Isn't "Road to Recovery" A Bing Crosby Movie?

There were six 'Road' movies and are a picnic of classic movie making. The seventh: The Road to Hong Kong, is like ants at that picnic. Legend has it Bing Crosby (59) felt Joan Collins(28) was a better pick for a chick than talented Dorothy Lamour (48). Bob Hope refused to do the film until Lamour was hired, and she appears at the end of the film. 
The script for an eighth film, The Road to the Fountain of Youth had been completed when Bing died of a heart attack. You can all read into the irony with a title like that.

Some roads don't always lead to exotic lands or fountains of youth.  Some people find themselves on a road and want to change lanes,  change directions, or look for the next exit. It's always about choices, and you don't have to tell this Libra how hard it is to do that. I struggle with what road to take everyday, maybe you do too.

I received a donations request a few weeks back from fellow writer and friend Sam who is on his 'Road to Recovery'. I can tell you the request was sincere. The organization he chose, Reunion, is a legitimate, respected treatment center in San Diego.

Perhaps you can contribute. Perhaps you want to learn more about 'recovery'. Perhaps you lost a friend or family member and the cause was attributed to--or a direct result of-an addiction.

This link will take you to "The Road to Recovery" which is Sam's personal request for donations via a third party fundraising site.

www.gofundme/roadtorecovery

I encourage people to follow their dreams and travel new roads. I respect those who are on a tough road, and choose to change lanes. Finding help to support that change isn't easy either: it's another road, another journey.

By the way, when asked by an aspiring actor how to get into Hollywood, wise and wry Bette Davis replied: "Take Fountain"
(Fountain Avenue is an east/west road between Sunset and La Cienega Boulevards, and considered a quicker route into the Hollywood area)

A Scary Story for a Pre-Summer Night

*This post first appeared on 5/26/2012 at www.nastykinkpigs.com under the same title. Due to ongoing system upgrades at NKP and other technical challenges, the original post was unable to be properly formatted and thus difficult to read. Thank you for your patience.


I still find it incomprehensible that this story happened. And yet, it did.

It was Memorial Day weekend, 2007. My pal Joe from Arizona was going to be the house guest of a couple I had become friendly with. We had all met on ICU2.  I enjoyed the couple, Bob and Jacques very much. Bob was about my age, Jacques was  younger and Joe was in his late 30's., Jacques and Bob lived not in West Hollywood, nor in Silver Lake, but on the 'backside of Malibu' off the 101 towards Ventura. 

Joe and I were to have dinner Friday night, but he got an early flight in from Phoenix and I had to work late. His plans for the weekend, he'd told me was to kick back, party hearty and have fun. The fact he didn't call meant he was already at Bob and Jacques', and a good time was already in gear. 

Saturday morning was another work day for me. Around 10 AM Bob called me.
"There's someone here who'd like to have you for dessert tonight." 

I replied in my usual sarcastic style, "There's someone I would have liked to have had dinner with last night, but he stood me up." 

"Oh, don't be a bitch, bitch"
I wasn't sure what time I'd be done with work, so the call ended in a very tentative mode. As it happened, a church pal had an emergency and needed someone to serve as Lector that night at mass. I could do that and head out to Thousand Oaks after. 

I had no sooner hung up the phone confirming taking the Lector slot at Mass when I got a text: 

Joe freaked out, jumped off the patio and ran into the hills! Help!" 

I stared at the message, and called Bob. For no reason at all, Joe suddenly accused Bob of planning to kill him....yes, you read that right. 

Being a journalist, I pressed hard with the questions and found that Joe had taken, or perhaps was given without his knowledge, some G. Rumors had circulated for years that Bob did this, in the spirit of encouraging others to expand their limits, but having partied there myself dozens of times, I had seen no evidence of that. 
“We didn't do that much." Bob said meekly, as if reading my mind.

"Don't you think you should call the police?" I said, rather than pursue what constituted 'that much'.

"Hell, no. The police aren't coming on my property: no way."

We were silent for a moment. 

Bob said, “So, come on out. We can barbaque." As if the last five minutes hadn't happened. As if Joe wasn’t missing.

“Find your house guest first. I'll check back later."  

I began to worry. Joe was a smart man, polite, not prone to paranoia. He wouldn't have left unless he was scared, very scared. On the other hand, nothing about Jacques and Bob had ever seemed odd. They fit into suburban life like the married couple they were.

After Mass I called: no Joe. It was getting dark and chilly and there were a lot of places Joe could have gone.  According to Bob, Joe had left wearing Bob's gym shorts and nothing else. Bob is 5'7 and weighs 240. Joe is 6'3 and weighs 150. The more information I was getting, the sicker I was to my stomach. 

Again, Bob invited me out to point and play. "We'll have lots of fun."

"Find Joe!" 

Sunday at sunrise, on 2 hours sleep, I walked to my local cafe, had some breakfast, and called for an update. Joe had not returned. He had been gone 18 hours.

 My patience with the situation was running out of steam.. "You have to call the police and report him missing. This isn't a game, Bob."

"I'm not responsible for a fag tweaker who can't handle his drugs!"  

Then, sweetly, "Come out for breakfast."

 I hung up on him.. I couldn't believe anyone could be so heartless, high or not. I felt he was responsible because Joe was his guest.

I waited a bit, then texted Jacques and asked him to make some excuse to go outside and call me. Jacques does not slam: his smoking is a half-hearted way to entertain Bob. He was Joe's only hope. 

I pleaded with Jacques to call the police. His version of the incident was a paraphrase of what Bob had said. 
He didn't hear or see anything out of the ordinary. He was not eager to disobey Bob's wishes though.
I whispered in my best low voice to Jacques ear that if he didn't call the cops, I would. 

 "And I will make so many disgusting, depraved and foul charges against you two, you'll be lucky if the foundation of your house is still intact when the SWAT teams are done ripping this place apart

" 

There was silence on the other end.  

I played the only card I had left. "Remember, I know Bill Bratton. I see him every Sunday. The chief of police won't like his breakfast interrupted." I hoped that I sounded nuts enough that Jacques would forget that they lived outside of the LAPD's jurisdiction. 

Jacques agreed to call.  I thanked him. 

The day dragged on. Being a man who knows a lot of people, I next called an esteemed doctor friend in NYC and gave him the details. He said, rather matter of factly:  "You're over-reacting. Because you are a writer, your mind creates the most outlandish plots that have no basis in reality. The scenarios you describe are best re-visited on the late late show. Joe probably was embarrassed and went back to Phoenix."

"By foot?" I answered, wishing that I called for a general practitioner's opinion, not Sigmund Freud's.

"Send him an email or a Skype message. He'll call you I'm sure."

I did both. And waited. I stopped returning Bob's calls: now wanting to know if I'd heard from Joe.

At 8PM Sunday night, I logged into Skype.  I saw the green 'online' symbol appear beside Joe's name, but before I could send him an Instant Message he had logged out. I started to call his cell, and realized his phone was at Bob's.

At 1145PM, I got a call from the 480 area code. Scottsdale, AZ.  I held my breath.

"Hi, My name is Alice Longview and I'm Joe Nelson's sister. He didn't show up at the airport today: we can't get him on his phone, the people he's staying with hung up on us, and he has work tomorrow. We're very worried. We hacked into his email account and saw your message."

The worst case scenario was unfolding rapidly. I did my best to calm Alice. I gave her Bob's cell, Jacques' cell, and their emails. I gave her the number of the police department.  She was flying in from Phoenix the next morning to find her brother, she said, and she wouldn't stop until she found him.  She had also called the police and all hospitals in the area.

I have no family. I wondered who would miss me should I disappear into the hills some afternoon and not come back.

At noon on Monday, Memorial Day 2007, Alice called me. Joe had been found, on the other side of the hills and 25 miles from Bob's. He was in the hospital.  The prognosis wasn't good. Alice asked if I would collect her brother's things from Jacques and Bob and bring them to the hospital. She had gotten a voice mail from one of them saying they didn’t know where he was, had called the police and to stop bothering them.
 I called Bob at work.
"Oh, thank you sweet Jesus," his voice cracking. It was a relatively convincing performance if you'd just tuned into the story. "Can we go see him?"

"Things aren't looking good, Bob. Make sure Jacques is home this afternoon. I need to get Joe's luggage and take it to his family."

At the lovely home I'd played at so many times  the pool, hot tub and panoramic view of the hills looked just as peaceful as always.  As he handed me Joe's bag and cell phone with its 75 missed calls, Jacques informed me that 'Bob removed all the drugs to keep Joe from getting into trouble.' How thoughtful. 

Jacques had no further insight as to what went wrong, and I thanked him again for making the call that quite possibly saved another man's life.

At the hospital, Alice was at the pocket park as planned. Having come from work, I thought I looked more like a doctor in my three piece suit and horn-rim glasses. Along with Joe's bag, I gave Alice a card for him and a Mass card for her. "Could I see him?' I asked.

"Absolutely not." 

My first thought was Joe was dead and I'd been set up. Seeing Joe's lover appear didn't help change my mind either. He never cared for me, probably because I called him Granddaddy once too often . And now he was walking up the sidewalk, dressed in black, glaring at me. 

Then, from behind the grassy knoll, carrying a notebook computer, a very tall, very handsome, very pissed off younger version of Joe came over. Positioning himself on the slope so that my eyes were level with his flat stomach, he pushed his index finger into my chest. The big bully.

"I'm Tom Nelson. We have some questions and we want you to answer them."

"I'll tell you anything that I can, Mr. Nelson, but kindly remove your finger from my chest.  I have nothing to hide."  I was so very glad I hadn't gone to Jacques and Bob's for the holiday. Not to dismiss what happened to Joe, or the serious predicament that I had gotten myself-guilt by association as well as being the only contact they had, it was clear I was viewed as the enemy. Maybe the Nelsons had watched a few too many of those 'ripped from the headlines' crime shows, because that's how it felt.

"We think our brother was given a date rape drug. What do you have to say about that?"

"You'd have to ask his hosts."

"It appears something was injected against his will.... with more drugs... that made him....go crazy."

The questions continued at me from Alice and Tom while Grandpappy looked ready for his big scene at Julia Roberts' funeral in Steel Magnolias. And every question was followed by 'What do you have to say about this?' 

I so very much wanted to reply, "Could you call this number in Manhattan? A doctor friend thinks I have an overactive imagination. I'd like you to set him straight." I was so pissed.

"I will do whatever I can, but you have to talk to Bob and Jacques. I was not there." After looking at my driver’s license to verify my identity, I was allowed to leave-but with a warning not to try to contact Joe. But if they had further questions, they would call me. 
Good deeds rarely go unpunished, and neither of them had thanked me. In my heart I knew Joe was dead. They were lying to me. I walked back to my car, locked the doors, put my head on the steering wheel and cried.

 ***** Joe was not dead, but severely dehydrated, in shock, with a broken leg, arm, frostbite on his feet and various facial contusions. He remembered nothing of what happened, and I honored his family's wishes and did not contact him. I felt responsible in a way, but had I been there, it might have been worse. 

Bob lost his job soon after that...karmic debt, in my opinion.  And yet, he couldn't grasp why I declined all future invites to play, did not add him as a Facebook friend, LinkedIn contact, would not serve as a reference for work and stopped returning his calls. 

If you can't handle your drugs of choice, don't do them. If your host tries to expand your limits without your ok...get the fuck out of their home quickly. If your house guest flips out, please call the police. They can handle the situation better than you. 

The failure to handle a crisis makes everyone of us guilty. Controlling the damage responsibly and honestly benefits all of us. Before you hook up at 3am with a stranger from the internet, or get ready to point and shoot with regular fuckbuddies, look in the mirror and ask yourself: if something goes wrong, what would you do? 

 
You may be saving your own life.

Weekend's End

...it poured rain all day Saturday, heavy, hard, and I had to go out in the middle of it as I'd not done my errands Friday. Woodsy and Norman were armed with four sharps containers to drop off at a Walgreen's in the Desert for recycling:  I've had those under the counter for 2 years now. I refuse to go to a needle exchange....simple as that is to do. It's making a statement I don't want to deal with.

Last night they came back, and while I'd not planned to see them: Woodsy had made it clear than he wouldn't commit to anything but last Thursday's dinner, nor did I want to rain on his parade and weasel myself into their plans. But Norman called and asked if I'd eaten dinner. I hadn't, so we went out for spaghetti.  We had a quick, delicious supper and I walked them to their car. I didn't cry, I didn't make a scene. I just said goodbye.

Then I went upstairs and went on a binge. I cammed most of the night away, taking a few breaks but mostly roaming cyberspace: lonesome, depressed, and empty.  I had five minutes alone with Woodsy and that was it. Well, what would I have done if I'd had five hours?

They are now gone, and I somehow need to get back to my life. I have a substance abuse problem that is keeping me from moving ahead, and any stress literally unnerves me.

I am so happy for Woodsy. I am not though, unhappy about my life. I can only start fresh tomorrow. I have dinner plans tomorrow night, a trip to Long Beach Friday and perhaps a date Friday night.

I'm moving forward.

I Thought It Was Skinny & Sweet!

It was about a year and a few months back when this news traveled by smoke signals and tom-tom swift as a Santa Ana wind in Los Angeles. A group of hot men gathered for a night of heavy partying, including, it was said speedballing. One man died, but the others failed to notice he was dead....for 12 hours. 

When they figured it out, the did what I suppose any one might do, except you or me: they took his wallet, car and went on a shopping spree either in Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, or cyberspace  depending on your taste in fraud, using HIS credit cards. Think about that at your next after-hours Lions Club meeting.

Speedballing, I learned is the combination of Cocaine and Heroin: a high and a downer that when injected, and combine can cause, I'm told a really freaky state of mind...if you don't die first. We could ask John Belushi, River Phoenix, Chris Farley, Jean-Michel Basquiat, or porn star Joey Stefano...if we had a Ouija Board. All were casualties of speedballs. Dangerous combinations.

Now, I wasn't hosting a Murder by Meth Mystery Party, nor was I combining pharmaceuticals and trying to become the next Louis Pasteur.  Nor did I intend to O.D.Friday.... or Almost O.D. You read that right. Overdose.

I'm such a perfectionist, I can't believe I even had the nerve to put 'Almost'.

On the other hand, if I'd succeeded, you'd be getting this blog via Ouija Board. Assuming my body had been found. Ugh.

In fact, killing myself was the last thing on my mind. My mother overdosed on Seconal: accidentally…and I mean really. It was 1975 and my father had come home from another of his many hospital stays with this big bottle of these Red-Hots Candy looking capsules. And my mother, who preferred to deal with life by sleeping through it, swallowed a bunch of them (one memory I'm glad I don't retain) and perhaps, she just didn't associate death-by-barbituates with Margaret Sullavan, Marilyn, Judy, Inger Stevens or Janis Joplin, so she went sleepwalking towards the Valley of the Shadow of the Dolls, I hope fearing no evil. But I've carried the guilt ever since, because I've lived my life as I wanted, not the life she had planned.
Guilt, perhaps: regrets, never.

By the way, I found out that Seconal, Nembutal, Tuinal are relics of another era. Benzodiazepines like Valium and Librium replaced them.  Ambien and Klonopin are the meds many are mad about today. And I don't mean 'mad' as in 'angry'.

No, this renegade's almost trip across the River Styx happened almost in a Heath Ledger/perhaps Whitney Houston type scenario. I was in post-party recovery mode after a heavy 24 hour marathon,  taking my multi vitamins, when I decided I'd pop a 5-HTP tablet to make sure I didn't go into one of my rare cry my a river-i feel so lost and directionless jags. Pro-active was re-active in this case.

Now, there's something else could have triggered the extreme stomach cramps, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, etc that I felt. I don't think so though.  At first I blamed it on my Friday fried fish lunch. Or that lousy tasting cole slaw that was on the side. Or, the apple pie I had for dessert. Or the extreme heat of the day. Or the disappointment that I wasn't going to have Woodsy to myself when he came to town next week.

As it so happens, I had recently read a posting about 'Serotonin Toxicity' aka 'Serotonin Syndrome''....which meaning, too much of a good thing can kill you. And the worst possible combination: Speed I slammed plus the 5-HTP I swallowed could have killed me. My saving grace? I'd been putting food into my body, hydrating, and stretched on my bed in pain beyond belief, one of my cats kept swishing his tail in my face, making it impossible to nod off.

This is as good as time as any to plug a couple of my favorite resources for all things drug related.
Bluelight is an outstanding forum...to post questions you must register. Do that.

Reviewing Harm Reduction never caused anyone to miss the next shuttle launch.

I happened upon a site dedicated to the Rave and Club Drug scene:  Dance Safe.

It is everyone's responsibility to look out for one's self. If you can watch your brother's back too; God Bless You. Brother Man, however, has to look out for himself first also though. The days of carrying excess weight are no more.

A Few Facts About Methamphetamines

It's been awhile since I relayed some good information on harm reduction: I found this worth my reading time, and I suggest you bookmark it for later or take a few minutes to review.

These are some factors that determine how long it takes for your system to be clean.

Amount Ingested 
The more of the drug you ingest, the longer it takes your body to get rid of it. 

Frequency of Use 
Continued use over a period of time or using more often increases your intake amount, this slows down the time it takes for your body to process it out. 

Tolerance Levels 
If you're using meth every day, it will accumulate in your body. Over time, it will take longer for your system to release it. Heavy meth addicts have the longest detection time on drug tests. 

Metabolism Rate 
Your metabolism is what processes everything that comes into your body. Some people will metabolize the drug from their system faster than others do. Your metabolism rate depends on many factors such as your body size, age and health, as well as water and food intake. 

Body Mass 
The bigger you are, the longer it takes for the drug to get out of your system. How long it takes meth to clear they system for each exact body size is still undetermined. 

Age 
Your age affects many bodily functions such as your metabolism rate and its ability to release toxins, such as methamphetamine quickly from your body. 

Health 
If you're in good physical health, your bodily functions probably are too and can quickly process toxins. If you are in poor health, it may take longer for your body to recognize the toxins and then clear them from your body. 

Method of Use 
The way that you ingest meth also has to do with how long your body holds on to it. If you inject it, it goes straight into your bloodstream; this gives you the fastest high. It may give you lesser processing time to get out your system. When the drug is smoked or swallowed, it takes a longer time to enter your bloodstream; this will add time to how long the meth stays in your system. 


Now the cleansing process
Depending on how much fluid and how fast your body excretes it will determine how long it stays in your system. Methamphetamine is "water soluble" and so the more water you drink and the more you urinate and sweat the faster it is out of your system. Drink lots of cranberry juice and lots of water also take antioxidants.



Body odor and the smell of meth coming out of your system
This is due to a couple of factors or situations but the same prevention can be taken. When a person uses meth for an extended amount of time usually they do not take care of their health very well especially since eating is no longer a normal part of life nor is sleep. Lack of nutrition and fatigue play a major part in your body odor, your body will start to pump out the toxins through your skin which at times smell anywhere from ammonia, metallic, chlorine, onions and various other disagreeable scents.

Precautions to minimize body odor and aid your bodies general health.
There are quite a few things that meth hammers in your body that should be addressed but I'll cover just a few quickly to address the odor issue. Take multivitamins while you are using, and take additional amounts of Vitamins B-Complex (bad breath) and B-12 (body odor).

Also buy mouthwash that is specifically formulated for "Dry Mouth" it will state this on the label, follow the directions (1 minute 2 times a day shouldn't be hard). These mouth washes are formulated for individuals who in fact suffer from dry mouth or take medications that cause dry mouth which is constantly labeled as "Meth Mouth" by the media, when in fact there are over 1000 prescription and OTC medications that cause the same condition that meth does by stopping the production of saliva.