Smoke It If You Got It!

In honor of the opening of Seattle's first legalized pot shop a few weeks ago, I have decided to share with you some of my finer moments under the influence of this now-legal herb.  So sit back, relax, and have plenty of snacks ready to go.

Paranoia Sets In
The first time I got stoned, I was sitting on the back patio of my Mom's house in Plymouth with my girl friend who I will call Sally just in case she doesn't want to be associated with this story.  I had smoked before, but it's likely that I didn't inhale properly because that summer evening was definitely the first time I felt it.  Yep, as we sat on the peach-colored patio chairs, Michigan summer sun setting slowly, toking off our borrowed bowl because we clearly did not have our own paraphernalia, we got stoned.  We laughed our asses off too.  Until we heard the police sirens.  Sally thought it would be funny to tell me that the police were on to us, and they were probably coming to arrest us that minute.  Being the insane rule follower that I am & unable to correctly identify tone in my altered state, I totally freaked out.  My paranoia & freaking out then caused Sally to forget that she had, in the first place, been joking, and now SHE was also freaking out that the cops were after us for the tiny bag of shake we managed to procure - probably from one of our younger brothers.  We decided our best option was to head inside and HIDE under some blankets in the family room from the inevitable sting that was about to occur.  Forty-five minutes later, we were beginning to sober up.  In the world's first true A-HA moment, Sally remembered that, oh crap, she had actually just been joking around about the cops from the start!
Disaster averted, we went back to the patio to regain our buzz & then watched reruns of Quantum Leap for the rest of the night.

It's Jamaica, Mon
A few years later, I went to Jamaica on Spring Break with some of my sorority sisters.  I would like to clarify that we were not in the semi-nice part of Jamaica.  In fact, we were in the total not-nice part of Jamaica.  However, it was to our benefit that marijuana smugglers from my neighboring hometown of Livonia, Michigan also enjoy staying in the not-nice part of Jamaica.  Yes, Gentle Reader, it's true.  I met a real life drug smuggler from Michigan in the bar of our hotel.  And - surprise, surprise - he didn't mind sharing his stash with some college girls.  As long as we didn't mind sharing our fifth of banana rum.  (We didn't.)  Wisely, four of us girls went to his hotel room where he proceeded to roll joint after joint.  He would take a couple of tokes, decide that it was not smoking properly and would promptly throw it off the balcony.  This happened six or seven times before he finally rolled one that he felt good about.  Before leaving, he gave me a handful of pot to take with me.  "What should I do with it?" I asked.  "Put it in your pocket, mon!" he replied.   Aside:  you can bet your bottle of banana rum that we went back the next day and collected those joints he threw off the balcony.  Interestingly enough, they smoked fine for us.

We Should Start AAA In New Zealand
And a few years after that, I was living in New Zealand.  My girl friend, Casey (yeah, I changed her name too), and I were on a month-long road trip in the South Island.  If you have been to New Zealand, you will know that one simply does not go on a road trip without a lot of dak.  (Aside: the word "dak" is slang for pot Down Under.  If someone offers you "dak cake", it is not something you should eat 2 or 3 pieces of because you think it's just delicious chocolate cake.  End of aside.) While visiting Mt Cook National Park, we were staying at the Mt Cook YHA.  Gentle Reader, this is basically a youth hostel in the middle of freaking Mordor.  It is, how shall we say, isolated. After an awesome day of hiking, we decide to go out to the car to relax & toke up a bit.  We were listening to music, talking, laughing, being ridiculous.  We got out of the car, locked it up because, you know, we're in the middle of nowhere, when we turned back to realize that the car, in fact, was still running.  We had smoked so much dak that we locked the car with the keys in the ignition still running.  Except that we had also smoked so much dak that it was so hysterical that we couldn't stop laughing or do anything about it.  A locksmith made the trek through Mordor the next day.  He also, wisely, brought us a tank of gas.  We had to give him the ring (My Preciousssss) in exchange.  Seemed fair.

Happy Toking, Seattle!

It Was 20 Years Ago Today (Here's to the Class of 1994)

June 12, 1994

With butterflies in my stomach & pink cheeks, I delivered Plymouth-Salem High School's graduation speech to the Class of 1994.  In the middle of it, I did the one thing that I had been

cautioned against doing.  The one thing that could ruin the whole operation.  You guessed it.

I cried.

I cried because, thus far, 1994 had been the best year of my life, and I couldn't imagine how it could ever get better than that.  I cried because my speech spoke of living in the moment & experiencing real & true & raw emotions as you feel them.  I cried because I saw my Mom crying from the third row.  I cried because my Best Friend and I were going to different schools.  I cried because I was an idealist, a poet, a lover of words & emotions, someone who felt everything deeply & personally.  I cried because I was a 17-year old girl.  I cried because I had realized that happiness & sadness are so often two sides of the same coin.  I cried because I just couldn't stop myself.

And now, here we are, 20 years later.

I am no longer an idealist.  Years of education, both personal & academic, have made me into a realist.  And sometimes even a cynicist.  I don't write poetry anymore.  Instead I am a (sometime) blogger who takes her baby to bars.  My Best Friend did go to a different school, and she now lives in a different city.  And she's still my Best Friend.  (Yay, Katie!) I still consider 1994 one of the best years of my life....along with 1995, 1999, 2001, 2006, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2013, and 2014.  It did get better.  And better.  And even better after that.  Living in the moment is a challenge for me. It doesn't come naturally like it did when I was 17.  But I strive to be present, to be where I am when I'm there & drink in all the moments, both good & bad.  I will always be a lover of words & emotions.  But I don't wear my heart on my sleeve any longer.  I have become guarded, someone that holds my cards pretty close.  I prefer to ask questions & learn about others rather than share my own story.  (Although, with a few glasses of wine, I can usually be persuaded to spill.)  I still cry when I see my Mom crying.  But instead of embracing it, I usually try to convince her to stop.
And I still know that happiness & sadness are often two sides of the same coin.  And I think that's why I am crying now.

Hugs & love to the Class of '94.  Twenty years ago, I wished you lives that were experienced through joyful & wondrous eyes.  Today, I wish you another 20 years that just keep getting better.  And better.  And even better after that.

P.S.  Crying never ruins anything.  Except maybe your makeup.

I Just Looked Away For A Second

***Disclaimer:  This is actually a post I wrote a few years ago.  Several conversations I've had recently made me think it might be interesting to some folks now. 

***Another Disclaimer:  This post was originally inspired by nothing specific except for years of musing on the topic and possibly a Tori Amos song.  

Sometimes we, as coupled folks, get our heads turned.  You know what I mean by "heads turned", right?  We get, shall we say, distracted by someone that is not our partner.  Maybe it lasts for a dance or a song or a drink.  Or maybe it's a little more durable - it becomes a crush.  This person is not your partner.  You don't pick their dirty undies off the floor.  You don't bicker with them over the little things...or the big things.  They can be anything you want them to be.  And so, our heads are turned.  

It's natural, normal, human for us to turn around for someone else every now and then.  Fidelity is a gift we give our partners.  I certainly wouldn't say it comes naturally.  It's work.  It's hard.  Often, we fail.   Having our heads turned is almost like a get-out-of-jail-free card.   As long as you don't act on it.  

Tim and I made a deal a long time ago that we would tell each other about our crushes.   (And if anyone tries to tell me that they've never had a crush on anyone else other than their partner, I will openly call them a liar.)   I think this seems like a good thing.  When you talk about it with your partner, they are now part of that world.   Nothing is secretive, nothing is hidden.  And who knows?  Maybe you might have a little fun with it.   Depending.    

Because having your head turned can be really quite exciting, can't it?  The fantasy of someone you don't know well.  The imagining of who they might be, who you want them to be, how the two of you could be.  The not knowing.   Ah, the delicious taste of ambiguity.

This Is Where We Used To Live

At the end of an episode of Girls, Hanna is dancing on her own in her room when roommate Marnie comes home, finds her, and a roommate/BFF dance party immediately commences.  Which is clearly what would happen in real life.

I loved living alone, and of course, I love living with my family.  But when I think about some of the most fun, most hilarious & most memorable moments of my life, so many of them took place in grungy old apartments shared with some of my best girls.  As roommates, we became almost like sisters, closer & more honest.  When you live in as close of quarters as we did, there isn't a lot of room for anything less.  C'mon, let's go behind the scenes of when girls are roommates!

You will turn up the music really, really loud so you can't hear her fighting with her boyfriend. Even at 1am.  You will come home after work to find that an impromptu keg party has commenced, and they need a fourth for Euchre.  You will share everything:  shampoo, cigarettes, Doritos, secrets, money, toothbrushes, intimate details about your booty calls, clothes, modes of transportation.  If your boyfriend dumps you, she will come home with beer, wine, and ice cream - just because she wanted you to have options.  You will get pissed when she eats all of your leftovers that you were saving specifically for dinner that night.  But you'll forgive her when she pulls out some pot she scored that day.  You will have inside jokes that are so old & so complex, you won't be able to remember how they even got started.  But they will still be hilarious anyway. You will have no qualms about walking around naked in front of each other. You will laugh more than you ever thought possible.  You will make up a choreographed dance at 11pm on a Tuesday just because.  You will hear her having incredibly loud sex on a regular basis. And it won't faze you.  You will be there for each other during the big things, the scary things, the life-changing things. A good Monday night will be watching Lifetime Television for Women together while drinking White Zin and eating tuna noodle casserole. You will refer to you & your roommate as "we" and "us" more than often than you do with your boyfriend.  You will actually be more of a "we" and an "us" than you are with your boyfriend. You will agree on everything.  You will fight about everything.  You will feel sadness when you move out of that dirty little apartment because you'll know that it's the end of something.  But you'll also know that you're more than just friends now.  You're so much more than that.  

I Can Tell That We Are Gonna Be Friends

Sometimes we have the good fortune of crossing paths with someone we just vibe with.  You know what I'm talking about, right?  We meet someone, and it's just easy.  Conversation flows so naturally right from the start that it feels like we're old friends.  We're clicking.  We're connecting. We're vibing.  It's incredible when this happens, right?  How lucky are we?  How fortuitous is it that out of all the people in the world, we have stumbled across each other?  We have found a kindred spirit, someone who just seems to inherently "get" us.  When this happens, it's one of my favorite things ever.

Sometimes when we meet one of these kindred spirits, we become close friends.  We keep vibing through the years, we will never, ever run out of things to talk about, not ever.  We will open another bottle of wine, and then another, just because we don't want the moment to end.  We can go weeks, months, even years without seeing each other, but when we are finally in the same room again, it feels like balance has been restored in our worlds.  We just make sense.   

And sometimes when we are very lucky, we marry our kindred spirits.  

Other times, we only have the opportunity to vibe with each other for a night or maybe a weekend. We somehow know that our connection has an expiration, so we must soak up every second.  We stay out too late, we talk all night, we must fit in every conversation we would ever have throughout our lifetimes into hours. Later on, the moment will have passed, our connection will have changed.  But we'll always have Paris. 

Sometimes we just have a sense about someone, a sense that given the right opportunity, the chance to talk, to share a moment, that we would be kindred spirits.  And sometimes it takes us by complete surprise.  We are blindsided by our new friendships.  But no matter how they happen, how they hit us, or for how long they last, these are the connections, the people, the moments, that make this life so delicious.  Drink them in. 

And if you're reading this post, and you think I might be talking about you, you should know that I absolutely am.  

Part Time Party Girl

WARNING.  Shocking statement ahead.

It appears that I may not be able to party the way I could when I was 24.  I know, GASP, right?  In fact, I am actually thinking that it might be time to retire the "Full Time Party Girl" from my self-description.  Or, at the very least, amend it to "Part Time (As Long As There Is Ample Recovery Time) Party Girl".

Honestly, usually, these days, I'm quite happy with going part time.  Content with the much quieter lifestyle I've created.  Early to bed and clarity of mind and all that.

Usually.  Because even though green smoothies and detox tea are terrific for breakfast almost every morning, sometimes you just really need want bacon and a Bloody Mary as big as your head.  Sometimes it's necessary okay to revert back to your full time party person status.  Sometimes, very rarely, but sometimes, you might even need to pull a double.  (Or a triple?)  Yes, your recovery time will be exponentially increased, and there will be much less clarity about the night(s) before than back in the day, but you, with your years of experience & drive, are up to the task.  Sometimes you just need to listen to that devil on your shoulder.  This is especially true when there is an open bar.

But then, there will come a moment when you are tired and burnt out, when you begin preferring water to wine, when flirting has become more forced than fun and your party clothes are too binding.  And that's when you will make your way home.  You will crawl into your own bed made with clean, fresh sheets occupied by the ones that love you most of all, and you will retire your full time status.  The next few days will involve a lot green juice, kale, and possibly 2-a-days.  You will go to bed at your usual 10pm bedtime. You will rest & take your vitamins.  You will know that you cannot party the way you could when you were 24.  But you will also know you that still got it.

And that, for me, and maybe for you, is called balance.

Like A Boss

I have been told many, many times in my life that I am bossy.  I've been told I can be "difficult".  I am "tough as nails".  I can be "challenging to work with".  Does this make me feel belittled?  Inferior?  Like less of a leader?  Does it make me want to #BanBossy?

Hell no.

Yes, I am bossy.  I am also the boss.  I get things done.  Yes, I'll tell you what to do - "boss you around", some might say - but only after I've cracked the whip on myself.  Can I be difficult, challenging, & tough?  Damn right.  I am those things because I am passionate.  I am strong.  I care.  And you know that I am not asking/telling you to do anything that I wouldn't/couldn't/haven't done myself.  I'm with you in the trenches.  I get my hands dirty.  I am bossy and gutsy when the situation calls for it.  And proud of it. 

There will be no banning of bossy of my household.  I will not be offended or threatened by this word, nor do I think we should teach our kids that they should be either. Take bossy - along with ambitious, assertive, tough, challenging - and feel empowered by them.  Own them.  We can teach our children - all of the children as these are not gender-specific words - that they do not need to react defensively to any of these labels.  Instead, we can feel pride that we are kind of people that make things happen.  We have guts & strength.  We are passionate.  We care.  We can be proud when we are referred to as bossy.  

We can teach our kids that Bossy one day becomes The Boss.  And The Boss Runs The Show.