Do not do any of this. I was, and am, a fucking idiot.
I was 23 years old, working in an office, and I feared that my "youth" was over. One weekend, I called up my college dealer, drove three hours to Santa Cruz, and picked up a half-sheet of LSD, 10 points of MDMA, and an oz of weed. I spent a few hours hanging out, catching up, and I rolled 28 1g joints. Late in the afternoon, I left his house and began smoking the joints as I drove the two-ish hours north towards San Francisco.
By the time I arrived in SF, I was pretty stoned. I found an unrestricted spot sort of deep in what is now called Dogpatch, dropped a few hits of LSD, took two hits of MDMA, and began an early walk-of-shame to a club in the Mission district. In a plastic Baggie in my front pocket I was carrying eight more hits of MDMA, whatever was left on the half sheet, and in the other pocket the rest of my joints were taking up way too much room. I had my phone/wallet/keys in my back pocket. I looked like a fool.
As a quick checkpoint, I decided to investigate the first bar that I found. It had been maybe 30~ minutes since I had dosed, and along with the six-ish joints I had smoked, I was starting to feel a bit strange. At this point I hadn't realized it yet, but I was already wandering the wrong direction, but it kind of didnt matter.
I showed my ID to the bartender and ordered myself a beer. I think the bartender didn't want to give me the beer because I smelled like a fucking greenhouse and clearly, If my soon to be vibrating pupils weren't enough, I was high on something, but this was a Saturday night in SF and we were somewhere in the southeast. I'm actually not even 100% sure where I was at this point.
The strange thing about going on a drug bender is that you seem to somehow attract other people with the same goals. The next thing I remember after getting that beer was sitting at a table and talking with two guys and a girl about some kind of party they were going to. Around this time I was starting to get a bit delirious and I can't quite tell you the truth of what happened, but somehow the fact that I was carrying more than a few felonies got out and I found myself outside this bar with an angry bouncer and three strangers that I somehow knew. They told me we could definitely do the drugs I had at this party. Maybe it was the part where their faces looked like beautiful sunflowers, or the night sky looking down at me and smiling with sunshine, but I trusted these people and reached into my weed pocket. I had a mixture of joints, broken joints, and loose ground weed in my pocket, and I remember exclaiming "whoops!"
I think we started smoking and walking towards hunters point, but I do know that I took a rip off of my sheet and another point or two. I think we might have just straight up finished the sheet here, but that means we were each eating something like 15ish hits and some change.... Which doesn't make sense, but neither did the rest of the night. I remember my stomach getting that salty-bubbly feeling that it gets when you take MDMA.
The point is, we ended up at some warehouse deep in scary SF that had pounding techno music and a big muscley bouncer in front. I might have offered him a joint. I remember being scared.
By now everything was really fucking blurry. I think we went inside, and I think I was grinding on the girl? I have no clue where the guys were. It was very cold inside, and loud, and packed. There were Porto-potties. I was out of weed and I didn't know where my sheet was, but I had two more caps to take. I remember a flash of looking at my watch and thinking that the sunrise was still a ways away, and I was good to take more.
Anyway, somehow we ended up at an after party somewhere in the marina. The guys were long gone but I had two girls and some really twinkly-looking guy. I'm pretty sure we were at a bar-after-party-thing. The sun was up.
The next thing I remember is these two girls giving me a blowjob in an apartment while I made out with the twinkly guy. And then some random flashes of a four way drug-infused rave-inspired sex party in a nasty fucking apartment somewhere in the Marina.
And then the next thing I know, I'm answering a phone call. It was 11:00 on Monday morning and my boss was firing me. I told her to suck my dick. I was in a strange apartment, only that guy was left (was it his place?) and I was wearing clothes that weren't mine. My bags of drugs were nowhere to be found. I had my phone, keys, and wallet though. I left and I took a long walk back to my car.
It was a strange night. I wish I remembered more of it. I also wish I remembered none of it. That night set me back well over a thousand dollars (other than the drugs I have no idea what happened, other than visiting ATMs and withdrawing large amounts of cash at a time...) and I ended up losing my apartment, obviously my job, and moving back in with my parents. It took a few years to turn myself around, but I didn't