“Maybe you should smoke a little pot,” said the wonderful woman solely responsible for my cute haircut.
I arrived at my appointment whirling around as usual, she washed my hair as I rambled. After I took a break from speaking and a deep breath, that was her advice. Clearly I’m giving off a pent up crazy person vibe.
Smoke some pot…my response? “Hmm, maybe I should. How would I go about that?”
“Well, you’re probably better off with an edible so you don’t have the smoke and the mess. Those are easy. They even come in gummy bears.”
I tried not to look super clueless and naive, but those are two of my most frequent masks. “I smoked pot in Amsterdam once, it was fun,” I said. I know, I’m so Steve McQueen.
As I was laughing it off, it occurred to me that maybe there is a place in my life for “special” gummy bears. After all, pot is a plant like…kale. Kale is good for me, so why not? I did what I always do, I asked more questions. Turns out you can function on these gummy bears, you just “don’t give a shit.” Today, that sounded incredibly appealing.
By the time she took out the blow dryer, I was on board. I could be that mom that looks perfectly respectable, but I’m popping THC laced little bear candy. I’m a writer after all, I should be on something by now. Maybe I’ll be inspired.
I left the salon feeling on the brink, the cusp, of a new “Who gives a shit?” life. It was all very Breaking Bad and then I did the one thing cool badass stoners never do.
I Googled cannabis.
Oh, I’m not sure I could handle dry mouth. Is this going to be a problem in my spin class? How much will this stuff cost? What if I’m a ticking time bomb just waiting for some gateway drug to give me that boost into hardcore needle land?
I get my hair cut again in a month, I’ll let you know if James Franco and I become buddies.
Wait…can I get in trouble for blogging about this? Sigh.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Happy Sleep.