What I found instead of an invoice was a gift note from my friendie The Healthy Hoff, who ordered me some Magic Mushroom….Tea….because she
felt sorry for me wanted to help me after watching me help her move shit this past weekend from an attic in a vacant house she is trying to sell. Wherein I say “I helped” I really mean “I looked through and moved boxes to the top of the stairs and she carried it all down. Three Flights. By Herself.” That’s how I helped.
But I did brave potential spiders, webs and other possible scary things and only screamed once when I opened a security box and it was full of webs that may or may not have touched my gloved hand, and other than that I was brave. Even when I was fairly certain I was at some point going to uncover a carcass of some animal that had died up there, because there was a smell in a specific area, and I may or may not have seen some sort of animal poop on top of a box. I just tried to ignore all that evidence that pointed to Dead Thing and plunged ahead despite my concern. I’m brave like that, like a warrior. An Old Attic Warrior.
My reward for bravery was Magic Mushroom Tea. And also because she probably wants to get me a little more healthy and nimble so the next time I can carry some of the boxes down the stairs. Probably that.
I was a little skeptical about the tea, because there was An Incident. I tasted something made from a mushroom while she and I were in San Francisco last month. That’s where we ate at a vegan Asian restaurant and I put Rieshi Mushroom Medicine Soup in my mouth. The Offending Soup is the brown liquid with the silver ladle. The white bowl of deliciousness in the front was their won ton soup, which could have delightfully fed a small village.
Yeah, we ordered a lot of food. That’s how we roll.
Anyway, the Medicine Soup made me want to claw out my tongue from my head. I made an actual “Pa-tooey” sound as I spit out this part of the soup onto my plate. Because I’m a lady.
This may have been a sponge. It would not chew into pieces. It refused. The Healthy Hoff kept insisting I just swallow it down, it’s good for me.
I’ve heard that before, Reader. I wasn’t falling for it.
So with that all-too-recent experience in mind, I had earned a bit of my Magic Mushroom tea skepticism.
However, The Hoff generally does have my best interest in mind, so I did a little Googling about the tea, figured what the hell could it hurt, and made myself a cup.
It stirred up and looked like this:
It had an earthy flavor, very mild in fact and not at all as harsh as the Rieshi Medicine Soup Incident.
I don’t know if it was the boost of oom-pa-pa that I got from the tea, but all I know is that later on in the afternoon I had a phone interview for a company I am excited about and I couldn’t stop my mouth from spewing out words.
They just kept pouring out.
I knew they were too many words, but I was powerless to stop them.
I was speaking to the CEO.
At one point he asked me about my vendor contact with one of my prior suppliers and I said the name, “Mike Cunts.” I said MY CUNTS. To the CEO. In an interview.
READER. You can only imagine the horror in my brain and yet I was powerless to do anything about it at that point.
My Mister was in the back room and heard me loud and clear saying “MY CUNTS.” He wanted to know just what sort of a job I was interviewing for. I know that’ s ending with a preposition, but I just said MY CUNTS to a potential hiring person, so there are bigger issues at hand than my trying to rewrite that sentence.
The guy’s name is Michael Kuntz, by the way, I think it’s pronounced like “Koontz” but I’m frankly not sure because he would say it really quickly, as if to avoid his own name. So I think I”m actually correct, but really? That’s what I brought to the conversation.
Thanks for the gift of health in a mug, Hoff. I will continue to drink a mug full every day, and hope that I can control my mouth and avoid all references to cunts, twats, beavers or anything else that may paint a visual of My Flower during an interview.