drysocketdiaries

[drysocketdiaries]

My first, but not last, experience with LSD.

This particular story takes place in the summer of 2016. I had just moved back to Denver from New York and kind of picked up right as I had left off. Most of my friends growing up had packed up and moved to either NYC or LA but there were a few old friends still sticking around and naturally we got back to hanging out. My buddy, let’s call him “Z” was crashing on our friends futon in the living room and I was crashing on the floor next to him. We were a package inconvenience, the type of situation that only flys somewhere like Denver. We would both wind up living in that house for different periods of time and a hundred other stories would come of that but that’s neither here nor there.

Not much had really changed in the 6 years I had been gone. Certain local celebrities were now dealing stepped on coke, instead of being restricted to crashing house parties and drinking at the skatepark we could go to bars and all the drama and gossip from our circle I was quickly brought up to speed on within about 3 tallcans on the porch. It was also clear there was one main thing that everybody still did to keep themselves busy and entertained: partying.

“Z” always had a string of women he was hanging out with. At any given time he could have 5 girlfriends and even then would have a few extra on the side. This particular woman, I don’t remember her name, worked down the street from us. “She’s super rich dude, it’s crazy. Her mom like invented that company Hurley...or co owned that company Hurley. You know that company Hurley, right? “Yes, I’m aware of what Hurley is” I said. “Ha so crusty, but anyway she said we can kick it at her new place she just bought till she gets off work”. I naturally had some questions which were somewhat answered on our walk over to the house.

The building itself was brand new and at the time stood out in what once was the Ryno art district. The outside looked like a mix of a chipotle and an outlet mall. It’s hard to describe visually without throwing in words like “modern” or “industrial”. I was judging of course, because I’m an asshole, and he was judging because he was an asshole too, but we both knew it was crazy that we had the keys to this place for ourselves unattended and had zero business judging anything with where we were at in our lives. The dude crashing on the fouton and the guy crashing next to the guy crashing on the futon.

Inside was beautiful, not particularly my style but what the fuck do I know about interior design? It looked like it was plucked straight out of a catalog. That’s when “Z” emerged from her room with a little box. “Should we do some acid”? “Fuck no” I said. The idea of Hallucinating scared me, acid scared me...but it was free drugs at a rich girls house and my friend had already put the dose on his tongue. “Fuck, just a LITTLE one Z, I’m not fucking joking dude”. “Yes! Haha relax relax chill out MON” he assured me mockingly in a Rasta accent. Before I knew it the piece of paper was dissolving on my tongue, a piece of paper about the size of my pinky nail. I would realize pretty soon after that was way more then a little one.

I first noticed the effects over an hour in when I went to the bathroom and it was confirmed when I looked in the mirror that I was fucked. I was drenched in sweat, felt like I was over heating and my heart was beating out of my chest. I also couldn’t for the life of me remember how to get out of bathroom. “Z” seemed fine, cracking himself up hysterically either in complete jubilation from the acid or my misery. He had also found some cocaine in her drug box and was ripping back key bumps yelling “Take one dude, trust me it helps”. After I took a couple myself I was left getting even higher but...faster. It was at this point I heard “oh fuck dude, I gotta go pick her up from work I forgot”.

“What the fuck, no NO NO tell her to call a cab dude”. I would like to say my fear was my friend getting behind the wheel of a car in the state of mind we were in and endangering himself and anybody else on the road but it was way more selfish then that, I couldn’t be alone. He made up his mind, got the keys and left. I was alone in this giant house tripping out of my mind at this point. Time meant nothing, I had no idea how long he was gone, I had a phone but at this point it was just a confusing glow stick with no actual purpose. I navigated my way to the roof eventually but felt like I was trapped inside of an M. C. Escher painting convinced I should have somehow left a trail so I could find my way back. Once on the roof I stripped down to my underwear, the heat radiating off my body in the rain. It was a light thunder storm, I think, but to me it looked like the apocalypse. I stood in awe and terror of the show unfolding in my mind.

When they finally came back it seemed like days later, I was so relieved I completely forgot how insane I must of looked half naked on the roof.”Haha why the fuck are you naked” Z asked? “I was hot, it’s really hot out. I need to lay down”. They helped me find my way back to the living room where I layed down. They went to her room which lead to me having to hear them having very loud sex that felt like was taking place inside my head. I was convinced this was hell, I had died and this was hell. How is he fucking right now? How is he not high? Did he even take the acid or did he trick me? I finally got my shit together enough to figure out unlocking my glow stick, that once doubled as a phone before the acid, to call my friend who has experience with the drug. We spoke for a long time, and he ultimately gave me the best advice he could to get me through my trip.

The high lasted almost 24 hours and it took days to fully come down from the effects and trauma afterward. I think it was ultimately the advice of my friend on the phone that got me through: “acid is like surfing, it comes in waves, you just gotta stay calm and ride it out”. So in the end a surfing analogy got me through my acid nightmare inside the mansion of the rich girl who’s mom owned Hurley...or invented Hurley, maybe she co owned Hurley...You know that company Hurley, right?

[drysocketdiaries]

The pranking of CSU Jake and Don 5.

Of all the pranks my friends and I made in our youth one series of phone calls stands out, not because of how crazy it was in comparison to everything else we’d done (dressing up as stereotypical robbers in stripped jumpsuits with money bags on Halloween and actually robbing people may take the cake) but for how long the prank actually went on for. It was 2003 and I can remember it like it was yesterday, Nokia brick phones were in vogue, all the mothers in our friend group were questioning our sexuality after having to tailor girls jeans for us to wear so they were even tighter, scraping up change to eat at the dollar scoop Chinese spot, severely overstaying our welcome at the local skate shop and soliciting anybody you could to buy beer.

First let’s take a brief look at the two victims in this particular story. I’ll start with Jake aka CSU Jake (because he attended Colorado state university), aka CS Nude Jake (a play off the fact that he did nude modeling and also attended Colorado State University), aka Creepy jake (a play off the fact he did nude modeling, hung out with us younger guys and clinched his teeth together without separating while talking). Jake was, and I’m sure still is, a genuinely nice guy. Unfortunately for him, and most innocent people around me in my teenage years, it made him an easy target for this kind of thing. He was the kind of guy that wouldn’t think twice about doing somebody a favor and was genuinely always happy to help out when he could.

Now let’s look at the other person in this story, D5. “D” for short, real name Danny, aka Don 5. He had a very distinctive way of introducing himself, whether on the phone or in person, with “Yo this is D5”. This garnered him countless nicknames over the years by replacing his name with something that kind of rhymes or we thought was comical. For example: “Yo this is Deprived”, “Yo this is Bee Hive” or “Yo this is DUI”. D was the old guy at the skatepark, habitually had a series of tall cans stashed in a graffiti covered back pack, sometimes rap battled children, heckled anybody within reaching distance, reminisced about the old days in Venice (beach not Italy) and if he was buzzed enough even took a lap around the park. Although he had been 86’d several times he was a skatepark legend, cemented into the culture, as much a part of the park as the gate that our friend Canyon’s dad made (this takes place in Boulder, CO hence the wacky names). He was also an ambassador of sorts bridging the gap between the small town freak/druggie/burnout culture that would flock to the skatepark to utilize our picnic table that was sufficiently shaded under the big tree for optimal weed smoking atmosphere (both as defined in terms of scenery and the white heady hip hop duo of the time). Every small town skatepark has a D5 if they’re lucky. He provided alcohol, amusement and endless antics. If the skatepark was a film he would be a key fixture, without him it wouldn’t be authentic or believable.

D was working at a Brooklyn inspired sandwhich shop on campus called the “deli zone”. Much to his dismay we frequented his work whenever possible to try and solicit free food or fill water cups with fountain soda. In our defense he had told us he would “hook us up whenever , it’s chill” on numerous occasions when he was intoxicated, whether or not he had the authority to do so may have proved detrimental in his ultimate loss of that job. D worked late hours and lived pretty far away. D5 did not drive so sometimes CSU jake would give him a ride home when needed.

Over the course of a year and a half we made a series of prank calls to CSU jake as D5 to be picked up, drive aimlessly around town for situations that were completely fabricated. We would watch Jake pull up to Deli zone at 2 am, pacing around on the phone frantically trying to get ahold of D, all while we ducked in hiding near by to watch our masterpiece unfold. Every call was generally the same involved a bad accent, a lot held back tears and giggling as we carried out “Yo this D5! Listen jake I need a ride home ese I’m a little drunk...” We did this all the time, and as more time passed it got funnier and funnier. One time we got him to go all the way to the Denver international airport. Now of course there was going to be the issue of Jake confronting the real D5 about all the times he’d come to pick him up all over town with D nowhere to be found. The beauty of this situation was every time D5 was confronted he naturally sidetracked the conversation and went on about a different story entirely, and would ultimately end up getting an actual ride somewhere from Jake. That’s what made this prank so perfect and last as long as it did.

Jake eventually got wise and said on our final prank call: “I know this isn’t D...but just in case it may actually be I’m gonna head over anyway”. I’m not proud of what we did but it brings a smile to my face remembering the stories and the characters from that time in my life . For a long time I thought the best part of the story was that even when Jake was wise to what we were doing, after all the countless times he had driven around and waited he STILL made the drive over just on the off chance it really was D5 and he was that gullible. But now I think it’s the best part of the story because it wasn’t because he was so gullible he was just that good of a guy. Can you imagine having a friend that would do that for you? I can’t...and it’s probably because I did shit like this.