A few reasons why i don't smoke pot.
Inspired by Melissas post today.
1994. Lenny Kravitz concert and my third pot smoking experience. You know, the one when it actually WORKS, because the first two times you smoked pot you thought 'it doesn't work on me'. I spent the entire concert sitting on the floor of the ladies bathroom listening to Blind Melon and Lenny Kravitz vibrate through the walls, waiting to vomit while watching rounds of girls coming in and out pour alcohol out of plastic baggies from their purses into stadium cups.
1996. Senior year in high school. Hotty ex boyfriend has just returned from a summer in Amsterdam, and I call him up and arrange to meet at his place to catch up. Since we had broken up a year before, I had returned back to Catholic school and quit smoking pot in attempts to get better grades and stay focused. It's about 10pm and we are sitting on his front porch. His parents are asleep - but they were cool parents and didn't mind that he had chicks over at 10pm on a school night. Apparently. His name was Nathan. He was hot. Did I mention that? Nathan is telling me about Amsterdam and how he has some great weed and would I like to smoke? I couldn't tell this hot boy that I had quit smoking pot for a year, or I would have looked like a douche. So I played along. He passed me his pipe while mummbling about how 'good' his shit was...and how 'strong' it was...and all the while I am thinking 'this is fucking great...im going to be vegetative in 10 mins when this shit kicks in'. 10 mins later my face is beginning to melt and my ears are ringing. All I can make of his story is 'wah wah wah wah wah wah'...and its getting SLOWER AND SLOWWWWWWWWWWWWER....and I say 'Hey Nate, I think we should go inside'. He stands up, I grab his hand and he leads me into his pitch ass black house through the family room and into his room. Only I didn't make it to the bedroom. I blacked out in the family room and fell to the ground. Next thing I know I am being carried into his room and placed on a FUCKING WATERBED. My brain is unable to send intelligent words to my mouth, and the hottest boy I have ever known is staring at me surely wondering how to 'get rid of me'. I call my best friend Marina, and she comes and picks me up. I couldn't even drive my ASS HOME. I sware to you people...I was totally convinced that night, that she was going to have to commit me.
1997. Sophomore year in college. Some random persons apartment. It must have been 1am and a group of us went to this 'party'. The kind of party with techno music and black lights and psychadelic posters and lava lamps...lights turned out and everyone is laying around on a big ass sectional in the family room limp and giddy having conversations about how great the weed in the 4 footer thats being passed around is. I had never had a bong hit from a 4footer before. I took a seat among all these people I didn't know, and played cool. I was a SOPHOMORE. Now was not the time to have a debate about whether or not drugs were a good idea. There was no beer. I took a hit from the 4 'footer' and 10 mins later felt as though every muscle and inch of skin, drool included, on my body was being pulled into the couch like a Gravitron machine at the County Fair. Playing 'cool' became more and more difficult as the paranoia grew and I became convinced that what everyone was seeing in my direction was a pool of skin and drool and stupid. I was sure that I had outed myself as a novice weed smoker by not being able to engage in conversation with complete sentences. I felt as though every single person at that party was talking about me to the person next to them. And a rush of panic like I have NEVER felt in my life rushed over me and I had to leave. I went outside and sat on the stairwell an attempted to survey all of my body parts...particularly the ones on my FACE and convince myself that I was not freaking out. I got in my car and left everyone I had brought to the party without a goodbye. I freaking GEEKED OUT completely. I thought that night would never end...and I was called the 'One Hit Wonder' from then on.
1999. Senior year in college. I was sitting in a chair at my dear friend Kathryn's apartment smoking many bowls of weed. I got up and walked 3 steps to the kitchen where I proceeded to make macaroni and cheese. Easy enough right? There are what, like, 3 steps and 2 ingredients to making Kraft Mac and Cheese? I felt like I was preparing a 6 course meal for the president in slow motion. I felt like Craig in Friday trying to fill a glass with ice cubes. Of course. Kat came in and helped speed the process along. She, the more seasoned dope smoker than I. Then I got on the phone with Pizza Hut and tried to order a pizza. The mac and cheese didn't quite satisfy the insatiable hunger of the moment. I spent what felt like an eternity trying to explain with great detail how I wanted my pizza, and she just wasnt getting it. Or I was hearing things. Kat in the background waving and gesturing and laughing at me didn't help. It was one of the most difficult things I had ever had to do...aside from cooking Mac and Cheese. I sat back down in the chair and smoked another bowl. In the process, lit my 2 inch long ACRYLIC THUMB FINGERNAIL on fire with the lighter. Kat shit herself in a fit of hysteria as she tried to get my attention. Dumbfounded and confused I stared at my lit fingernail and watched it melt down until it started to hurt, and blew it out. The next thing we know we see my 3 month old lab down at our feet chewing on a steak knife. The pizza guy came and we argued for a good 10 mins over who was going to go ANSWER the door and get the food. Neither of us interested in the job. Kat got the pizza and came back upstairs, looked at me and said 'I think I forgot to tip him'. We didn't leave the apt all night and I felt like the biggest waste of space on the face of the earth.
