MARIJUANA MEMORIES FOR 4/20
Here's why I can't smoke pot. I mean, I can, but I choose not to. Here are a handful of reasons why I personally steer clear of the marijuana:
- One time in college I smoked so much pot with a group of friends that we got lost in a wide-open field and I hallucinated that we were human-sized gerbils in overalls.
- Another time in college I smoked pot with friends, then gathered with them in the commons room to watch TV, at which point we found an obscure black-and-white Russian cartoon on cable that I became convinced was sucking my soul out of my body through my nose. I ran to the bathroom where I sat on the toilet fully clothed for what I thought was 2 hours, only to return to the commons room and discover I'd been gone for less than 5 minutes. We changed the channel to VH1 and the video for Shania Twain's "Still the One" appeared and I tried to crawl inside the TV to commune with her.
- Another time in college I got really high, hyperventilated, and then spooned with my friend while playing Sarah McLachlan's entire "Surfacing" album and petting my friend's hair.
- I stopped smoking pot in college.
- When I was 21 my roommate and I thought it would be hilarious to get really stoned before going to see "Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigalo" at the movie theater of the Mall of America, a place I declared to be "a cesspool of consumerism." I suspended my principles and we had our sober friend drive us while I became increasingly convinced that we were all going to die in a car accident caused by an asteroid. Once inside the MoA theater lobby, we ordered our tickets as people began to emerge from various theaters claiming they smelled smoke. I started hyperventilating as I imagined we would all be trampled to death while our skin melted off our bodies. My non-paranoid stoned friend told the ticket agent we needed our money back since my brother died in a fire and this was bringing up terrible memories. I don't have a brother. I did, however, question if I set fire to the theater. I didn't. There wasn't a fire; just possibly malfunctioning film equipment. On our way out I saw, through my deluge of tears, cops at the door and realized they were going to arrest me for setting fire to the theater. They weren't, because there wasn't a fire and I didn't do anything wrong. They also weren't cops; they were security guards on their smoke break. I've still never seen "Deuce Bigalow, Male Gigalo."
- Once I got high with co-workers and my girlfriend at the time when we were at a weekend work-training retreat and we played a card game and I had them repeat the rules approximately 12.7 times and I still didn't understand and I caught my girlfriend and another friend exchanging exasperated glances and I realized no one loved me.
- Once I got high at a work party at my boyfriend's (now husband's) place and I lost all ability to process sarcasm, curled up in the fetal position on his bed, and endured everyone taking turns to come look at me and laugh. In retrospect, I was ridiculous and the laughter was warranted.
- I don't smoke pot anymore.
Moral of the story: I prefer alcohol and caffeine, but you do you!