There is nothing better than a beautiful sunset, denim, and some Eric Clapton...correction, there is nothing better than a beautiful sunset, denim, Eric Clapton, and some good ol’fashioned ganja.
There is a first time for everything, and, my friends, we all know that weed is no exception. All of us have our own magical and oh-so-slightly clumsy, first-time story for weed—here is mine.
A little about me
I have worked in the cannabis industry both the gray market and the licensed, legally producing market for five and a half years. It is my love of the cannabis plant and the fact that I live with generalized anxiety and moderate depression that drives me to help dispel inaccurate information and lift the stigma that surrounds the cannabis plant and industry to this day. My mission in life is to help the de-stigmatization of the consumption of cannabis in all its forms and for all of its uses, be it medical or recreational, to thrive by providing an educated, welcoming, and boundary-pushing atmosphere, and to help those who live with mental health-related issues, find help and relief through cannabis.
Going back in time
Okay, we’re taking it back to 2008, back to the days of cigarette skinny’s, indiscriminate drinking, and some of the best life choices ever. It was a hot summers’ eve in a sleepy little suburb (you know, the kind with big houses and wonderfully dysfunctional families) in my hometown of Langley. Everyone who I knew, and everyone that I hardly knew, were together in one of those large houses at the beginning of one of the many cul de sacs in the area. The air in the house was thick with the smell of cigarillos (A.K.A “bitch-sticks”... not a cigar and not a cigarette - just a grape-flavored stick of disappointment), cheap beer, and hormones.
Now, as we get to know one another my lovelies, you will come to find that I was and still am quite the nerd... so let’s just say a house party for me was the pinnacle of social awesomeness growing up, but I digress...walking through the house and into the back yard, I noticed a different smell, subtle at first, like a soft kiss, then bold and vibrant like a Pollock painting the nearer I came to the edge of the backyard.
I had found the source. A group of guys, two of whom I knew, a guitar, and that one dude who would never stop trying to be the next “best” (I’m playing it fast and loose with the word best here) folk singer. To the right of the musical abomination in human form was one of my friends who we will call Smith. Smith had a joint in his hand. The circle of bodies encapsulated an earthy and slightly citrusy cloud of smoke. I remember thinking I could stand in that circle forever, even if the next best folk singer, giving Bob Dylan’s Maggie’s Farm his best shot, wouldn’t shut up. Then it happened, Smith raised his hand, cocked his head, and said “yo, wanna hoot?” You bet your ass I wanted a hoot.
Remembering that this was my first time, I decided it should be gentle, so I took a modest puff of the joint and passed it on in the circle. I felt stoned immediately, and DEAR LORD I loved the feeling! I remember likening my body to that of a slightly over-cooked spaghetti noodle and the feeling of wanting to eat everything I could get my hands on. In a haze, I managed to noodle my way back through the backyard towards the house. I successfully made it back into the kitchen to do my rounds for snacks, before heading upstairs to the one-room playing some classic rock. It was at this point I decided that if I was going to be stoned, I would do it right. The lights were low and the room was empty, at least I thought it was. As I entered, Eric Clapton’s Cocaine began to play. I was stoned for the first time, and one of my favorite songs was playing. Lovelies, I was in my element and having the best time dancing by myself, until the lights were turned back up. To my surprise, I was being watched the entire time by some of the people I hardly knew. They proceeded to laugh their asses off, while my stoned ass came to the realization that I was not alone in the house, or in the world.
Even though my one-woman dance party ended with a shock that made me need to pee, in my mind, it is a perfect moment frozen in time. I know I’m not the greatest dancer but I also know I got stoned the right way.
To this day I have no freakin’ clue what strain it was, but if the fates allow, I will find it again and be reunited with my past self in a moment of delicious nostalgia.