This one time I was rambling around as usual. And I hooked up with this guy I met while I was working at the Burlesque show in New Orleans. He flew me out to California to see him. Ya know, to be his little lady for a while. He was this sexy, older biker guy. I was 19 at the time. He was 40ish. When I met him, I liked the way he smelled. It was this mix of a mechanic, like oils & such, cigarettes, sweat and a little bit of musk. It was an amazing turn on. He was 40, but he looked about 25-26. He worked at this foundry in the East Bay somewhere. I liked that he worked with his hands all day. I looked at his hands. All the calluses. The hard work. When he touched me it felt a little rough, but it made me get goosebumps. It excited me to think of him working all day, then touching me with working man's hands. He reminded me of John Doe from X. Maybe that was what did it. I don't know. I think every girl deep down like's that "working man". The Bruce Springsteen image. The bad boys. The classic real man. Some testosterone. Some balls. Some sweat. Not that metrosexual bullshit.

He and I would get on his motorcycle and go riding with his buddy up to Sausalito. There was this bar up there we would always end up at. I forget the name. We rode up through the hills of Berkeley sometimes going 110. It was so horrifying and free-ing at the same time. I had never really been much of a biker girl before, this was my first experience. I liked he way his cycle vibrated between my legs (obviously). I also enjoyed knowing that I was completely at the mercy of this man, that I barely knew- sitting there- holding onto him for dear life- on the back of his ride. I could have died at any moment. And I got off on that. Him, his buddy and I - we would stop a long the way at certain points to smoke some weed. I noticed that the higher I got, the better the bike felt. I felt like I was flying. It was pretty incredible. Besides, I was in Northern California, so obviously I was smoking some good shit.

Anyway- yeah. So I stayed with him for awhile. Hell, I was 19 with nothing better to do, then be transient. I was there for about a week, I was starting to run low on money, but I had enough to ride into Berkeley on the train and go see a movie. I had this old 1980s purple tape player and some headphones, and I had a bunch of tapes- Sonic Youth- Lush- Jesus&Mary Chain, shit like that. So I walked to the train station- and I knew I was going to go see some movie, not sure what I got there and Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas was playing. At that very moment, I realized I had this half tab of acid left in a secret spot in my wallet. This dancer in New Orleans had given me some and I put it there and forgot about it. I thought for sure it had gone bad. I said to myself what the hell go see this fucked up movie about being fucked up and get fucked up. I mean if it's bunk, at least I will get to see a movie about being fucked up, right?

So I sat through the movie, and pretty much enjoyed it, but enjoyed the book better when I was 13. I was certain the acid had been bunk and was not working. All the effects of the movie I thought were just movie effects, and that because of the subject matter- I was not seeing this crazy shit in 3-D as it really looked. I was just viewing a surreal Terry Gilliam flick and the acid was surely bunk as shit. It's bunk, it's bunk. I wasn't dissapointed. I needed to kill some time and see a movie, so whatever. The movie ended. Credits rolled. I stood up. I was in the balcony. I sat alone- during the movie- I embarrassed myself a bit because I laughed so loudly. Since I was in the balcony I kind of felt like I was alone in the theatre. I was certainly alone in the balcony, but not in the theatre. Anyhow, when Johnny Depp would spout off any of HST's drug-induced monologues or diatribes or if anything remotely funny happened in the movie I laughed extremely loud. Like I was in on HST's secret joke. And maybe I was- I probably pissed some yuppies off. Oh well. They didn't get the joke or the memo. So fuck them.

Yeah, so like I was saying, I was about to vacate the balcony. I stood up. I felt a wave come over me. I thought it was just because I had been sitting for so long. I walked down to the ladies' room to piss. When I was on the toilet I looked down at the floor. The tiles moved. They were playing checkers with one another. Or was it me. I looked up at the ceiling. It was moving. It was talking to me. Telling me things in a secret language. It became the sky. It became the ocean. It became angry. Then it became a ceiling again. As it does. When your LSD is kicking in. I was so damn sure that it wouldn't but alas I was proven wrong. And it wouldn't be the first time. I went to wash my hands and face. I looked in the mirror (leak). That's the worst thing you can do on acid, because you can literally stare at yourself or whatever the fuck you think you are looking at for hours. Your face transforms into beautiful creatures, gods, monsters, inanimate objects. Reflections get fun. Until you see some weird darkness from within, then the trip gets bad.

I started to wash my hands and some yuppie dame walks in and gives me a discerning gaze, I know she feels my vibrations. Buzz-buzz-buzz. The LSD is humming out of my core. It makes her walk a little further out of her way to stay away from my effervecent orb. Fuck you lady. Go piss. She was probably one of those types that puts toilet paper on the seat and sits on it yet still manages to get her piss on the seat anyhow. Then people like me end up cleaning it off. Because people like me don't give a shit about piss. Heh, don't give a SHIT about PISS. Yes, so where was I... Yes, I was washing my hands....and I looked at the water for probably two minutes. two hours? I don't know. It seemed to be moving in slow motion. I couldn't seem to muster up the ability to find or figure out how to get the soap out of the fucking dispenser. Eventually I did. I think that lady was hiding out from me. It seemed like she was in her stall forever. Maybe she went into another dimension. Down the toilet. That's where her office is. Or her house. Who cares? I needed to bolt this five and dime ladies room scene anyhow.

As I made my way out of the ladies room, the tiles seemed to dance a long with me on the floor. And I know I was dancing my way out of the bathroom singing to myself. Yeah, I think at that point I had put on my headphones and it was Jesus and Mary Chain. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Good vibrations. I have found you. Almost gold. Almost golden. Almost gone. I was living the California Dream. Piss poor, hungry, horny and hopeful. Getting fucked every night by that beautiful MAN. With his callused manhands. His motor oil smell dripping all over my malnourished nineteen year old body. I felt pretty free........So yeah, I got out of the theatre. Gladly I didn't run into too many people. I was afraid they would see my eyes. My humongoid pupils. I looked like a little anime cartoon girl.or Powerpuff Girl. I think I really did BECOME an anime cartoon girl. It's funny when you are on drugs, and you feel like you actually are becoming a cartoon. Because you see the way people look at you. Like you are a moron. Well, because you probably are acting a bit like a moron. With hallucinogens it's different. You begin to see people's auras, and maybe read into things that aren't there. Or are. It's like you can shapeshift. And become invisible. You can kind of see people for the monsters that they really are deep down. You can also maybe believe a little bit that you can hide in plain sight. Or fuck with them with your magical capabilities. HA!

I strolled down the street and headed towards where I thought the BART station was. Somehow I managed to get lost. Of course. Because everything seemed like the same street or block and I think I was literally walking in circles. So I put in my Sonic Youth Experimental Jet Set Trash & No Star tape into my purple boombox. I knew that if I put in Sonic Youth I would find the BART station. I seemed to be walking for hours and hours. I knew at some point I may have to break dow and actually ASK a HUMAN where the fuck I was and how the hell do I find the BART. So I ended up bumping into a street kid in front of the record store. I felt safe asking him. He pointed and said " Over there ". He gave me a look like he knew what I had been up to. He had enough respect to not say anything cheesy like " Hey you are on acid aren't you, can I get some.. "-etc. Nor did he attempt to fuck with my head. Which was a relief. When he pointed it seemed as though the streetlight of the BART illuminated a little extra at the moment of his instructional hand gesture. So I headed over there, since it seemed to almost be inviting me - and I got on the next train back to Richmond.

I got back to my Motorcycle man's place. It was this old garage. He had some cycles in the back . Metal foundry welding and art projects were strewn about in various places. Lots of metal, nuts, bolts, steel, rust, chains, dirt, motor oil, wrenches, hammers, tool boxes, welding equipment. VERY much a man's place. I liked walking around naked in his place. I laid on the floor and intentionally got dirty. One time I did that, then put one of his 70s pornos in the tape player, then masterbated on his bed- and he came home from the foundry early- and found me doing that- he walked away for a second, he seemed a little shocked and embarrassed. I don't know why he would be. But he came back and went down on me for nearly two hours. So it was a win win for us both.

I was back there for about an hour. My acid was really peaking at this point. For some odd reason I felt the need to call my friend John in Seattle. I don't know why the fuck I would really want to talk on the phone on acid. But whatever, I felt a strong need, and when I my gut says GO or DO. I follow. Even if I am on drugs. So I called him up. John immediately knew I was fucked up. He found it all too humorous. He didn't fuck with me too hard. I think I was asking him advice on life, and the meaning of life. And what the universe means, and universal truths, and death and life, and this and that.....when out of the corner of my eye I see a person, or some shadow walking towards the room....at first I thought it was my man, then I see this chick. This biker babe in leather. She sees me there.... I'm like Oh shit John there is this girl, I must be hallucinating, this chick just came in what do I do. I think she's going to kill me. What the fuck... So yeah, she comes up to the door of the bedroom, and is says " Is HE here"... I said could barely respond but I said no I think HE is at the bar with some friends. I tried to formulate the words who are you, when she just walked away in a huff. Oh FUCK. I thought. That's his OLD LADY. I got back on with John, he was patiently holding while this shit was going down. He probably thought I was just making it all up...

Then all of sudden I hear .......... CRASH.........broken glass. I thought the world was caving in on me. Then I heard this motorcycle speed off. I felt like I was in some action movie or my trip was just a dream and I was really dead and all that shit. I was like John someone is trying to kill me. I know it. He tried his best to calm me down. He was worried at that point because he could hear the crash on the other end of the line. And now he knew that I wasn't fucking around. He asked me if I felt safe enough or had someone to call to check and see what it was. And I said that yeah, my friend's neighbor knows I'm here. I can go check it out and have him come over or whatever. So I look out into the driveway area, where my guy kept his old cars, project cars. There was this really beautiful Mercury Cougar he had just finished on, and lo and behold there was the source of the broken glass. That bitch fucking through a brick through the Cougar's window. Cunt! What the fuck was she jealous of? From what I understood he dumped her a long time ago. But what did I know. I was nineteen. And boys lie. Maybe I would have done the same thing to him. For me, it fucked up my LSD induced little world. I was having such a great trip up until that point. The point of glass breaking & jealous lovers.

I went over to the neighbors. He had heard it to and was out in the front of his place - another little artist/garage-y place. He asked me if I saw what went down. I told him I didn't see it. But I heard it, and the only thing that I SAW was this blonde chick in motorcycle leathers. And he immediately knew. It was HER. The ex-lover. She saw me, got jealous, threw a brick through the window. For some reason I guess we decided to not call the cops. I think in addition to me being fucked up the neighbor had been doing some drugs and was also fairly intoxicated on some Whiskey. He invited me over because I was pretty shaken up. I told him that I was on acid. He laughed. But then immediately felt bad for me. And was like- fuck- this is becoming a bad trip for you. I was like- yeah man- noshitsherlock. He then poured some Chivas in a shot glass. I downed it. Within about 1 min I started to feel the edge come off a bit, though I was still buzzing but it was just what the Good Dr. ordered.