Something about this rainy weather has me reminiscing.

Once upon a time, I dated a weed dealer. These were some of the most magical times of my college career. Not only was he a lovely guy, but he had weed. A lot of weed.


Let me tell you what a chill Thursday night looked for me when I dated this gent.

After I would get off work at 11pm, I would rent a movie, and then cycle on home. I would look around at my empty apartment and get a twinge of fomo [Fear Of Missing Out] as my roommates were off cavorting at the bars or whatever, and then I would call my boyfriend. As quick as a wink, the guy would show up at my door, weed and food in hand.

Like, magical.

A joint would be rolled (by me... this is the same boyfriend that lovingly taught me how to roll a joint and then I quickly surpassed him in the skill and became The Joint Roller of our relationship) or maybe sometimes a spliff, the movie would be turned on, and the smoking would begin.

Most of the time I overestimate how much weed I need for good doobie (which is not really a problem), so we'd be high off our asses in point oh two minutes and then the cuddling began. To get high and cuddle is honestly one of the sweetest things in life. I am not affectionate. In fact, I'm a bitch. But something about being tucked in next to a male, watching him quietly inhale the herb and puff out these perfect, fat rings, all casual like, made me want to make babies.

Without making babies.

Moral of the story for those of you out there dating someone who blazes: grab a movie (something uncomplicated), roll yourself a joint, tuck yourself into bed with a man, smoke, then bone.

Simple path to happiness.

Failed Pick-up Attempt Episode 1

I'm at a hockey party, there's a theme (which is pretty irrelevant to anything I'm just trying to set a scene wherein not a soul is dressed in normal clothes [or really any clothes at all] except me because I refuse to wear pink leotards in public), and people are drinking cheap beer with a different green, apple flavored alcoholic beverage poured into it to cut the taste of shit. So we're essentially drinking apple flavored shit.

Anyway, so I'm sitting on one of the various nasty couches, sipping away, when a hockey player sits next to me. He is inexplicably clued into the fact that I blaze. Bizarre.

Him: Hey whatup.

Me: Hi.

Him: Do you smoke weed?

Me: Sure.

Him: Do you want to smoke?

Me: Absolutely.

Him: Do you have weed on you?

Me: Uh, yeah.

Him: Do you wanna go upstairs and smoke it?

Me: (getting suspicious) Maybe. What're we going to smoke out of.

Him: I can find a pipe or something. Do you have anything to smoke out of?

Me: Yeah, actually, I happen to have my bong right here in my purse.

Him:

Me: No, I don't have anything with me. I try to leave my pieces at home.

Him: Oh, so we should go to your apartment.

Me:

Him:

Me: No dude.

Second to Last Term of Senior Year: Rage On

I'm a college student finishing out my last year. Between now and graduation I'm going to document the circle style goings on of my compadres and myself. It's been a nutty last three and some-odd years, and I'll disperse some tales throughout, but this blog is mostly to document the hilarity of being someone surrounded by people who give a fuck and get high.

Peace bro