I have two sides to myself.
One is the stoner life of the party and one is the designated sober driver.
I used to think that leading a “correct” life means leading the boring ascetic life of the designated driver. Of leaving all the ways of the world, losing one’s excesses, wearing hemp and singing kumbaya and telling people “don’t do drugs”.
I think this artificial sainthood void of authentic laughter with hallow repetitions of 108 “Oms” and 25 “Hail Mary”s (done both) is no better than unfettered hedonism or military discipline.
And that life of the party, like ego, the insecure self important drama queen, the catty and confused indecisive bitch, inspite of its many faults – can never be accused of being boring. And no matter how we try, the ego is here to stay.
So, instead of being a self righteous goody two shoes, I make friends with my inner bad girl. I acknowledge that it is there and yes, i have great fun with the troubles it gets me into
But like a wiser and older drunk, I now acknowledge my limit.
If I go beyond 2 puffs of spliff, I aint leaving the house to party.
And 3 times beyond the coughing limit, i will go transcendental.
So yes, I will not ask us ladies to deny ourselves of sic clothes, foodfests or your drug of choice.
But, for the love of drugs, let us know our limits.
Because at the rate that we have gone, that party ho has put all the kids on a school bus, set it on fire and is driving it off the cliff. It is time to heed our inner designated sober driver, sit Ms Stoner Partypants down and tell her-
“bitch- you gotta know your limit”
And this blog will discuss our limit on how we can have fun without setting the bus on fire.
Let’s do this.