I could probably

do cocaine

and be fine.

I mean,

I can shove

a flonase

up each nostril

and spray

the liquid

medicine without

any kind of reaction,

so why would

nose candy

be any different?

I think

a person’s

favorite song

says a lot

about who they are,

or at least

who they become.

“Snow” by

Red Hot Chili Peppers

is about the most

expensive kinds of

cocaine and heroin

and it was my

first favorite song.

My dad played the

Stadium Arcadium album

when he was

home with me

during the day.

I didn’t realize

until later

how many

RHCP songs

reference drugs.

It’s funny

to think of a

4-year-old singing

along in the backseat

of her dad’s burgundy

extended cab Ford F-150

to a song about blow.

Two truths and a lie:

I’ve had sex,

I’ve powdered

the inside of my nose,

and I shoot shots

of cheap vodka.

My mother

doesn’t think

I’m a good girl.

She told me

I looked

like a hooker

when I wore

a mini skirt.

I need a double

shot of her

homemade apple pie

moonshine to stomach

a conversation.

I think she likes

the idea

of having kids

more than

actually having kids.

Sometimes I wonder

if she regrets

marrying my father

and having two kids

with him.

I don’t think

she’d be

surprised if

I started

doing coke.

She’d scoff

and say,

I knew

sending you

to school

so far away

would corrupt

you. She’d

blame my

dad somehow,

probably with

his music choices

that she always hated

because it wasn’t

a country song

about beer and trucks.

She would be the

reason I started

doing cocaine if I

were to do it.

It would be easy –

I could just ask

the national frat boys

where they get theirs,

or bat my eyes at

them since my mother

already thinks

I’m some kind

of harlot. I’d be

another victim

of the 27 club,

singing old rock

and roll with

Kurt and Amy,

and doing

another line

in a bathroom

in hell.