other since. Until this night…

Indigo embraced Lily in a warm bear-hug and kissed her forehead tenderly.  She smelled of expensive perfume (Acqua di Parma, Oud), cocaine, and stale cigarette smoke.  “Lily, do you have any more pills?  I need to catch up to you and your friend there.”  Lily was swaying, arm-in-arm with a dapper looking gentleman who must have been about 60, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a Patek Philippe watch – he was also rolling ballz. This time, it was Lily’s turn to empty her pockets and hand over the drugs.  She gave Indigo a large pressed pill, which he swallowed whole and washed down with a sip of her margarita.

Indigo blacked out momentarily and the next thing he knew, they were all naked in a hot tub – on a yacht.  The yacht belonged to the older gentleman who was with Lily – a Spanish real estate tycoon named Rodrigo Espinoza IV.  They were all still rolling ballz when Rodrigo hopped out of the hot tub and said he was going to the bar to get them all drinks.  Indigo had to use the bathroom, and so he hopped out of the hot tub as well and followed Rodrigo inside.  The bathroom was adjacent to the bar, and when Indigo came out of the bathroom, he saw Rodrigo still standing at the bar.  He watched silently as Rodrigo dropped something into one of the drink glasses.

Sure, he and Lily weren’t as close as they once were, but he certainly couldn’t sit around and watch the love of his life get roofied by this douche bag.  He quickly hatched a plan.  Indigo stepped out of the bathroom doorway.  “Hey, Rodrigo! How those drinks coming?”  Rodrigo handed Indigo a drink, and said “here, help me carry these.”  Indigo made sure to keep his eye on the drink that had been roofied, as fucked up as he was, he wasn’t fucking around.

When they got back to the hot tub and into the water again, Rodrigo handed Lily the drink that was in his left hand.  Lily took one sip and set it in the corner drink-holder. Indigo waited until the moment was right, and quickly swapped his drink with Lily’s.  He downed the roofied drink as fast as he could…. he had to take one for the team tonight.  He didn’t mind, he’d been roofied twice before – once by some bear at a gay bar, and another time, voluntarily by himself, just for fun.  After 30 minutes had passed, Indigo started to feel very, very, EXTREMELY relaxed.  More relaxed than he’d felt rolling balls.

He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the water.  His muscles relaxed, his brain stopped thinking coherent thoughts.  Suddenly, Lily was slapping his cheek, “Indigo, INDIGO, What the Fuck?!  Wake up dude!”  Indigo just barely opened his eyes and gave a crooked, half-smile, “I saved you bitch,” he slurred.  He couldn’t wake up, even though he tried… and he felt FAN- fucking-tastic!!!  He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed and stress-free.  Rodrigo chuckled nervously at the sight of Indigo, who was at this point, clearly under the influence of the GHB he intended to drug Lily with. “Wow, your friend is a regular Lindsay Lohan, huh? A real piece of work!” Rodrigo said, before excusing himself to the bathroom.  Now, Lily was super embarrassed – Indigo was about to blow her chance and therefore also blow her future with this billionaire/next meal-ticket.

Once Rodrigo had disappeared inside, Lily slapped Indigo hard across the face: “WAKE THE FUCK UP!” Nothing could be done now though… Indigo was fucking dead (hypothetically speaking of course).  Lily was beyond frustrated, but also slightly worried for him.  After all, they’d taken the same pills and the same amount of drugs, or so she thought… unless of course he was holding out on her, and had a secret stash, and had taken more drugs without her (in which case, she decided she would fucking kill him – “sharing is caring” – am I right???). When Rodrigo returned to the hot tub, Lily tried to save the situation as best she could, and informed him that Indigo wasn’t ‘feeling well,’ and asked him to help her get Indigo into a cabin for bed.  Together, they hoisted Indigo’s emaciated, tanned, glorious frame out of the water and carried him into a bedroom.  Lily decided it was best that she spend the night in Indigo’s cabin, to keep an eye on him….even though she wanted to raw-dog Rodrigo and risk getting prego.  She knew in her heart that this was the end of any future she might have had with Rodrigo, since he wasn’t getting laid and therefore would give her the cold shoulder tomorrow, but her friend was more important.

Indigo woke up the next afternoon around 3pm, groggy as fuck. He didn’t remember anything apart from seeing Rodrigo spike Lily’s drink and making the executive decision to drink it before she could.  Lily was already up and dressed when Indigo walked out of his cabin onto the deck.  Hell truly hath no fury like a woman’s scorn – Lily looked furious, and grabbed him by the arm as soon as she saw him: “We need to talk” she said, as she hauled him down the stairs into another cabin.  “You FUCKING blew my chances with Rodrigo!  I was going to get pregnant last night and become a lady-who-lunches, and never worry about how I’d afford drugs, EVER AGAIN!!! AND NOW THAT DREAM IS DEAD!!! YOU FUCKING BLEW IT!  I was supposed to be the one doing the blowing! WTF happened to you?!”

“Lily – I SAVED YOU!  I watched that geriatric, FUGLY, Spaniard douche-HOLE spike the drink he gave to YOU with GHB – so I switched our drinks so you didn’t get assaulted.”

“Well what if I WANTED to be drugged?  Did you ever think of that?!” Lily screamed.

“You know what?! FUCK YOU.  I’m sorry I tried to help you – clearly you don’t want to be helped.  That’s why you’re a fucking 90 lb coke whore who got cut off her inheritance and now spends her days peddling coochie on yachts in return for fancy meals that you THROW UP and drugs.  Don’t talk to me anymore… I’m done with you.  I should have been done with you a long time ago.”  Indigo stormed off into his cabin.  It was only another 18 hours before they were set to arrive in Mykonos.  He could do this.  He just needed some more drugs and booze.

Indigo stormed off to the bathroom.  He was out of drugs, having given his coke to Lily the previous night.  He HAD to find something… anything, or he wasn’t making to Mykonos in one piece.  He knew on a yacht this grandiose, some dumb yacht whore must have stashed something SOMEWHERE.  He frantically searched the bathroom and found a baggie of four xanax in the medicine cabinet. BINGO!  It was gonna be smooth sailing from here on out.  Indigo put the pills in his pocket, and went to the bar where he proceeded to order a Johnny Walker Black Label, neat.  He threw all four pills in his mouth, took a big swig of his drink and that was that my friend!

Indigo started to feel pretty fucking good.  He went back to his cabin in a state of total relaxation and bliss.  He didn’t a fuck about anything – life was beautiful and nothing mattered.  He stripped naked, and got down on the plush carpet of the cabin floor.  Ahhh… it felt so good against his naked thighs and ballsack.  This was bliss.  He fell fast asleep, face-down on the carpet and slept in dreamless state for the next 18 hours.