Rocky Mountain High

In case you missed it in all the New Year’s excitement over North Korea’s Kim Jong Un’s greatest decision, ever, or that other Kim, Kardashian, surrounding her infant daughter with choking hazards, it looks like we can now buy and sell (and smoke!) weed in Colorado without going to prison for the rest of our natural born lives.

There’s a neat little photo gallery over on the Washington Post showing all the potheads law abiding citizens rejoicing.  You can view the photos here. Like me, I’m sure you’ll find the photo of the father and son waiting in line together to buy dope on New Year’s Day particularly heartwarming.

Just add some rickey to that gin and you’re all set.

My handful of experiences with marijuana all came during college in desperate attempts to be thought of as cool, or hip, or at least not the awkward girl.  I thought smoking pot was another step (like drinking coffee, having sex, and ordering a gin rickey) I needed to take in order to transform from this gawky girl into a sophisticated woman.  I also wanted to be a writer and I felt my life thus far had not provided me with the experiences I needed in order to have something about which to write. Surely, smoking pot would give me something to write about!

And it did: this blog post.

So it was with more excitement than trepidation that I agreed when Eric Penderton asked me if I wanted to leave a party and go outside and smoke pot with him.  And because I wanted to walk on the wild side but not get too wild, I insisted my room mate, Julie, come with us.

Eric reluctantly agreed and the three of us tramped outside to his Hyundai Elantra where Eric was

disappointed a second time when he got in the front seat by himself while Julie and I got in the backseat together.  Eric took his stash from the glove box, lit the joint, and then passed it to me.  I inhaled, held the smoke in my lungs as instructed, and passed it to Julie before exhaling.

Me:  (exhaling) Do you feel anything?  I don’t feel anything.

This is what your Hyundai smells like.

Julie:  I don’t feel anything.

Eric:  You have to wait a minute.  Sheesh.  (passing me the joint) Take another hit.

Me:  (after repeating the procedure) I still don’t feel anything.  I don’t think it’s working.  Can it not work?

Julie: (eyeing the joint suspiciously) Are you sure this is marijuana?

Eric: Of course it is!

Me: (giggling)  Maybe it’s not even marijuana!  Maybe it’s a Marlboro Light he just gave us!

Julie: (laughing) Or a Pall Mall, like my grandfather smokes.

Eric: (through clenched teeth) Get out of my car.

After that experience, I realized gawky girls who have smoked weed aren’t all that different from gawky girls who have not smoked weed.  My experience smoking pot left me mostly unchanged, just with a lingering acrid aroma.

I have to wonder if marijuana would have had the same allure if it had been legal. I found that drinking alcohol became much less fun after I turned twenty-one.  Now that it’s legal there, will smoking pot in Colorado, instead of being edgy and dangerous, become just another activity co-opted by the masses, like wearing Uggs?  Will smoking weed be as fun when our parents are doing it?  They’ve already ruined Facebook.*

*Your parents didn’t ruin Facebook.  It already sucked.

Royalty free stock photos including the images in this post can be found at Stock.XCHNG