Alice is Mary Jane's Middle Name

She's a bitch.

Once upon a time, there were two gay boys. Both pretty straight-laced, as descriptions go. But you see, one had a job as a drag engineer. The other was doing his dog-goned best to live a respectable life.

As a drag engineer (HotAss) had the good fortune to encounter lots of types backstage, especially those types who were purveyors of chemical enhancements. And on the occasion in question, HotAss brought home marijuana.

Now, at this point, neither gay boy was a stranger to marijuana. My first smoke was about three or four years earlier, and I had several in between. It was never something I just loved, but it was always an interesting experience.

Now when HotAss brought that solitary joint home that night, we decided to save it for a special occasion. And so it went...in the freezer in a plastic baggie.

It was rare when the two of us had a Saturday night at home. Usually there was a bar involved. But on one particular free Saturday evening, we found ourselves at home. So we watched a movie, Scream, on VHS (that tells you how long ago this was). After it was done, we got the bright idea that tonight, two months later, would be an ideal time to smoke the joint in the freezer. Oh, and why don't we watch Alice in Wonderland, just for shits and giggles.

So we lit up, flicking the ashes in the giant zodiac ashtray, just as the movie started.

Life was good, as we proceeded the first 30 minutes of the movie. And then there was the part that still unsettles me.

There's the vignette about the Walrus and the Carpenter. It's about desire and their desire for the young oysters. Somehow during the course of this tell-tale story, I found it to be so captivating, that each second found me closer and closer to the TV screen. Just prior to the Walrus and the Carpenter devouring the baby oysters, I was on my knees in front of the TV screen with tears streaming down my face.

I had a moment of clarity and turned to HotAss.

"I've really fucked up now."

HotAss laughed uncontrollably.

For the next what seemed like four hours, HotAss placed his hands on my shoulders and we walked in circles, puncutated by his question. "Where are you?"

I don't know where I was. I was tripping backwards through my mind. And it was more than just a little scary. It was 911 scary.

When he felt comfortable to lay me in the dining room floor, HotAss called our resident expert, who arrived with the sage advice.

"Put him in a cold shower. He'll be fine."

I took a shower, and remarkably, I felt fine afterward. But I sore off Mary Jane for several years. At least until recently.

The next day, I went to my part-time job at This Disney Store, and prayed that Alice in Wonderland wasnt' playing on the big screen.