#thank you Lord for Imodium

[simplykaren]

Me: knows I shouldn't have steak

Mom: Oh, we saved you a steak! [Dad] cooked it.

Me: eats a small-ish portion of the steak (it's actually quite good)

Me 10.5 hrs later: shaking with full body sweats, feeling faint and nauseated, and spending a lot of time trapped in the bathroom while waiting for the Imodium to kick in I have been reminded why I don't eat steak.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

The Gym Membership - Part 43 (Crosshair)

Summary: Layla let's something slip.

A/N: Hello Lovelies,

I am so sorry for being MIA. I was on vacation for two weeks and then last week was just crazy busy, I didn't get a chance to do any editing or upload anything. Plus this week I just found out I have 700 followers!!! I know it's crazy!

I'm sure it's a glitch, but if it stays that way by mid-August, I'll do another follower celebration.

In the meantime, I hope everyone is doing well. Please know you are all loved.

Special thank you, to the one and only @firstofficerwiggles thank you for beta reading last minute. Love oo.

Love oo

Warnings: Joking, banter, laughing, flirting adjacent, discussions of poor cooking skills. I think that's it, if I miss any warnings, please let me know.

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He chuckled, remembering Avery’s kitchen disasters, “She never made me curry, but she did try making this weird sort of tin can tuna fillet. I’m not sure if she followed a recipe or just went off the top of her head, all I know is that it tasted metallic, spongy and dry at the same time … it … it wasn’t good. I didn’t want to upset her, so I did my best to eat it. Only it backfired on me, when she saw that I ‘ate it with gusto,’ according to her, she kept serving me again and again. By the end, I was running to the bathroom every five minutes. After that, I told her I’d do all the cooking from then on. Felt sorry for her unit, whenever she went out with one, she always insisted on cooking for them. I started telling them to make sure to have plenty of MREs and Imodium or Pepto-Bismol pills on hand.”

“MREs?”

“Military rations. Although we sometimes call them ‘meals, rarely edible’ or ‘meals rejected by everyone,’ it would give them fair warning at least. I often joked she should’ve gone undercover as a chef in one of the compounds; she would’ve done our work for us. With her there there’d be no need for us on the frontlines with her cooking at the helm, she could’ve killed the entire terrorist group with her cooking alone.”

“I honestly don’t know where she got her cooking skills from,” I wiped the tear that had escaped from laughing at Crosshair’s stories, “our mom was an amazing cook. Even my dad knew how to work a stove and a grill.” 

“She told me you taught her,” Crosshair smirked as his eyes found hers.

“That’s a lie. I am a brilliant cook, for your information. I tried to help her and regardless of the numerous times I tried, and Lord Almighty knows I tried, to teach Avery how to cook and even with me standing right beside her, reading out the recipe and to this day I have no idea how she did it, but every time, she screwed up badly. I washed my hands clean of her cooking a long time ago.” I chuckled.

“Right, and I’m just supposed to believe you’re a great cook?,” his tone was sarcastic and bitter, yet it didn’t hit as hard due to the smile that appeared on his face.

“I am a great cook. In fact, I’ll make a deal with you,” I made sure to put on my proudest smuggest face possible.

Crosshair narrowed his eyes as he tilted his head, “What kind of deal?”

“The kind that benefits me greatly, obviously,” I teased. “I have a few things that need to be fixed at my place, nothing major, you know shower head that won’t stop leaking, a window that gets stuck, and maybe a toilet that sounds weird when I flush.”

“Do I look like a handyman to you?”

“No, of course not. That would mean you’d be competent.”

“You want to discuss competency?”

“I mean sure you’re great with weapons, and making yourself look hot in a t-shirt, but I mean really what is that? How does that benefit anyone?”

“Clearly it benefited you, if you noticed.” Crosshair smirked.

“Excuse me, I noticed simply because … you were in my line of sight.”

“Oh really? Cause if I remember correctly, there was a suspiciously identical woman as you sitting at Mel’s table that couldn’t help turning her head every time I threw an axe. Nor did I miss those oh so subtle glances at Hunter’s BBQ.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, all I did was simply make sure you weren’t killing someone while you were throwing an axe at the Battle Axe or whatever, and the glances at the BBQ were just to make sure you were properly hydrated.”

“I see. You were keeping your eye on me for everyone else’s benefit and for my health, is that it?”

“Obviously” I chewed the inside of my cheek, doing my best to avoid smiling at his smirk.

“Well then on behalf of everyone, thank you for taking such good care of me … by keeping an eye on this hot body. However, I would appreciate it if you refrain from undressing me with your eyes, that might be taking it a bit too far.” His eyebrow quirked as he popped in a toothpick fighting back a taunting smile.

“Hold on.” I lifted my finger, a little annoyed with his accusation when he was no better, “Who was undressing who? Let me tell you something buddy, do you think all your subtle glances went unnoticed? Cause let me tell you they were noticed.”

He smirked as he leaned further on the desk, twirling his toothpick in his mouth. “So Mel noticed and told you, right? Because let’s face it you aren’t one to notice a house on fire. For a lawyer, you lack observational skills.”

My mouth gaped open, “That is neither here nor there, and excuse you, but I have observational skills when it’s something worth observing.” I held up my hands waving them, “You know what, we’re getting off-topic.” I let out a sigh as I looked at him shaking my head, how he was able to irritate me and still look good doing it, was really annoying. I huffed, before a smirk appeared on my lips against my will, “Listen the point is, I am in need of help with some things around my place that needs fixing, you do that and I’ll prepare a meal that will … no, that shall restore my family’s honour.”

Crosshair let out a loud laugh at Layla’s description, he didn’t even have to think twice he knew his Avery was a disaster in the kitchen, “Well at least she was talented in other aspects,” he smirked.

“I don’t want to know, and judging from that smirk, I really don’t want to know. But yes, thank goodness she was organized and a brilliant investigator.”

“She certainly knew what she was doing in bed…”

“Stop!” I held up both my hands in front of my face, “There are certain things I will never need to know about my sister. That is one of them.”

“Fair enough” Crosshair chuckled, “So when do you need these things fixed?”

“When can you come over?”

“This weekend?”

“Great”

“Good”

“Fine”

“Done”

“You always have to have the last word don’t you?”

“This coming from the person who can’t let me have the last word”

“What? I’m totally letting you have the last word”

“Really?”

“Of course”

“When?”

“Now”

“Now?”

“Yes”

“Don’t believe you”

“You are so infuriating”

“Yet you find me hot”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Hmmm, nope”

“Alright, well this has been fun” I stood grabbing my bag, smirking at his idiocy. “You really are a pain in the ass, you know that.”

“Yeah, but that’s why everyone loves me, they try to deny it, but eventually they all cave in.”

“Mmhmm, anyway I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Sounds good, I’ll be there around 5?”

“That works” my hand rested on the doorknob of his office, “Oh any dietary restrictions?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, then see you Saturday”

“Saturday”

I wanted to say one more thing just to irritate him, but I let it go. I just nodded in agreement and went out the door. I could feel my heart beating faster as I replayed our conversation in my head. Maybe I was just nervous about getting to know him better, that would make sense, right? Ugh, why did I make the comment about how hot he looked?

There was nothing I could do, the words had gone out of my mouth and he would no doubt enjoy teasing me for a long time about it. 

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[selfless1978]

See this?

was on the board when I walked into my therapy appointment today. 

Let me zoom in on this spot right here.

Did you know communicating was so complicated?

*leans back in chair* 

now, that I've had time to think todays session over, I think it’s time to take my fucking stand.

those this is meant for will probably never read this, but I really don’t care. that isn’t what this is about. But, I was namelessly shamed in public, and, it may be petty, I will retaliate in public.

Therapist approved, sometimes petty is needed. Bet you didn’t expect to hear that one, did you?

i’m fucking tired of hiding in my corner wondering what the hell I did wrong.

fact is, like it or not, i’m not the only one at fault here.

See, the thing is with communication is, it’s not solely dependent on what I’m trying to say, the meaning is also dependent on how you take it. I know what I was trying to do, and say, you were the one who misinterpreted it. 

So, yes, maybe I could have been clearer in my writing, questions, feelings, but I am not responsible for how you take it. If you feel it was manipulative, and that is what you chose to believe without clearing things up, that’s all on you.

I’m tired of feeling guilty for what you think.

So, now, with that door now opened, let me continue.

I am no innocent, I know this, I understand this. Fuck, I’m living it every day. I make mistakes. I’m fucking human. If I fuck up, I will apologize, if you let me. On the other hand, I am a person looking for help because I can’t make heads nor tails of who and what I am. You know what the therapist told me? I’m a very insightful person, but I am one who can’t put my feelings in the same line with my observations and reasonings. There is even a term for it. Stuck point.

I’ve got a shit ton of stuck points.

now, let me zoom in to here.

Look at this real hard.

This, is how I think. This is my ticker. This is how I see the world. This is what I want to change. 

See some things in there? I do. Lord knows I’ve whined to a lot of you often enough about these things. You’d be blind if you didn’t see some of these repetitive habits. I know I needed help. I also know I may have pushed some of you too far. I get that. Don’t think that just because I kept doing it that it fell of deaf ears when I was told I needed help. But, until I finally got into therapy, who else did I have? 

some of you do remember that that fucking waitlist was over a year long, right?

of course I was going to be repetitive, I had no one else to turn to beside those  I trusted. I literally had no one to take me by the hand and guide me on how to break these habits. Not knowing how to change is a far cry from not wanting to change.

Does it make it ok for me to turn you guys into my personal therapists? No. It does not. I fully understand that too. Stop beating me with it upside the damn head. I can’t move on from it if others refuse to let me. I’m not proud of who I was during my worst meltdown, I have no intention of going back there, so why am I still being held accountable for it. It’s not who I want to be, and I don’t want to be that way again.

Now, on to this little box. It combines with the picture above.

And it all adds up to why I REact the way I do.

1) because so much shit has gone wrong, I over compensate by trying to ‘fix’ things. oh? you bully my friend? come here motherfucker, i’ll knock your lights out. oh? we don’t mesh as RP partners? what do I have to change? Oh? I accidentally upset you? Let me grovel for three days apologizing.

why is this?

it’s because I’m trying to take control back of my own life. I’m trying to combat all these uncontrollable scenarios by trying to fix any and everything I can. I have a huge Mr Fix It complex. It’s also one of, if not the core, reasons why I can’t let shit go. I have to have some kind of positive resolution. It eats at me, so hard. None of you understand fully the depths of my pain when I can’t fix something. It breaks me, I cry for days, weeks on end. Because, once more, I was proved that I have no control over my life and I’m a piece of shit not worth living.

Think about that the next time you start a fucking countdown and not informing the other person they are the target then completely shut them out. 

2) See that other green arrow? Esteem. Despite my big ass mouth, I don’t have a very good self esteem. Something goes wrong, it’s my fault. I did it. I fucked everything up. It’s all on me and I’m a horrible human being. And if I can’t fix something, it throws me into a pit of depression that I can’t crawl out of. Because I can’t fix a damn thing if the other person refuses to talk to me.

Why is that? How is it my fault that a damn plane lost a wheel and it fell onto my house of all places?

Because, as a society, we are engrained to believe bad things happen to bad people, and the good people get all the good things. Therefore, my therapist is fighting the wall of, “All this happened to me, I deserve to take over hell”.

I accepted my blame, not willingly, but I did all the same. Because to me, it was the ‘normal’ thing to do. I would sit here and go “what did I do now?” and rarely ever question the belief that, hey, guess what, it’s not all my fault. I ended up hiding, not talking to anyone, shutting even more folks out who were only on the peripheral of events.

3) and this ties in with three, the lesser ones. Trust, intimacy and safety.

I trusted you. I tell you things in confidence, and it was thrown back in my face. I let you into my safety zone, I let you see the most vulnerable parts of me, and you slap me in the face. Using what I told you in attempts to heal and move on as reasons to feul your ‘gut’ feeling.

Well, your ‘gut’ needs some Imodium because it was completely off the mark here. And now there is shit all over the floor.

So, go ahead and sit back. Wash your hands of me. Sit on your high horse of miscommunication and, therapist flat out stated, hurtful behavior. Call me out on things I did to protect myself, ignoring the hypocrisy that you did the exact same fucking thing to me. Keep sucking in the public sympathy while I sat here in silence and cried just as much as you say you did. Let them call me a bully, idiot, manipulative. You, are no better than me. We both made mistakes. Your horse is no fucking higher than mine after all.

It took me this long to come out and say these things, but by god, I’ll still have my god damn say!

I had reached a point where I was tired of trying to fight these fights. I was tired of having my mistakes held up to my face. I wanted so very much for someone, anyone, to just take a stand up and put the gloves on for me. Because I couldn’t see the point in it anymore. I was tired. Just mentally done with trying to figure any of this shit out. I didn’t have the energy or will power to respond earlier.

Well, guess what. I see a different point. And It’s one I need to make. I should thank you for giving my therapist something current to use to help me.

I’ll very well still stand up on my feet after getting knocked down. Sure, it gets harder and harder each time. But I’ll keep dragging myself up, dust myself off, readjust, and move on.

The main reason I posted this, in all honesty, is to give the rest of you some insight on my thinking. Some kind of glimpse in my head. I have no intention of bringing this up anymore after this. And, honestly, I shouldn’t even have to type this out. But, I tell you now, it’s out. Read over what I’m saying very carefully. If this is the kind of person you can not deal with, then I advise you to not interact with me.

I make no pretense on being guiltless or blameless. I am what I am, if you can handle it is now up to you. I can’t give you any better insight with out recording my damn therapy sessions. I’m going to mess up. After all, I’m only fucking human.

[noble-pro]

Returning to TCS New York City Marathon

Don’t forget where you started. The 2016 was my first NYC Marathon, my aim was to break four hours. I completed it in 3:59:11 finishing 12,954 out of 51,274 runners. Shortly afterwards I’d recently started working with Coach John I had gone through several training cycles. I was targeting sub 3:15 for my second NYC Marathon in 2018, where I finished in 3:22:03 placing 3,758 out of 52,706 runners. My goal was to run sub 3 for my third TCS NYC Marathon. I crossed the line in 3:00:19. I’m 20 seconds closer to my goal. I placed 1,595 out of 53,508 runners. Earning a marathon PB, a course PB and Boston qualifying on the hardest of the three courses (Manchester, Berlin, New York) I’ve run this year.

Pre race I continued my work with performance mindset coach Duncan. The main benefits I gained from working with him, was learning to be more mentally prepared in training and the marathon. A key thing Duncan did in our conversations was never to just give me the answers, he’d use questions as a way to enable and encourage my ability to problem solve, and I took this into training and racing. Whilst mindset training is important, it’s something that you add on top of the physical work, which is built first. You can’t think positive for the work you haven’t done. The race For Berlin I ran a disciplined race and made a conscious decision not to be gung ho, I finished feeling like I had more to give rather than feeling like I had blown up.

For NYC I wanted to be slightly braver, so it was a balance between pushing and being relatively sensible. I’d run the course before so I knew how tough the rolling course would be once I got to the latter miles. I used the stopwatch on my Garmin watch as my guide. I had memorised and written down target paces on my arm as I crossed certain mile checkpoints. Having a plan to be physically and mentally prepared for the marathon is essential. However there may be the situation where a challenge arises from the left field, and you have to problem solve in that moment. This happened to me, I had my race mantras planned, which I set between my fuelling breaks. But the reality was it didn’t happen like in the same way as Berlin. From mile 3 – 20, I had some intermittent stomach issues, and for about 2 hours all I was thinking wasn’t my mantras it was … Just don’t shit yourself. A sensible person would say STOP, there’s plenty of portable toilets so just use it. But I’d talk myself in and out of needing to use the portable toilets, as I was focused on that sub 3. I’d tell myself just wait for the next toilet. So I’d convince myself to slow down and that it would pass (pun intended). It will move you Around mile 8, I spotted my photo from 2016, behind the band playing which is always humbling and amazing to see. However… The accompanying text said “It will move you” given my GI issues, any movement talk wasn’t what I needed! I almost regretted the decision not to take a bathroom break, coming over the Queensboro bridge, one of the busiest parts of the course… I was hailing Mary, and praying like I never have, promising to be a better human being once I finished the race blah blah blah. Whilst I’ve lost a degree of self modesty, being sick at the Manchester finish line… this GI issue was a step too far, to actually happen. But I thank the Lord that I didn’t need to stop for the bathroom during the race, without any Imodium’s. From mile 20 – 26.2 my legs were very angry. Trying to convince them to move was like watching the Brexit process going through. I rolled the dice and tried to push, even though I just missed my sub 3 goal, I have no regrets, because I know I gave it my all. Running the pace I did on a flatter course would had been a sub 3 run, so I know it’s possible and will go again in 2020. The weather was perfect and as usual the crowds, the bands were incredible. This still remains my favourite of the six majors and if I could, I’d run it every year. To read my previous review of the race, which is free of GI issues click this link.

Post race For the Berlin Marathon I was focused mainly on the time, and took my eye off enjoying the process. Even though I achieved a PB, I didn’t really celebrate or enjoy the experience. All my race photos looked so damn serious, and I had to change things moving forward. I was determined not to replicate this in NYC. In training I’d remind myself that I don’t HAVE to run, that I’m healthy and I GET to run. That all those ordinary training days were building for an extraordinary day on Nov 3 2019. So I definitely enjoyed the post race, eating a lot of Jamaican food with a few beers, and caught up with other runners. One of the great things about running is I get to meet lots of people that I wouldn’t meet in my ordinary life. But we share common traits, such as enjoying a challenge, having a sense of adventure and seeing what their best looks like. Below are some photos of the people I caught up with. Including Ron who completed all the six Abbotts World Marathon Majors this year, we recorded an interview to be released soon on @runchats_with_ronrunsnyc Plus it was great to meet some current and former pro athletes. Paula Radcliffe, MBE is a three-time winner of the London Marathon (2002, 2003, 2005), three-time New York Marathon champion (2004, 2007, 2008), and 2002 Chicago Marathon winner. She was previously the fastest female marathoner of all time, and held the Women’s World Marathon Record with a time of 2:15:25 for 16 years from 2003 to 2019 when it was broken by Brigid Kosgei. Ryan Hall holds the U.S. record in the half marathon. With his half marathon record time (59:43), he became the first U.S. runner to break the one-hour barrier in the event. He is also the only American to run a sub-2:05 marathon (2:04:58 at the 2011 Boston marathon). Hall won the marathon at the 2008 United States Olympic Trials and placed tenth in the Olympic marathon in Beijing. Mary Keitany is a seven-time World Marathon Majors winner, including four wins at the TCS New York City Marathon. In 2019 she finished second place. The support I’ve received has been incredible. Thanks to everyone I saw on the course that cheered me on (Sha, Greg, Vanessa, Allison, Winthrope and co.) Thanks to everyone who sent messages, following my race progress, it was humbling to read them all post marathon. Thank you all. Thanks list John – Running coach Duncan – Sports mindset coach Friends & running community support Prodirect Running Sportymaps Xendurance Read the full article

[adampaisley]

My Foray into Gonzo Journalism

PART 1 - Drugs and Food

In an effort to expand my writing portfolio and find paid work, I’ve taken stock of what is popular in today’s media and decided that I need to pursue the technique of gonzo journalism.

My research shows there are a few paths I can take. I narrowed it down to two; either seek out really awful, uneducated people and tell you about them or I can write about doing things that are ill advised in a cool ironic way.

My day starts at 10am. I normally wake up at 7-7:30 and this day was no exception. But as a gonzo journalist, it’s a big no-no to start your day that early. In fact it’s more likely it’s when your night should end. This was going to be tough. I stayed in bed for a bit, read some news, posted a couple HBDs on Facebook and had a sensible breakfast before heading out.

I chose this day to start my new journalistic endeavor because it was the first day of the month after my birth month. Which meant I was driving with an expired license. I had received a renewal notice in the mail but chose to ignore it. Already feeling the gonzo rush, I head to meet a known local drug dealer to prepare myself for the evening. “Sup cuz?” he greeted me, using his e-cigarette, fully aware of the lack of research on the health ramifications of the technology. It smelled nice, like a blue raspberry sno-cone. I said as much. “Yeah, it’s blue raspberry”, he replied. This drug dealer is actually my second cousin Dale (I’ve changed his name from Dave to Dale to protect his identity).

“What do you need?” he asked. I left with some magic mushrooms and MDMA, or “Molly” in drug-lord parlance. I wondered if this was based on the great Canadian actress Molly Parker but Dave wasn’t sure and said “probably not”. I argue that she deserves something to be named after her but Dave has already left. With the drugs securely in my coat pocket, I continue my journey.

It’s now lunch time. I head to a dive restaurant that’s of such poor quality, even Guy Fieri wouldn’t feature it on Triple D. The decor was unappealing; The crown moulding was a mess. Real sloppy work. I have a seat at the counter. “Hi, what can I get for ya?” the waitress asks. She’s an older woman, mid 40’s, dyed black hair and heavy on the makeup. She isn’t unattractive and you could tell she was a dime in her day. Her small-town eyebrows are still sculpted the same way her mother taught her at thirteen. Personally, I’m feeling extremely uncomfortable, knowing I’ll have to describe her appearance in a weird, misogynistic way in the article as is customary in gonzo journalism. (Sorry Kathy! You were a wonderful server and I know your appearance has no relevance to the story but I feel as if I had to include this.)

I’m about to order a burger with fries but realize that isn’t ill-advised enough. I look to the back page of the menu. “I’ll have the fish please” I say, knowing full well it is likely already prepared, frozen, and simply warmed for the customer. “Okay”

Lunch was pretty good. I feel okay. The tartar sauce was actually quite good. I ask about it and am told it’s made in house. I mention they should sell it and Kathy offers to put some in a container for me. I gladly accept, pay my bill and head out.

I still have a few hours to kill before I’m scheduled to take the drugs so I head to a Starbucks. I’m doing this ironically as it’s not something a cool guy gonzo journalist would do. I ironically charge my phone and order a “caramelli frappiachi or whatever”, purposefully getting the name incorrect because I wouldn’t unironically drink such a delicious beverage. I sit and play a couple turns on my Yahtzee app before heading toward the hospital.

I decided to take the drugs across the street from the emergency room. I haven’t done drugs before and read about some pretty serious allergic reactions online. My reasoning for taking them across the street and not in front of the building was twofold; less chance of being seen by a narc (drugs slang for “Narcotic Tattletale”) and if I had to cross the street with a severe allergic reaction, it would be great for the story. As a bonus, the bus I wanted to take after was west bound so it made sense to be on that side of the street.

I ingested the magic mushroom and didn’t feel an immediate allergic reaction, so I hopped on my bus and started my “trip”. ;)

Shoot, I forgot to swear in the article. Fuck the establishment! Okay, thanks.

PART 2 - I’m on Drugs, which are Illegal.

It was hard to tell if the drugs were starting to have an effect or if the bus is always this unpleasant. I hadn’t taken transit in many years, as my parents gave me a Honda Civic as a high school graduation present and it has proven to be a reliable companion. I’ve had to do a few minor repairs but am overall very happy with the reliability.

On the bus, a man is eating sunflower seeds and spitting them onto the floor. Another smells greatly of urine, yet still has the mind to catcall a teenage girl. An unkempt teen audibly burps while texting with the keyboard click sound on. It’s hard to imagine this wasn’t a hallucination but a few people I told about it suggested that these behaviors are not uncommon on the bus. I push through it by fondly thinking about the comforts of my sedan.

I finally arrive at my destination, a public park. From what I had gleaned from my research, I was now supposed to experience something considered illegal in some countries with a person of notoriety. Perhaps do peyote with Deadmau-Five or ingest an extremely hot sauce with Dave Coulier.

I had contacted a number of people and the one who was kind enough to join me was a friend of mine who is a regional journalist who is verified on Twitter. He was not very receptive to doing anything illegal but after some convincing, he agreed to eat some foods that aren’t allowed to be sold in the country because of regulatory law.

We kicked things off with a glass of Ovaltine I bought online. You can get it where I’m from as well but it’s a bit different from the British one because it has a colourant that isn’t approved here. We both agreed; it tasted pretty good.

Next up, I had tried to get my hands on some farm raised salmon but it didn’t pan out so I had to get a bit creative for the next one. We each had a Kinder Surprise egg. They’re legal here in Canada but not in the US as the toy inside is a choking hazard. We removed the toys and ate the chocolate without incident. They’re great. I received a puzzle inside, which is disappointing but my friend got a frog that jumped if you flick it, which was pretty cool.

I thanked him for his time and asked if he wanted to hang out and join me tonight. He said he had to head home because he and his partner were going to watch Rango.

I’m flying solo.

PART 3 - A Set Back

Well, something caught up with me. Possibly the magic mushrooms or more likely the Ovaltine. I’m pretty lactose intolerant and spend the next two hours in the washroom with a Gatorade and my iPad.

I watch a few eps of (pre-Logan era) Gilmore Girls to comfort myself.

I worry my article is in peril of ending unceremoniously if I’m unable to make it out that night, so I take an Imodium and have a short nap.I wake up feeling better and I decide that I’m up to the challenge of a night out.

I think I’ll take my car this time. I don’t want to drive under the influence but I figure any effect the mushrooms would have had is gone after my time on the toilet. The bus is just too much right now. Especially with the threat of loose stool.

PART 4 - I Drop My Bean

I pre-purchased tickets to a concert by a local punk band called Truck Frudeau. From what I’d seen online, their music is terrible and their point of view misguided but I decided to attend anyways. My research shows that these articles aren’t about sharing great art but finding something that will result in people clicking on the article to scoff.

I arrive at the venue at 9:00 PM. It said doors at 9 but when I enter there is nobody taking tickets and the band is just setting up. I figure this would be a good time to talk to them for my story. I’m not sure of how the interview will go but if they’re cool, I can act like I’m cool for talking to them or(hopefully) they say something incendiary, and I can be really condescending and sensationalize it.

I ask the lead singer, Josh, what his main problem with the Liberal government is. He says that “Justin Trudeau is just a pawn who answers to rich assholes who want to sell guns to the middle east so people kill each other.” I imagine this is not the PM’s main objective but there is likely a very troubling and continued history of Canadian arms sales. I want to research this further but I know I need to be careful the article is political enough to draw interest while never veering out of the realm of trash entertainment.

I ask to the drummer, Wes, about what he wants to accomplish with the band. He tells me that he doesn’t “pay attention to politics. (He) just likes to smoke weed and hang out when (he’s) not working at the bank”. (Off the record, I ask him what it’s like to smoke weed. I don’t want him getting in any legal trouble and I don’t want to look like I am not cool in the article.)

I thank them for their time and they finish setting up. About fifteen or so people are now gathered in front of the stage. This seems like the right time for me to take the Molly(Parker) but I’m a little gun-shy from my earlier narcotic experience and only take half of the already minimal dose I purchased. I drink a whole bottle of water with it because I heard MDMA dehydrates and I’m already pretty dried out from the loose stool.

The band begins their set. A group of teens start to mosh so I stand near the back. I think I start to feel the effect of the drug because I find myself enjoying the band. I tap my toe and nod my head, really feeling it.

It’s now about three songs in and I’ve hit a wall. I’m so tired and can’t take it any longer. I head to the washroom, the music is stripped of all the deafening volume and I can really hear how poorly they’re playing. I go to the stall and sit on the toilet.

Next thing I know, I’m woken up  from a dream about going to the airport to look for my misplaced gloves. There was a punk band playing at the airport in the dream, which makes a lot of sense now that I’m awake. An awful smelling bartender with camo pants tucked into his combat boots tells me the show has concluded and they’re about to lock up. I ask them to call a taxi for me. I get into the taxi and give him my address. The driver asks me what band I saw. I pause for a second, then say “Uhh…Jeff’s Place” because I didn’t want to explain what Truck Frudeau is all about and that’s the best fake band name I could come up with at the moment.

I arrive home and head straight to bed. I sleep soundly until 8am which is very late for me.

Fuck the establishment. Thank you for reading.