Too Bad I Threw Out My Bong
I am lamenting the loss of my bong. I haven’t thought about my bong in years but after this past gun-shot laden anxiety filled week, I wish she were here.
I wonder where she is now, Miss Bong-ette, my Bong-ita, that special Bong-ini. What is she doing? Is she in a landfill? Is she happy? Does she miss me? I miss her.
After a week of nonsense in the neighborhood, I am a bit on edge.
Blowing Stuff Up
To add insult to injury (aforementioned nonsense), the kids in the neighborhood have taken it upon themselves to designate the last 7 days as: Let’s Blow Stuff Up Week.
I wish the ankle biting crumb snatchers would have sent me a damn memo about their fire cracker and wrist rocket escapades. Damn Giggle Killing Bastards. Maybe the memo is in my spam folder. Lemme go check.
I think perhaps some marijuana pranayama might help. Pranayama is a Sanskrit word meaning “breath control”. Yoga (the asana kind and the laughter kind) is ALL about breath control.
Breath control calms the nerves. So does ganga the green herb. Why not mix them together? Isn’t that double relaxation?
Inhale. HOLD IT. Exhale.
You get the idea. If not, watch my Whoopie Cushion pranayama video and you’ll get the gist quick.
Word in the local Delaware paper is that medical hooch might be legal soon anyway. Why not speed up the process to benefit me?
It IS all about me (and Rosie), isn’t it?
I can see it now – Um, can I get a prescription from the mayor and the Wilmington Police Department to smoke dope?
Isn’t gun related anxiety a serious medical condition? I think so. Hell, even Bill Clinton inhaled so it can’t be wrong, right?
I can’t help but laugh at the irony here (and I still have my sense of humor). I spent so many years depressed and wanting to disappear off the planet and now…I am afraid to get shot! Didn’t Alanis (I hate her) Morrisette write a song about that?
Giving Up my Favorite Fantasy
Aside from being on shell-shock urban edge from the gun play, my intuitive consultant friend (ok, she’s a psychic) told me I need to eliminate my “winning the lottery fantasy” because it’s stunting my spiritual growth (my words, not hers).
Apparently my lottery fantasy fuels an unhealthy relationship with money. Damn it. I LOVE that fantasy. It was right up there with thin thighs, a clear complexion and a home outside of a gun zone.
Will marijuana pranayama help take the edge off a gun-shy Christa?
I know I previously posted that Beer, Bong Hits and Candy Bars are mechanisms to escape and generally, they don’t work. But, in light of the circumstances, is that so wrong? A little escapism? Or, am I just weak and making pathetic excuses to rescue my bong from the landfill and practice stress-relief marijuana pranayama?
Coming next: Report on my Laughter Yoga Demo (and explanation of Brazilian Bikini Wax Laughter)
Special thanks to SBH for reminding me to keep it real. Giggle ON!