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  • Getting High On Weed and Processing Death Is Maybe Not The Best Idea

    I started smoking weed when I was 14 years old. It was a fateful Thursday evening. My older brother was hanging out with two girls, and they figured that if I was ever going to get high, the first time should be in a safe environment. I got off the phone, took a few hits, then went back upstairs and got back on the phone. I talked a on the phone a LOT in the 8th grade.

    Looking back on it, I am really grateful to my brother and these two vixens for giving me this life experience. As a young girl, you want to be careful about who are with when partaking in mind-altering substances. Let’s face it; I was the kind of teenager that was going to get into that stuff. This way I knew what was going on, what to expect, and would less likely lose my shit with the wrong people in the wrong situation.

    My best friend Bitty and I had previously made an oath that we would NEVER smoke pot EVER. Probably because we were 13 at the time, and had both suffered through D.A.R.E lectures at school. Can I just say that “daring” kids to not do drugs is probably the least effective psychological strategy of all time.

    When I finally saw Bitty, I admitted what happened.

    Toni: Bitty… I smoked pot with my brother.
    Bitty: So did I. Do you know where we can get some?

    That summer Bitty and I smoked a lot of weed together. In the years to come, I smoked a lot of weed. A Lot. So much weed I can’t remember how much – which is par for the course I guess.

    When Bitty died in 2000 I had to take a break from smoking pot. This loss was so intense, that I was unable to add another texture to it. I knew pot would not help numb my reaction, but actually intensify it. It would be like putting a magnifying glass up to my broken heart, and burning it with the sun. It was all my mind could think about. I was too afraid of being high, and having to face all the pain. I couldn’t make sense of her death. The irreversible and final nature of it was killing me. I felt so helpless that I couldn’t go back in time and stop it from happening.

    After a few months, I eventually started “partying” again. I was 20, in college, and being totally sober was just as alienating as my constant crying. I had to shut off the part of me that was so deeply connected to the sadness in order to relate to other people. No one knew how to be around me when everything would make me weep.

    Mourning is a life long process. You never truly get over the death of a loved one – but you live with it in a new way. You learn to obsess less, and eventually disconnect from being able to access your feelings about it – at least some of the time. I always knew I was miserable she was no longer with me, but I couldn’t always feel just how distraught I was. There was so long that I mourned Bitty, that when I started to mourn her less, I missed the mourning just as much as I missed the person. The lamenting kept me connected to her.

    Now that 15 years have passed, it’s almost like I have gotten used to her being gone. I of course wish this wasn’t true, but the acceptance has settled in. I live ½ a mile from Bitty’s grave, and visit her weekly. Yet even though there are these rituals where I am reminded of her death, I usually don’t attach to it. It just is this thing that is.

    Last Friday was her birthday, and I wanted to visit her grave, and smoke a joint with her. Now let me add here, that I stopped smoking in 2008 and didn’t get high at all until a few months ago. I am obviously not the pothead of my past, so the few times I do smoke, I have been very carefully to only be very sparing. One hit, and that’s it.

    Yet at this point, I was feeling like my brain had gotten used to weed, and there wasn’t any real threat to my bugging out or losing my mind. So I took maybe 3 hits with Bitty, and then had a plan to celebrate her birthday by going out to dinner and seeing some live music.

    As I was leaving, I started to wonder if she felt it when people visited her grave. Did her soul, or spirit-body get an extra zap? Was there a specific comfort to knowing that someone was paying physical tribute to the place her ashes were buried?

    I got in the passenger seat of the car, and as soon as we starting driving I realized, “holy fuck… I am way too high.”

    I was suddenly transported into a Twilight Zone of distortion. It was one of those moments when the reality I knew, and the reality I was experiencing, were so distinctly different that my brain almost busted a fuse. Nothing was making sense. It was a really dark foggy night, and looking out the window, nothing felt familiar. The outside world was totally foreign, and my inside world was completely melting.

    I was also having a forceful physical reaction where I felt like my body could not contain all the feelings I was feeling. It was this profound buzzing that almost felt like an anxiety attack, but not as painful. It was as if I was channeling too much emotion for one skin sack to hold in.

    I kept trying to return to my breath. During those long inhales I was okay, but as as soon as I let it go, I would lose it again.

    Toni: Uhhhh there is no way I can be in public right now, and I’m pretty sure I have to go home now.

    The drive home we listened to Jimmy Hendrix, and I tried desperately to bring myself back to a place that I could control. All I could say was “I’m just feeling too many feelings.” Yet the second we pulled into my driveway, it was over, and I spent the next 2 hours eating.

    Okay there are a few possibilities about what happened that night. The first, and most obvious, was that I got too high.

    Yet I think something else was going on. Weed opens you up in a specific and unique way. I think because I was at Bitty’s grave, I was hypertensive to the energies at play. One being my own feelings about her death, and the emotions I have learned to enclose in order to survive. The bodily sensations I experienced were like I was releasing all I hold onto in order to function.

    The other energy I felt was tapping into the human part of Bitty. Not her higher-self that exists through infinite space and time while floating through the quantum muiltiverse on a bed of vibrating strings, but the human part of her that actually still exists underneath the earth – and still has feelings about her own death.

    Ultimately the whole night felt like a gift even though it was intense. There is something freeing about losing your mind, heart, and spirit and then having to find it again.

    (Here we are, 14 and fearless…)
    bitty-blog-(i)

    April 15, 2015 • Adventures, Musings, Old School Stories • Views: 1607

  • Can Grown Ups Still be Wild and Free?

    Technically I am wayyyyy far into my adult years, and no longer even considered a “young person” – yet I still don’t identify with my childhood perception of “grown ups.” My image of a real grown up involves helmet hair, pleated pants, and a deep commitment to Charlie Rose. Maybe that’s why I dress like a 12-year old boy that wears hoodies with sweatpants, and still use the word “dude” non-ironically.

    Part of my rebellion is because the conventional “mature” approach to life sometimes feels soul sucking. When people get older, they stop trying new things, and taking risks. They become complacent because they prioritize things like safety and rest.

    Of course this behavior is rooted in rationality. As your body ages, an all nighter will impact you for the next month, and you take longer to heal if you hurt yourself from jumping off a roof onto a trampoline. Yet, to have practical reasons for being responsible doesn’t mean we have to be that way all the time. A part of your spirit dies when you are always thinking of the consequences of your actions. There is something so freeing when you do something that is out of the ordinary and just plain wild. We need moments of madness just as much as we need to consider the impact of our decisions.

    When we are young, we are probably too reckless because we don’t have enough foresight of our impending mortality. But when we get old, we are probably too cautious. If you think about it, we spend most of our lives as adults. If we get to be old, a very small fraction of our existence would have been devoted to childhood, and an even smaller one to the infamous teenage years. That is a LOT of time to be sensible, and not that much time to be impulsive.

    Even though I want sometimes to feel the mental liberty of my younger years, it is hard to get into that headspace. The Jiminy Cricket of my consciousness is too damn loud. “Don’t eat that, Toni, too much sugar will give you a headache. You should probably go home Toni and not get into that pickup truck full of Abercrombie Models – you have to wake up early tomorrow to get all the laundry done.” Maybe what I crave most is the psychic space to scream “YOLO” and do whatever the fuck just because if could be fun!

    Then I had some insight into what could help me be more adventurous – drugs!! Duh!!!

    Not hard-core drugs obvi, I am still too reasonable for that – but taking ONE hit of weed will really bring me to a spontaneous psychic space!!

    So this is what happened. I was going out on Friday night… which was a BIG deal for me because otherwise I would be home staring out the window like a lost kitten. On the way my friend said, “Hey, do you want some pot,” to which I replied, “sure do!”

    While we were driving, I was suddenly brought back to all the times in my life when I was fancy free getting high, driving around, and listening to music. It was sooo fun, and lighthearted. I realized what distinguished those times from, say, driving to the store for some organic chicken broth – was that I was less concerned about anything else but that moment.

    Being stoned makes me more of a witness to my life, rather than a participant. It is like I was watching myself from the outside, and it didn’t occur to me that I would ever have to actually deal with whatever happened next. I didn’t care because everything that second was hilarious. The only thing going on in my mind was, “what is that crazy girl Toni going to do next? Who knows? But I can’t wait to find out!”

    weed-blog-(i)

    March 9, 2015 • Adventures, Musings, Old School Stories • Views: 1516

  • Getting Caught Stealing

    Stealing isn’t just about taking something you can’t afford, or otherwise couldn’t have because it happens to belong to someone else and those flare pants by Anthropologie were 3 seasons ago so you can’t find them anywhere on the internet. Sometimes people pinch things for the rush of it, and the adrenaline of knowingly being bad, but not getting caught.

    There is something infinitely exciting about breaking the rules. When I was in the 9th grade, a group of girl friends and I decided that we would skip school to spend our time getting into trouble. It was a beautiful spring day, and we all left our houses waving goodbye to our parents with innocence in our eyes. We then met at Copley Plaza in Boston, ready to inflict chaos on the city. But it was only 8:15 and there really wasn’t that much to do, so we went to McDonald’s to get hash browns. Come to think of it, that is probably the most embarrassing part of this story.

    Later that afternoon we ended up at Quincy Market, and my friend (lets call her Flopsy) came out of the store with a sneaky smile on her face.

    Flopsy: You guys… check this out! I stole a candle.

    We all looked at the candle with shock and awe – GW Bush style. This candle was more than just a vanilla scented stick of wax – it was lifted goods. Suddenly, we were all transported into a scene that felt like we were as powerful as drug cartels. There was no going back now. We decide that each one of us would take something that day – Mopsy and Cottontail went next. Giddy, they both exited the store with more pilfered property. Then it was my turn. Not to be a square, but I wasn’t that into the scene at first, but then I did it – AND IF FELT AMAZING!

    Just knowing we had gotten away with something was the real excitement. We now lived above and beyond the law. Nothing could touch us. A spark had been ignited into a flame, and our summer of stealing began.

    Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and I would go on sticky-fingered excursions. It wasn’t even things we liked, or needed that much. We would shoplift nail polish, shower curtains, plumbing equipment… whatever. Anything we could get our grubby little hands on. Especially clothes. Sooooooooooooo many halter-tops.

    Our success made us too cocky. We were getting bored and wanted a greater challenge. We decided on the department store Filene’s to stock up some important items, like belly shirts. I was wearing overalls that day, and had gone into the dressing room to layer about 7 shirts and 3 pairs of pants underneath them. As we exited the store we were stopped by security.

    Security: Girls… you are going to have to come with us.

    We were taken into a back room where there was another security guard. We were all terrified and Cottontail started to cry.

    Security Guard 2: Look, we know you girls were stealing.
    Toni: No….
    Security Guard 2: We caught you on camera.
    Toni: It wasn’t me?

    * note to reader, please notice my cleverly placed Shaggy reference.

    The security guards were painfully annoyed with us, and made us take everything off our bodies, and out of our bags that we had stolen. A huge pile garments lay in the middle of the floor, mocking and shaming us.

    Security Guard 2: This is a disgrace. What do your parents do girls?
    Flopsy: Professor…
    Mopsy: Lawyer…
    Cottontail: Doctor
    Toni: Professors….
    Security Guard 2: (Rolls eyes audibly). Listen, none of you girls are leaving unless your parents come pick you up. So get on the phone and start calling.

    Everyone then had to use the security guard’s rotary phone to call their parents to tell them to come to the Filene’s located in the wealthy neighborhood of Chestnut Hill, and then ask for the back closet where the delinquents were kept. When it was my turn I was so nervous and sweaty I kept fucking up the number. I would have to hang up and start at the beginning, which on a rotary phone actually took an insane amount of time. The only sounds in the room were Cottontail’s tears and my swearing.

    When my dad finally arrived his face was red with rage, his hair wild from wrath, and his voice shaking with fury. He was such a terrifying sight that even the security guard took pity on me.

    Security Guard 2: Are you sure this is your dad?

    That was the only time I got grounded in my entire life. Forget the fact that I smoked weed, went to raves to take ecstasy, ate acid, once or twice took the car without asking, had sex in my parents house…. They could deal with all that. But stealing!!!?? Having to come to Filene’s to retrieve me!? That was just too much for them. I still remember the deep feeling of humiliation I felt when I got in the car with my dad and he looked at me with severe disappointment then quoted Pee Wee’s Big Adventure:

    My Dad: The Buxton’s are not thieves….

    February 18, 2015 • 1st time for everything, Adventures, Family Drama, Musings, Old School Stories • Views: 1557

  • Have You Ever Tried That…. ON WEED?

    I officially began my quest for sobriety in 2006. I was dealing with some health issues at the time, and my neurosurgeon suggested that maybe smoking pot every day, drinking 5 times a week, and dabbling in cocaine perhaps wasn’t the best idea when trying to heal a brain tumor. What a square, am I right?!

    It took about 3 years to get to a point where I fully abstained from everything, and completely committed to a pure life of prioritizing my health. In truth, I am infinitely grateful for this forced period of self-reflection and sobriety. My restrained adult life has had many positive effects. I am more focused and productive. I make better decisions. I know myself in a profound way. I actually face problems rather than avoiding them through substances, and I am way skinnier. I guess getting high and eating cereal with ice cream instead of milk at 12am isn’t the best diet after all. Go figure.

    In my personal experience, one of the best parts about sobriety is that you are less lonely when you are alone because you are more content in your own skin. The worst part, however, is that you are more lonely around other people when everyone else is partaking in some mind-altering material. Yet even though I couldn’t enjoy all the same activities of my past, say staring at a microwave for 3 hours debating pulling a Sylvia Plath because I was coming down off drugs, I had many new ways that I enjoyed spending my time.

    I never want to go back to the way I was – and in truth, that isn’t even possible. I am not the same person I was in my 20’s. I am stronger, wiser, and did I mention skinnier? I am not looking for the same escape that I was in my past. Even though my life is not perfect, I feel more in control because I have slowed down. When I lived in NYC, I was always on hyper drive… moving forward regardless of logic, not taking the time to question my choices, and always looking for the bigger better deal. Now that I live in the woods with a young child, life is inherently calmer and scheduled – so as a result I am more intentional.

    But you guys………… it has been sooooooooooooooooo long. So crazy long. Like holy crap it has been a long time of not doing anything.

    So I smoked pot. A few times. Not a lot mind you!!!! Just one hit. A micro dose if you will. And let me tell you. It is amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    Now remember, it has been YEARS since I have done this, and a lot has changed. For one: eye-phones!! Those things are outrageous!! The last time I smoked, I didn’t’ have the Internet in my hand all the time. Do you get how nutty that is? I felt like the “unfrozen cave man lawyer” – your world frightens and confuses me!!! Being stoned around an iPhone made me realize just how ridiculous it is to climb into a virtual world, and totally disconnect from the actual world around me. I couldn’t even look at that thing without shuddering.

    You know what else has changed? I created a HUMAN BEING!!! Now technically I have known that for 4 1/2 years – but the first time I got stoned, I went up to The Munch’s room and just watched her sleep for an hour. I was like “Who are you?? Where did you come from? And how are you so awesome!!?” It blew my away that I have not only kept Munch alive for this long, but I was actually doing an okay job too! It was like this holy fuck moment were I realized that I am in fact an adult who can take care of another person! WHO KNEW?

    I also did some high yoga – which was maybe the best time of my life. Now I practice yoga a lot, and to be honest, it has become almost unconscious for me. There are these habitual poses that I have done hundreds, if not thousands of times. But doing yoga on weed was like “OMG… down ward dog is the SHIT!!! This feels sooooooooooooo good!! I can’t believe I don’t sleep like this!!!”

    You know what else I did? I ATE!! Do you realize how delicious food is? Have you ever actually tasted rice pudding? I mean really let that sweet vanilla cinnamon goodness penetrate your tongue. FOOD IS SOOOOO GOOD YOU GUYS!! Corn chips?? Those things are unbelievable!! Have you ever had fresh popcorn? I could cry at the thought.

    Can I tell you more thing that I did? I sat! I just sat, gazed at nothing, and thought. I didn’t want to look at my phone, or my computer. I didn’t feel the pressure to be industrious, or work. I just wanted to be, and enjoy my own mind. Do you know how long it has been since I actually just let myself chill? In my youth, I would smoke and do things like paint, create collages, make jewelry, knit… undertakings that had no purpose beyond the enjoyment of crafting. Now almost everything I do is related to my career, business, work or ambition. The mental freedom to just sit without an agenda was so freeing.

    I have to say, my dabbling in weed has been crazy fun – but that is because it is a dabble. The impact is mind-blowing because it is so out of the ordinary. I have to keep it that way. The magic of marijuana is special, and I don’t want to corrupt it ever again. I like that one small toke will catapult me into the time space continuum.

    (There I am at 20… awwwwww so sweet)

    weed-blog-(i2)

    February 11, 2015 • 1st time for everything, Health, Mommyhood, Musings, Old School Stories, Parenting • Views: 2010

  • Why Do People Smoke Weed?

    I used to smoke a lot of pot. When I think about how much money I spent on 1/8ths of weed, I could have easily bought a car. Not like a lotus or anything, but definitely a 2003 Toyota Camry. When I lived in New York City I would call a delivery service that would come to my house – always 2 hours late. The coke guy was there in 15 minutes and sweating profusely, but the marijuana guy would most likely get around to coming between 2-7. This could have been considered annoying if I wasn’t already on the couch playing video games, or watching documentaries about animals communicating telepathically.

    I would then pick out a type of weed from a variety of strands. They had absurd names like “sticky laughy taffy,” “total chronic meltdown” or “paranoid punk rock absolute ganja package.” As far as I knew they were all the same shit, but having the choice made me feel a connoisseur. Ahhh yes sir, I will take the “fuck my mind and erase my face,” today. I would then smell it like a fine wine, and give the nod that I was pleased with my informed decision. “I think this will go great with the cheese sandwich I will be eating in 40 minutes.”

    My boyfriend and I would always befriend our weed delivery guys, not out of obligation, but more because we never left our apartment. We were pretty much starving for human contact. We would often offer the guy a bong hit, which he rarely refused. We would get high, laugh for a bit, but then feel increasingly uncomfortable as we thought too much about how everything is actually nothing. There would be a silence that lasted either 3 minutes or 2 hours (it was hard to tell) – yet would eventually get interrupted by the sound of the weed guy’s pager. He would slowly gather his things while mumbling about how he has to hurry to get to the next client, but we all know his real agenda was to get a slice of pizza and stare at a wall.

    Our next plan of action was to deal with the relentless munchies that were upon us. Of course there was the option to go outside and get food, but the thought of interacting with the reality we just smoked away was way too much pressure. I would call the bodega that was ½ a block away, and the lady who owned “Sunny and Annie’s” would always recognize my voice. Every time she answered my “hello” with “yes 190 East 7th street apartment 701 – what kind of cereal you want?”

    I smoked consistently for a decade of my life and never really questioned “why?” Part of my rational was that it helped me sleep at night. I had been an insomniac since childhood, and the weed did assist me in passing the fuck out in front of the TV. Yet that wasn’t the sole reason. Of course weed can be fun, provide an interesting perspective, and provoke insight… but it can also make you lethargic, suspicious, and introverted. There was something profound that I was holding onto beyond “self-medicating” but I wasn’t exactly sure what it was. The classic analysis was that I was running from something, or trying to avoid dealing with existence, but it felt deeper than that. It was giving me something that I needed, even though it was also taking away things I required.

    I stopped smoking pot 6 years ago. I had been trying to quit for 2 years prior (because of my brain tumor), but couldn’t fully commit to abstaining. Then there was one fateful day when I was forced to realize that I had indeed smoked enough. I was at my friend’s house, and she offered me a bong hit. It had been quite some time since I had one of those, yet I went for it anyway because that is how I role. About five minutes later, I was lying on her floor having a full-fledged anxiety attack. I had no idea who I was, or what being “Toni” even meant. I couldn’t remember how to think, what thinking even was, or how on earth I had ever been comfortable thinking at all. I was losing it and started to shake uncontrollably because I was so cold.

    My friend brought me to her bedroom and had my lie down in there. Partly because she was concerned, and partly because she wanted to watch a movie and my moaning was too distracting. I kept shaking and complaining about being freezing. She put two more blankets on me including a heated electric one. I finally relaxed and fell asleep.

    I woke up about an hour later and had some harsh realizations. I had to say to myself “Okay Toni… it is 3:00 in the afternoon and 75 degrees out – but you are under 7 comforters and had to be put to bed like a baby because you got too high.” My friend gave me some apple crisp (which was the best thing I ever tasted) and I decided that maybe it was time to finally call it quits.

    I can’t say I haven’t missed it. I have. But I have been too afraid to smoke because I really didn’t want to bug the fuck out. Yet when I was dealing with all my back pain, a kind friend gave me a weed tincture to deal with the suffering. I was super nervous about giving it a try, but also desperate for some relief. None of my hippy doctors had prescription capabilities to give me the high-grade narcotics I was begging for. I took a tiny sip of the tincture and waited. Was I going to see Jesus? Was I going to lose my mind? I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

    Because I took such a micro dose, I didn’t get high… but I did have an epiphany about why people (me) smoke pot. Weed is a plant. It has a personality. An essence. Maybe even a soul. Wait… stay with me now. When you smoke her, it is like inviting someone into your brain to keep you company. She is someone to have a conversation with inside your consciousness. Weed becomes a friend within your own mind who averts you from being alone with your thoughts. She is the antidote for the feeling of solitude that we are born alone and we die alone. She is there with you.

    Maybe you are thinking, “it sounds like you actually did get high as fuck Toni” but whatever. Anyway, I have to run and eat some ice cream on toast.

    (Here is a montage of pictures where I am as high as fuck…)

    why-peeps-smoke-weed-blog-(i)

    October 28, 2014 • Health, Musings, Old School Stories • Views: 2985

  • You Provoked Me To Think You are A Tool

    Domestic violence is in the air…. Hmmmm for some reason that doesn’t have that same sweet Disco vibe as “Love is in the Air.” Go figure.

    So Baltimore Raven’s running back Ray Rice received a two game suspension after beating up his girlfriend – which is less than the penalty players get for smoking pot. I guess taking bong hits and eating cookie dough is wayyy more offensive to the NFL than hitting women – because at least that burns calories and builds muscle.  When Rice came out for practice yesterday he got a standing ovation from crowd – obviously people are supporting him despite this despicable behavior.

    Sports reporter Stephen Smith rationalized this discrepancy by saying “we also have to make sure that we learn as much as we can about elements of provocation” because, you know how ladies be enticing men to beat them unconscious and stuff.

    Smith of course “apologized” for his statement, but the sentiment is very popular when it comes to how people react to domestic violence. Even Whoopi Goldberg spoke out to defend Rice: “If you make the choice as a woman who’s four foot three and you decide to hit a guy who’s six feet tall and you’re the last thing he wants to deal with that day and he hits you back, you cannot be surprised!”

    Can we pause for a minute here? So the prevailing logic is that if a woman doesn’t want to get her ass kicked, then she shouldn’t make a man mad at her?  The blogesphere can be plagued with comments that echo the idea that women who hit men deserve to be decked.

    Really?

    If a woman was bludgeoning a man with a crow bar, then yes, he is going to physically react. When your life is genuinely threatened, the instinct of self-defense will prevail over all else. Yet if a woman hits a man and he doesn’t feel like he is in danger, then what is his responsibility? Can he use his body to restrain her? Yes. Can he beat her until she blacks out? No. Does this mean there a double standard between the genders when it comes to violence? Well… considering a man can kill a woman with his bare hands, yeah… you are going to have to be held accountable in a different way.  I am a really strong girl… I can hike mountains, swim across lakes, do 30 push ups – but my arms get tired after a hand job that goes on too long.  I couldn’t kill a man unless I had ninja stars! (And been trained in using said ninja stars).

    Margaret Atwood had a point when she said, “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” Just as there is a biological distinction when it comes to strength, there also has to be one when it comes to liability. Yes that holds men up to a different standard when it comes to physical aggression, but the law does the same for people who are highly trained in martial arts. When fighting someone considerably weaker than you, your body can be considered a weapon.

    But you want to talk unfairness when it comes to body accountability? Ummm how about the fact women gush blood every month, then hold babies inside of them while forced to live a sober existence as their bodies are ravaged by swelling joints and hemorrhoids, only to then squeeze a skull out of their love hole which often rips to the anus creating one giant gash. Yeah… men and women are different and we have different challenges.

    So unless guys want to be genetically modified with seahorses so they become the ones who deal with pregnancy and then shooting a being out their pee hole, and in the mean time we juice women up on steroids and testosterone – maybe dudes can just not beat women and seriously endanger their lives?

    provocatoin-blog-(i)

    July 30, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Relationships, Women's Business • Views: 1531

  • I Wanna Love you like an Animal

    When I used to smoke a lot of pot, I spent an ample amount of time watching animal shows on the Discovery Channel. It became borderline obsessive. I went to the Science Museum, on more than one occasion, to buy a $300 DVD about creatures of the jungle. For many moons I would get disturbingly high, eat cereal, and look into the eyes of these beings of the wild.

    I fantasized about going into the open tundra and documenting yacks in their natural habitats. The feeling would pass after another bong hit. I’ve always had a lot of respect for people who spend their lives in nature, observing the magnificence of animals.

    As humans we often try to find the distinction between the animal kingdom and ourselves. There is a prevailing assumption that while a part of it, we are above it. We have a superiority complex, and tend to consider ourselves civilized in simply because we wipe our own ass and don’t eat vomit. I really don’t think we are.

    When I see a lion hunting a zebra in the Serengeti, it at first seems brutal as teeth tear into flesh, and this massive beast ingests its victim raw. I am like “whoa, that shit is intense lion… settle down because you have blood all over your furry chin and that is freaking me out.” Yet that is nothing compared to genocide. Or war! At least with animal violence the scale is more reasonable as opposed to taking out a couple thousand with a bomb. Animals are pretty damn low-key in contrast.

    We anthropomorphize ourselves when we portray people as the evolved species. By attributing human traits to our human identities we rationalize barbaric behavior – when in reality we are still ruthless animals.

    So on that note… I decided it was a good idea to bring The Munch to the Friendly Farm to pet some goats and pick up baby chicks and shit.
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    July 7, 2014 • 4 years old, Adventures, Musings • Views: 1833

  • Puff Puff Pass… Wait, Not To You Mom or Dad

    My parents were pretty liberal when dealing with my “experimental phase” of smoking weed as a teenager.  I think they figured that if they made a big deal about it that would only encourage me more, and assumed it was a phase I would outgrow.  As long as I was doing well in school, they pretty much turned a blind eye.

    So if I happened to run into them after smoking pot, I would just play it cool, and they would placate me.  But thinking back to what they must have been thinking when they saw their daughter with blood shot eyes and reeking of pot trying to pretend I was sober– it must have been kind of hilarious for them.

    Example 1

    My friend Bitty and I were smoking weed outside while my parents were at the movies.  We decided we needed to eat raw cookie dough, so went into inside to make some.  The movie had sold out so my parents were home in the kitchen.

    Toni: “Oh. Hi mom.  Hi dad.”

    Mom: “Hi.”

    Toni: “Why is it so smoky in here?”

    Mom: “What?”

    Toni: “Were you guys cooking something? Why is it so smoky?”

    Mom: “What?”

    Toni: “Is the oven on? Its just really smoky in here.”

    Mom: “Ummm Toni, the only thing smoking is your head.”

    Toni: “Oh.”

    Example 2

    Again, Bitty and I were smoking weed outside, but this time we decided that we needed to eat raw cake batter and watch Alice in Wonderland.  My mom was adamant that we never ate in the living room, but we really needed to watch Alice in Wonderland while we ate the cake batter.  Since it was 3 in the morning, we snuck in the living room and figured my mom would never have to know.  But unfortunately she woke up and I heard her coming down the stairs.  So of course Bitty and I did the only logical thing.  Hide the cake batter behind the chair and tried to hide us underneath the table.

    Mom: “Toni? What are you doing underneath the table?”

    Toni: “Oh nothing.”

    Mom: “Are you trying to hide from me under a table? You know it is empty under a table right? I can see you both.”

    Toni: “Yeah, totally. We know you see us. We were just looking for something.”

    Mom: “Okay, well did you find it? Are you coming out from under there?”

    Toni: “We found it.  Yeah.  Coming out.”

    Mom: “Why is it so dark in here?”

    Toni: “We were just watching a movie.”

    Mom: “Well I am turning on the lights.”

    Toni: “Okay.”

    Mom: “Hey, were you girls eating in the living room?”

    Toni: “Nope.”

    Mom: “Are you sure you weren’t eating in the living room?”

    Toni: “Yup.”

    And then I looked over at Bitty and she had chocolate cake batter all over her face, as did I.

    Example 3

    We are smoking some weed outside on my parents terrace because I thought they weren’t home.  My dad opens the door seconds after I inhaled.  I exhaled into my shirt thinking he wouldn’t see the smoke billowing out of my armpits.

    Dad: “Its smells like roofers out here.”

    (Okay… so I lost my shit laughing.  It was too much).

    Toni: “Dad its reefer!! Not roofers!! It smells like reefer out here!”

    Dad: “Oh right! Duh”

    Its hard to say whether or not I will take the same approach as my parents did with The Munch.  I have no idea what it is like to have a teenager, and after what I put my parents through, I am sure I am really in for it.  But they were right in many ways, that it was just a phase, and it did smell like roofers.

    (Here I am at 15 going to my friend’s prom…. Yeah…. pretty sure that girl was trouble)

    pot-blog-(i)

    April 25, 2013 • 2 years old, Family Drama, Musings • Views: 1389