Wonderland Burlesque's Let's All Go To The Movies: Just Say 'No' Edition, Part I

Wonderland Burlesque's

Let's All Go To The Movies

Just Say 'No' Edition, Part I

Oh, the dangers of drugs! Has anything ever been so exclamation point worthy? 

These kids these days, I tells ya... all hopped up on the Mary Jane, seeing pink elephants and putting babies in the oven. Tsk. Tsk.

And so, faced with yet another exploitable crisis, this great nation of ours turned to that bastion of moral fiber and fortitude... HOLLYWOOD. 

Only since the birth of the golden arches has there ever been another sign bringing us such salvation. 

Yes. Repent! Renounce your wicked, wicked ways. Put down that pipe. Lay down your rolling papers. Sniff not the devil's dandruff. 

Heed the warnings and adhere to the golden path that leads to eternal redemption. This? This is not a war on drugs. This is a war for your very soul. 

Let us now turn to the silver screen and learn the lessons it has to impart. 

Marihuana

"Daring drug expose! Horror, shame, despair!"

"Weed with roots in hell."

"Weird orgies. Wild parties. Unleashed passions!"

(Hmm. Truth be told, I think all orgies are a bit weird.)

"Adults only!"

"Exposed!"

"Divulging heretofore unheard of orgies of youths dissipation ."

"Sensational! Daring! Bold!"

(Exclamation points! No shortage!)

Assassin Of Youth

(Marihuana)

"Marihuana. A puff - a party - a tragedy."

"Wild-mad thrills."

"Reefer."

(Well, as long as everybody gets their cookies at the end of the night...)

Reefer Madness

"Adults only!"

"The sweet pill that makes life bitter!"

"Women cry for it - men die for it!"

"Drug-crazed abandon."

"See: Youthful marihuana victims. What actually happens!"

(This one speaks for itself! Such a classic.)

"The National Organization for the Reform of Marihuana."

"Wake up America! Here's a roadside weed that fast becoming a national high-way!"

"Marijuana: weed from the devil's garden!"

"One moment of bliss - a lifetime of regret!"

"Hunting a thrill, they inhaled a drag of concentrated sin!"

(One moment of bliss, a lifetime of regret? Hmm. That could apply to a lot of things in my life.)

"America's newest narcotic menace."

"A puff of smoke started her on the way!"

"The deadly scourge that drags our children into the quagmires of degradation. Your child will be next!"

(These days, a little THC is the least of most parents' worries.)

"Public enemy no. 1"

"A daring theme!"

Maryjane

"Marijuana at issue. Harsh laws challenge. Attacked within government."

"Does 'grass' have therapeutic value?"

"Professor asserts: Youth confused over marijuana debate."

"Marijuana's mythical effects."

"Should we legalize 'pot'?"

"Marijuana: Euphoria or crutch?"

(Former heartthrob Fabian and Patty McCormack!)

"It is illegal to possess maryjane!"

"Yet it is found in every high school corridor!"

"The shocking facts behind the marijuana controversy."

(Well, not the corridors, more like the boys bathroom near the cafeteria.)

(I was aware of it, but never interested.)

"Five kids smoked this. Two are in the hospital, one is in jail, and the others have blown their minds!"

"Recommended as adult entertainment."

(What blows my mind is that Patty McCormack (The Bad Seed) is in this!)

The Devil's Weed

"Exposing the tragic truth of the marihuana menace!"

(Lila Leeds was an actress who was famously arrested with Robert Mitchum for marijuana possession. While in jail she took up heroine. Mitchum's career recovered. Hers never did.)

"It rips the veil of secrecy from marijuana smokers!"

"Lila Leeds' own story."

"Learn facts! Hear truths! From the girl who knows!"

(I'll have you know it's actually very difficult to smoke while wearing a veil.)

Devil's Harvest

"A fifth column sowing destruction in the youth of America."

"A good girl until she lights a reefer."

"The truth about marijuana, the smoke of hell!"

(Had to look this up: "fifth column: a clandestine group or faction of subversive agents who attempt to undermine a nation's solidarity by any means at their disposal." Huh. That sounds a lot like...)

"A vicious racket with its arms around your children!"

"Sin. Degradation. Vice. Insanity. Debauchery." 

"Repent or perish!"

(They say the same things about a weekend stay at Mara Lago.)

Cocaine

"Strips the soul bare. Inflames the senses. Bold. Revealing. True."

"The thrill that kills."

"This picture is a lesson for every teen-ager and a waring for every parent!"

"This picture is definitely not recommended for children."

"Timely as today's headlines." 

(So...I have never done it. Never had access to it. Have never been offered it. Which, considering all I have been exposed to in my lifetime, seems pretty amazing. Maybe it's because it is expensive? I haven't had many wealthy friends and those I have, not the type to do cocaine.)

The Cocaine Fiends

"The white dust from hell!"

"Degradation. Sin."

"Crime! Suicide! Prostitution!"

(In other words, like marijuana, but without the vice and insanity?)

Narcotic

(That looks to be a very upscale shooting gallery.)

 

(In French, no less! Great poster.)

The Narcotic Story

"Strips the gloss and mystery from the sordid depravity of the living death!"

"Scene after scalding scene never before depicted on the living motion picture screen."

(Yes, well, personally, I prefer all my scalding scenes to take place in restaurants, bars, or the privacy of my own home.)

--- ---

That's all we have time for this week. 

Tune in next week!

Same time! Same channel!

It's Intermission Time!

Weekend Onesie: Why Sleepwalk When You Can Drive?

Weekend Onesie: 

Why Sleepwalk When You Can Drive?

Two Sundays ago I made a nearly fatal mistake.

After leaving the boyfriends' at 5:30 pm, I decide to check on my beloved prairie to make sure that plastic tarps, which had been part of the winter activities there, have been removed as promised.

It is grey, slightly windy and it has been sprinkling, but I am determined. I also have a bit of a headache. Seasonal allergies? So, before heading down the trail to the prairie, I reach in my bag and come up with my handy pill container. This plastic divided container had accompanied me on my European trip in 2019 and had proven quite handy, so I keep it in my bag on-going. I pop open one of the pods and take two pills I believe are aspirin.

Once in my mouth, I think, 'Strange. Tastes like soap.' I shrug it off, thinking that perhaps they've been in the container too long.

I make my way to the prairie and sure enough, the tarps, as promised, are gone. But then, so is my sense of balance. I feel odd. Sinking.

Suddenly, I'm strangely tired, although, in truth, I simply feel as if I'm becoming detached from the world around me. I think... I have to get home. But there isn't a sense of urgency. Anxiety is no where to be found.

I don't remember getting back to my car. I do remember starting the car and thinking, I will be home in ten minutes. 

That was at about 6:20 pm.

I don't get home until 9:45 pm.

I have no idea where I went. But I was driving almost the whole time. I even got on I-94 at some point.

And I recall finding a park, stopping and trying to use my phone to ask for directions home. The park is somewhere southeast of the cities - in the middle of nowhere. I recall a farm field abutting the park, so I know I drove a long way. Next thing I know, I'm downtown St. Paul. The car kills several times, due to the fact that I'm having difficulty coordinating the clutch and gas pedal. I make a conscious choice to pull over and park. It's on a one-way street and I park between two signs that make it clear... do not park here. But I do, getting out of the car to scrutinize the signs. My attention is then drawn across the street to what I think is a bearded man wearing a gigantic lime green fake fur coat and a funny hat, like a Cat In The Hat hat. He is standing in front of what appears to be the entrance to a military bunker. There are no windows.

I remember being ushered inside. Once there I notice the dull brown carpet which appears to have been trod to death and never vacuumed. There are coins in/on the carpet and as I set my bag down I am tempted to say... 'Oh, look, I've dropped all the change out of my bag!' - because, for some reason, I really want those coins. I look down the room to a kitchen that is nothing but cupboards, all very tall. The ceiling is very tall, I can't even see it and the room just fades to black as I look past the kitchen. It feels like a hallway. There are no windows. I turn to my right and the man in the coat is sitting on something that looks like a gigantic crunched up brown grocery bag. I think it's his bed.

I remember looking for my little sex bag, only to find that it is already sitting at the foot of the giant crunched up brown grocery bag. As I reach for it, the man tells me that it is late and that he hasn't eaten. Next thing I know, I am getting into my car. I use my phone to Google directions.

I don't remember driving home, but I do remember reaching the street to the east of ours, knowing I was going to make it home. I creep down the alley and get into the garage.

My ex is there. He asks if I am alright. I remember going downstairs and doing my usual key check. My car keys are missing. I think I left them in the car. I go out and realize that the side door to the garage is locked... and the key to open it is connected to my car key. My spare car key is on the back of the door in the kitchen. I get it and head out. Sure enough, my car keys are sitting next to the emergency break.

I get back into the house and the ex is upset. It turns out I went outside in my underwear. He asks what I am doing and, later I learn, I threw my spare key to him and then returned to my bunker.

I slept heavily. And in the morning, I am very happy, until I start to realize I don't really know what I did the previous night.

It turns out that those pills were not aspirin. For my trip in 2019, I remember having brought generic Ambien with me, two tablets - one for the flight to Europe and one for the return trip. I did take something on the plane, but never fell asleep during either flight - which I thought odd at the time - Ambien typically works well for me.

Well, apparently, I had taken the aspirin on those flights to and from Europe.

And two Sundays ago, when I had a headache? That's when I took the Ambien. Both of them. At the same time.

With this realization comes a wave of horror. I can't believe what I have done. I drove in that condition - for hours. Think of all the lives I put at risk... including my own. If you ask me? I will tell you I am not that great of a driver. That's one of the reasons I do not like to drive. How in the world did I tool around the metro area for three hours without causing an accident? How did I avoid detection? How many motorists did I piss off or scare to death? How is it the cops didn't pull me over?

I talk to the ex about what happened. He says I was was simply acting very strange.

I look through the black hole I call a bag and nothing is missing. I run to my car and check it for damage or signs of impact. It's fine.

I spend the whole day trying to wrap my head around what happened. That night, as I'm trying to fall asleep I rise with a jolt... what if I am actually dead and my brain simply hasn't accepted the fact? That keeps me up most of the night. At one point I start to cry because I don't want to be dead. I don't want to 'pretend' live. And then, the more I think about, my position moves to... so what? I'm dead. If this is dead, it's not bad. At least the bed is nice.

It takes me until the end of that Wednesday to start to feel okay.

--- ---

I just Googled 'weird things people do on Ambien' and found this immediately:

"However, it also comes with a host of known side effects, including decreased awareness, hallucinations, changes in behavior, memory problems, sleepwalking, sleep eating (and cooking), and even sleep driving. In fact, Ambien has become rather notorious for its weird and wacky side effects."

My new prescription for generic Ambien has a shape to it, so I can differentiate it from other pills. I rarely take it and I have certainly never taken it by accident. 

Enough time has passed so when I think about what happened and what could have happened... I'm only overcome my a small rush of anxiety. 

I still have no idea what happened. 

I am pretty sure I am not dead.

But if I was a cat? I'm pretty sure I just used up another one of my lives.

And, if I've kept track correctly? 

That means I have two left.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Sleepwalker - Adam Lambert

My Battle With Zoloft

I was away. Now I'm back. Back to tell you about my battle with Zoloft.

Spoiler alert: I win.

I know why I went on anti-depressants. My work situation had become intolerable – too much pressure to conform and a very unsympathetic manager who accused me of having a chip on my shoulder. I didn’t. He did. After a bit of nastiness where I said a few things I shouldn’t have and probably louder than I should have, I was called into HR. HR informed me that my behavior was questionable and objectionable. I hung my head and signed their pieces of paper. Then I went to my physician of 5 years, told him the story and asked to be put on ‘something’. His first stab at ‘something’ was Prozac. I took it for six months. Stories about how dreadful Prozac in the long run began to circulate. I quit Prozac. Cold turkey. For four weeks it was like being in a stop/start claymation film where the lead character gets zapped by electricity every once in awhile. I felt like the floor was falling away from under me. But I made it. And I felt good. I got a new manager placed between me and the horrible man I had worked with before. She liked me and stood up for me. Life was good.

Then I got stuck in an elevator at work. For about 45 minutes. I was cool the entire time I was actually stuck. Then the repairman came and lowered me down to safety. I got off. A security guard I know was there. He asked if I was okay. I laughed and said… no problem. Then the elevator repairman stood very close to me – face-to-face and began to tell me how I could easily I could have gotten killed (on the way down I pulled the doors apart about an inch so I could hear them better and get some air). He was standing too close and his affect was a bit shaming – I went off on him. Big time. I stormed away – scared out of my mind. My mind was racing and so was my heart.

I got back to my desk. The security guard came and asked if I was alright. I laughed. He laughed. I thought nothing more of it. Until a month later when I got called in by HR. The HR rep said that there had been an incident. I laughed and explained what happened. End of meeting. Or so I thought. But no… I was written up for it. So I went back to my physician explained what had happened and how desperate I was to conform. That’s when I got sent to his psychiatrist who then put me on Zoloft. With each additional disagreement at work… up went that dose. I spent five years on the max dose. I thought – it’s working! But I kept having less-than-acceptable experiences at work.

I finally had to leave that job after 6 years. Then for the next year and half I struggled in another horrible situation… with another clueless, horrible manager supported by a non-existent HR department – history wasn’t just repeating itself – it was getting worse. So I quit the day after Christmas. Soon, because I was home all the time while looking for another position, I began to notice just how odd my behavior had become. I should have been paying more attention to what my friends were saying to me, and in particular my best friend, Tony.

I wouldn’t go out socially – much.
I would never initiate a social event or gathering.
I wouldn’t answer the phone – even with caller I.D., whether I knew the person or not.
I watched a lot of television – in fact my life was regimented accordingly.
I’d stopped exercising and running – more so since my bike accident the previous summer – to the point of none at all.
I’d sit in the dark all the time. Complaining loudly when lights were on ‘for no reason’.
I overate at almost every meal and snacked non-stop. (Why I didn’t gain more weight than I did is amazing to me. Perhaps it was because I was also incredibly obsessed with weighing myself).
I stopped washing my own clothes.
I stopped deep cleaning. If it was tidy, I was happy.
I collected and stored more and more stuff.
I never cried. My grandmother died. I didn’t cry. Never. No tears.
I would waste incredible amounts of time doing nothing. Sitting in a car. In a parking lot. Staring. For hours.
I’d nap. When I could take no more, do no more, eat no more – I would take refuge in sleep. And dream vividly.

I was sleeping my life away.

Now – keep in mind that I was active before this time. Working full-time, running 2-3 miles M-F (until bike accident), biking (until bike accident), going to college full-time on the weekends, writing music and lyrics, keeping family obligations – and I even managed to mount a musical I wrote and take it to both the Kansas City and Minnesota Fringe Festival.

So, maybe I had reason to be tired. But not THAT tired.

I weaned myself off Zoloft under the guidance of my new physician. She gave me a new prescription for another drug.

I never filled it.

Guess what? I came alive again. I had energy. I had focus. I laughed. And I cried! Initially it all felt like… oops, here we go again – Manic Michael. But then it began to sink in, like your body does when hitting a welcoming bed. I was excited again. About everything.

So my life is perfect now? No. It wasn’t before Zoloft or Prozac, either.

I do more, worry less, and have come to accept myself. I will no longer try to warp myself into someone I am not – not for money, or security or for the sake of having a job.

Very slowly, I’m regaining parts of myself I had let go… come the dawn of summer – I should have everything I need and want again – exercise, friends, social occasions, laughter, the outdoors, a really clean house, empty storage space, etc.

And me. That person I used to like a lot.

Now, when I go to work, I bring with me the most important thing I can...

Me.

Next: The failure of the HR movement in corporate America.