Brier Patch Blog #3 LSD…WOWEE!

Barbara of Homosassa Springs, Florida was chosen last week’s $25 winner, having the correct answer, Vaginal contractions & orgasms.

LSD … WOWEE!

Before introducing wife number one or two (with whom things got really crazy), here’s another earlier adventure with Fran.

While I was living in the suburbs, raising a family with wife number one (she’ll be in later blogs), the country was in a whirl.

Antiwar rallies, sit-ins, the free-speech movement, the feminist movement, the pill (learned about that one a little late), and Harvard professor, Timothy Leary, telling the world to Turn On and Tune In.

Fran was not a druggie, but she had dropped acid. Not only had I not done acid, I had not done much of anything. I was like the guy who goes into a bar and the next thing he knows he’s in Hong Kong with a two-foot beard.

But I was catching up with the world, and since I’d already led a nude workshop and participated in a sex study, I thought, drop acid? Why the hell not!

There are two kinds of acid trips. Good ones and bad ones. Mine was the latter.

Tripping isn’t cool if you’re schizophrenic, or think jumping off roofs is akin to flying, or have a deep fear of the unknown. Like me.

“All set,” I told Fran, and patted that little tab in my shirt pocket.

Malibu Beach

Our plan was to rent a motel room on the beach and blow our minds. Run sand through our fingers and marvel at every grain.

In those days you always inspected the motel room before committing to it, and this one was dingy, dirty, and above all—depressing.

So back to Fran’s house it was. Lots of things to groove on there. The blinking light on her answering machine, the sound of moving air molecules—the evaporation of a water drop.

I slid in behind the wheel. “Let’s turn on now, before we go. Give things time to kick in.”

I carefully unwrapped our precious wafer-thin tab, the size of a small fingernail, and put it on the dashboard. With a razorblade across the middle, I pressed, and … half went flying.

“Don’t move!”

For ten minutes we sat frozen, our eyes searching.

Finally, there, in Fran’s hair.

Varoom! We were on the road. Soon, everything turned scenic.

My God! The traffic signal’s florescent. Like a black-and-white movie that suddenly switched to dazzling Technicolor.

“Far out,” Fran droned, slipping into appropriate lingo.

The House

I turned on lights, and Fran said, “I’m hungry,” and phoned Pizza Man for delivery.

After grooving on her goldfish with its far out, iridescent colors, I was suddenly struck with the kind of panic you feel when you miss a step on the stairs and know it’s going to be a bouncy ride down. The pizza guy will know we’re on acid and call the cops!

“CANCEL THAT ORDER!”

“No way,” she said. “He’ll be here any minute.”

We’re doomed. Wait!

I ran around turning off lights, muttering, “He’ll go away and we’ll be safe.”

Fran stared at her hand with the fascination of someone who’d never seen it before.

I was seeing it in handcuffs.

“Out of sight,” she droned, still staring at her hands, eyes pulsating.

The doorbell rang.

The Bedroom

I grabbed her arm, dragged her upstairs and yanked back the bed covers. “We’ll be safe under these.”

“Forget that!”

The doorbell got louder.

“We’ve got to hide!” I told her, holding back panic. “Dammit! You’re being irrational.”

When the guy finally gave up and left, I discovered that my “hour” of terror, while huddled under the covers and being tortured with non-stop doorbell ringing, had been only two (never to be repeated) minutes.

Being really pissed, Fran went in the bathroom and slammed the door.

I followed her. She was opening her bottle of nightly sleeping pills. “You can’t mix drugs,” I yelled. “You’ll OD and die!”

“Go back under the covers.”

“No!” I shouted and threw the jar out the window.

I climbed into bed and remembered something else Timothy Leary said. “You never come down. You only readjust.”

IF YOU’RE ENJOYING these goofy blogs, share with friends. There’s a new one each week (until I run out of drugs, girlfriends, and wives).

Me (actual photo).

 

Next Week:

Two Amazing Women …

Which To Choose?

Part 1