Big C to the Rescue

My good friends The Big C and Anna stopped by The Cruz for a brief visit. Over lunch, we somehow got to talking about marshmallows. The Big C asked how they made marshmallows and I had no answer. The sheer mystery of it made me wonder if I should be ingesting them. Why don't I know how a marshmallow is made? I looked it up. Now we all know! Then The Big C says, "Marshmallows are like ghost poo." And I laughed. I am still laughing. Then he tops it off by saying, "Thank you, Caspar." Oh C, you are hilarious.

Hanging out with C brings back memories of college days. The Big C and I are friends from college- he used to date my friend Lil Bun and that's how we met. I sometimes like to call him Papa Craig because he'd be the one to rescue us when we were too drunk/stoned to get home or too broke to buy breakfast. He's a gem- incredibly funny, wicked smart and a truly, truly nice guy. We've got a doozy of a story that I swear I have retold so many times I am not sure anymore what is the absolute fact and what is embellishment. I'm going to share it with you anyhow.

One night, myself, my sister, Em, Supple and Lil Bun were having a girls only dinner party. C was a bit put out that we didn't invite him. Dokey and I cooked up a big ol' Italian feast and for dessert, we made some pot brownies. Em was in charge of buying the brownie mix. She shows up with some Trader Joe's "No Pudge" mix. What the?! Gross. It requires yogurt. Yogurt should not be involved in the process of making brownies. But we were running late, so we just used it. I think I may have already been a few glasses of vino in because I thought it was a genius idea to put the brownie pan in the oven to cook while I was broiling the garlic bread. This is not a good idea. Do not try this at home. You end up with burnt brownies. We didn't want to waste the pot so we ate them anyhow. They were crunchy and tasted a bit like charcoal but we endured it in an effort to get high. Oh college days!

Before we even sit down to dinner, Em's boyfriend calls. He was in a car accident while delivering pizzas. He needed Em to meet him at the accident site to give him a ride home. She never got to eat any dinner but before she left she finished off her brownie. In hindsight, she would realize that that was not the smartest move.

As we sat around the dining room table, plates full of delicious food, music playing, sipping wine, we are all overcome a mean fit of the giggles and in between giggling, we are declaring how fucking fantastic the food it as we eat like there is no tomorrow. Supple (who had eaten two brownies to our one) declares that she is cold. She proceeds to get up and put on her jacket and a hat. She can't seem to sit still. She is so cold. So incredibly cold. She goes to the oven and opens the door, sticking her hands and rubbing them together to warm them. She goes to my bed and, fully dressed with shoes on, gets under all the covers. She roams that house layered like the stay puft marshmallow man. We watch her while we continue to eat and try to get her to sit down but she can't. She goes on and on about being SO cold, about not feeling good. Hmm, maybe those two brownies was two too many?

The power of suggestion is very high when you are, uh, high. I start to feel very sick. I feel like the room is spinning. The table stretches out and shrinks up before me as my vision blurs. I grab a hold of the sides of the table to steady myself. Lil Bun and Dokey watch me in fascinated horror as I say to them, "Guys, I don't feel so good." And then I promptly throw up. Right onto my dinner plate. Nice and neat. Didn't spill a drop off of it. I know, disgusting. Lil Bun takes her empty plate and turns it over on top of mine to cover it, saying, "Ok. Ok. Everything is going to be just fine." She goes into frantic nuturing control mode and begins to fuss about making sure everyone is ok. They help me to a chair in the living room where I will stay for hours, my head askew on the cushions, looking as though I have some sort of muscular defect in my neck that inhibits my head from being held up. For the life of me, I cannot hold my head up. I just lean it forward to puke- FIVE times. I know, disgusting.

Meanwhile, Lil Bun is pacing the house saying repeatedly, "Everything is going to be OK." She calls up The Big C to help us. Because, really, who else do you call when you are high as a kite and have friends freaking out on their own trips all around you. You call The Big C. C can probably tell his version of this story much clearer as he was not high or sick like we were. Supposedly, he was kicking it at home when Lil Bun called frantic for assistance. She didn't make too much sense but he did come over to our house. . . Eventually. . .Like after he made a couple sandwiches and packed a mini-cooler. When he walked in, the reality of what was going down hit him. These girls are crazy high! Yes, we indeed were.

He managed to get Lil Bun and Supple home but not before Bun opened the front door to puke in the bushes directly off the porch. The bathroom, mind you, was equal distance from where she was standing but for some reason she felt compelled to puke outside. Outside while our neighbors and friends watched from their house party next door. Classic. It's times like those when you need a pal like C. Take control of this situation, please, somebody!

While all this is going on at our house, Em had been trying not to appear high in front of police officers while they took down the accident report. She attempted to drive her boyfriend home but she was far too high and the winding roads made her sick. Throughout the night she had to make frequent visits to the bathroom and made her boyfriend accompany her. It's a good thing she did because she passed out while sitting on the toilet and he had to keep her from falling. She never did throw up. Nor did Supple. They both felt high still the next day.

Me? I felt like a train had run over my body. I felt ruined. Wrecked. And I have never eaten pot brownies again. Ever.


"The kind" ain't so kind.
Posted by Picasa

What's the moral of this story? Beware of pot brownies and always have a good friend like The Big C to call up to help you out.

P.S. Thanks for treating me to lunch Papa Craig!