Cocaine Vibes

Panini and I were in the car last week and “I Just Might” by Bruno Mars came on the radio. I was like, “This song is on the party playlist,” and she was like, “It is?! You bitch. This song is lame. You’re not having a 4th grade birthday party.” I was like, “You’re right. You’re right. I’m such a loser. I’ll take it off the playlist right now,” and she was like, “Damn right you will. You don’t want 4th grade birthday party apple juice vibes. You want cocaine vibes.”

I was at dinner with my tennis friends a couple weeks ago and my friend Sam, who has done his fair share of cocaine, looked me dead in the eye and said, “You know your party’s gonna suck unless there’s a shit ton of cocaine.”

Last week at work, my colleague told me she got a text from another colleague who asked, “Hey, is [Saul’s] party gonna be a weed party or a cocaine party?”

The odds of there actually being cocaine at the party is around 4% and the odds of me doing cocaine at the party is around 0.04% but that’s not the point. The point is that this party will have, must have, cocaine vibes.

And I simply can’t tell you how badly in need I am of a party with cocaine vibes. I grade essays for 8-10 hours a day; I haven’t seen the sun in days. I drive my kids to and from their sporting events from 4:30 to 8:30 every evening; I haven’t had a drink in weeks. I fall asleep at 8:45 every night; I haven’t had sex in months.

I recently went to the doctor who, in addition to telling me my “shit was all fucked up and that [I] talk like a fag” (Idiocracy), told me I had high cholesterol, low vitamin D, and high bilirubin which he described as “Gilbert’s syndrome, a nonsymptomatic liver condition afflicting inbred Eastern European shtetl Jews.” He said cocaine, or even just cocaine vibes, is an effective treatment.

A few weeks ago, I woke up early on a Saturday morning, brushed my teeth, did my business, and started to put on my basketball clothes because I still fancy myself a basketball player who plays basketball. 60 seconds later, due to absolutely nothing at all, I was sitting on the side of my bed, gasping for air because I’d somehow tweaked a muscle in my back which, when I breathed, caused sharp, debilitating pain. I couldn’t move for the next hour and couldn’t take a deep breath for the rest of the day. Things got better but a week or so later, I reaggravated it playing tennis and couldn’t sneeze for days after. I have a physical therapy appointment on May 22, the day before the party. I’ll find out what’s going on and then on May 23, we’ll lock the bathroom door, get a credit card and some blow, and discuss my physical ailments.

This party, these cocaine vibes, are pretty much the only thing I’m looking forward to any more, so much so that I’m scared of the day after when things go back to normal, my friends from out of town head back home, the Boss asks when the disco ball is coming down, and my cholesterol keeps going up. I feel like it’s 25th Hour and this is my last big night before I go to prison forever. I feel like it’s Leaving Las Vegas and I need to drink myself to death because the alternative is worse. I feel like it’s Scarface and I need to snort every ounce of cocaine in the entire world because the bad guys are comin’ to get me.

The Boss and I spent an embarrassing amount of money on alcohol and the Boss spent I don’t even know how much on the food. My bestie from Italy spent his inheritance to fly in for the weekend and sleep in Broosevelt’s room. My 81-year-old GOAT mom spent all her miles on Southwest Airlines to be here for eleven days and crash in the basement. I continue to spend an inordinate amount of time on the playlist and will also be spending a large sum of money on a bunch of pre-rolls because, let’s face it, at the end of the day, this is a weed party, not a cocaine party. That said, I need you all to bring your best cocaine vibes cuz fuckin’ YOLO, vamos, si se puede, and say hello to my little friend!

Wear pink.