My Thirty seventh birthday was, arguably, the worst. All I wanted was my pineapple upside-down cake and to stay stoned all day while playing some tunes with friends. Our “friend” D. had bought the last quarter from under us. I asked if he would flip us an eighth, or just a few grams. He said no, but that he would keep me baked all day. OK. Works for me.
He did not come over until afternoon, and that was fine. After he arrived, he proceeded to smoke one bowl with us, then said, “I’m going to hang out with B.” (his girlfriend). Still ok. I was under the impression he would return later in the evening. P. And C. showed up because D. had told them he’d be here. As the evening progressed, H. and I became more and more angry. H. was all over the place bitching about this and that. “He always has to go run around with B. He’s got people over waiting over here for two hours,” and the like. I said I don’t give a fuck if he hangs around with his girlfriend. I don’t even really mind the company (though it was quite rude to expect us to entertain his guests at our house for two hours while they waited). I was upset that he said he would make my birthday happy, then failed to do so, and my day was ruined. When he arrived after midnight, needless to say we were all pretty put off and irritated. I had just given up and gone to bed. The guys said, “Come out here”. NO! EVERYONE WHO DOESN’T LIVE HERE NEEDS TO GET THE FUCK OUT! “Come on out, we’re loading a bowl.” NO! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE ME IF I DO! “Come on.” Whatever. I got up and went to the living room. The bowl made one full rotation. When it made its way to me, I proceeded to smoke the rest of it by myself, defiantly challenging someone to say something with my eyes. Go ahead. Give me a reason. A bratty move, I know, but I felt righteous as I had been mistreated. Plus, I was legit trying to calm down. No one said anything. I had smoked so quickly that my utilitarian metal pipe was hot all the way to the mouthpiece. I was so wound that the herb had had no effect. H. Asked D., “Want to load another one?”. “Not if she’s gonna sit there and smoke it all.” THAT’S IT! EVERYONE WHO DOESN’T LIVE HERE GET THE FUCK OUT!!! The room exchanged uncomfortable looks, then the guests shuffled out without further communication. Bye, Felicia.