Reasons I keep a weed plant on my back deck
1/3 to give out-of-towners the “Humboldt Experience” when they come to visit.
1/6 for juicing the CBDs out of the leaves.
The rest: The joy of seeing my mother pretend like nothing’s wrong when she’s absolutely incensed at the blatant lawbreaking in my yard.
The deck plant was done. It would either sit there and mold or I do something with its handful of pathetic buds. a green lightbulb lit up over my head. “It shan’t go to waste!” I proclaimed, holding my fists to the sky. “I shall use it FOR THE GOOD OF THE MaGaZINE!” My neighbor coughed through the fence to make sure I knew he could hear me.
I don’t smoke the herb… unless I’m ridiculously tipsy [read: drunk] and that is when I vomit. BUT for the Harvest Issue I thought it would be appropriate, on top of anxiety- inducing, to review a restaurant baked off my ass. The results were dumb.
I love weed. It smells great. It fuels the economy. I rock ganja reggae all day. I just don’t inhale it. Because as my friends saw, it turns me into a puddle of bumbling moron who couldn’t find her ass with three hands.
I threw a bunch of folks who don’t know each other together, for added anxiety, and went to the casino restaurant, for added dinging and flashing lights. I can only explain my experience as akin to a mild bad acid trip. In the parking lot I realized my seat in the car was about an inch away from the dash and I was pretty sure my friend was going to run over an old lady. She didn’t think she was very close but I yelled anyway.
The sushi at the Blue Lake Casino never goes wrong.
Rolls were shared around, because when you don’t know folks you feel obligated to offer a sample of your caterpillar.
My Maguro was beautifully crafted into a rose and hit the spot. I was fantastically hungry for some reason. The staff was tolerant and understanding as I had to call and unlock my business credit card. Really, I kept trying to call and lost track of what I was doing in the middle. I had to hand the card and my phone over to my friend like an idiot. I said, “I have nightmares about this.” My friend returned with, “You have nightmares about going to sushi and having to unlock a credit card? That’s not a nightmare.”
I promptly lost the receipt. and my keys. and my phone.
Remember getting stoned in middle school? I was middle-school stoned. I was not out-in-public stoned. I was “read a book under your covers with a headlamp, on Mars” stoned. I have no tolerance. It’s like giving a 13-year- old a 40oz and telling him to go to a city council meeting. Maintaining composure when my insides are fucked is my least favorite thing to do.
I like fun. I love fun. Fun is really fun. I believe this so much I got it tattooed on me. Sushi: fun. Friends: fun. Gambling: fun. Weed: fun for others, not for me. I guess I better go back for a better evaluation of the restaurant itself. Drunk, because: FUN.
By the way, did you know Jack is short for the name John? This is a cold hard fact. Google it.