Tuesday, April 29, 2014

est 1975 and "The First Time I Ever…"

  Today I’m lucky enough to have a second talented writer agree to guest here, allowing me to revert back to my natural lazy state for the day. Sarah writes at est. 1975 and possesses about the sharpest, most amazingly sarcastic wit I’ve ever come across. (Plus? She battles a chick-stache too, so I have someone to bond with over the evils of waxing. ALWAYS a bonus in my book!)

  The first time I got high off of weed was not – I repeat NOT – the first time I smoked it.

  Already not making sense? Let me back up a bit and explain.

  I was what you’d call a good girl in high school and college. I studied hard, wore Eastlands with spiral laces, and considered myself badass if I drank more than three beers. In fact, I have a vivid memory of listening to Madonna’s “Bad Girl” in my dorm room before going to a frat party where I drank basically nothing and hooked up with basically nobody. Bad girl indeed.

attribution at bottom of page
  As you might well imagine, the thought of smoking marijuana never even entered my mind during these years. In fact, looking back, I’m not sure I was seriously *offered* any until about halfway through grad school, and even then I very graciously declined. I HAD A FELLOWSHIP, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! I COULDN’T BE RUNNING AROUND SMOKING THE DEVIL’S WEED!

  What I’m getting at here is that it wasn’t until I was about 23 years old – done with college, done with grad school, and working my first “real” job – that the opportunity to smoke pot started to become regularly available to me, and I started to take an actual interest in trying it.

  It’s important to point out that at the age of 23 I was in what I’ll generously call a “crummy” marriage, so I spent a lot of my time bar-hopping with girlfriends and gayfriends and pretty much anyone who was willing to tag along. One of our regular haunts was a local brewery and pub, and over the course of time and many fucked-up nights we began to know the bartenders, brewers, and wait staff quite well.

  Now, as any of you who have ever worked in the bar and restaurant business know, WEED ABOUNDS. The kitchen staff smoke. The wait staff smoke. The bartenders smoke. The managers smoke. Everybody smokes, and they’ll do it pretty much anywhere. So when I made plans to go to a Ministry concert with the pub’s brewmaster (or at least, I think he was the brewmaster – this was a LONG time ago) it didn’t really surprise me that the evening’s agenda involved busting out a ginormous bag of dope.

  And I made the decision that I was game.

  My friend the (possibly?) brewmaster didn’t know it was my first time smoking the demon herb, so before the concert he quite casually asked if I wanted to “hotbox” in the public garage where we’d parked. I boggled. Hotbox? That sounded vaguely like a gardening thing. Not shockingly, it took my friend about .0001 seconds to figure out I had no idea what he was talking about, so he explained: “It’s smoking up in a tiny little place, like a car or a closet, and letting the trapped smoke get you extra high. Do you want to?”

  Well. I didn’t want to seem like even more of a tool than I’d already made myself out to be, so I said “SURE WHY NOT IT’LL BE GREAT LET’S DO THIS HOTBOXING THING YEAH BUDDY” or something equally ridiculous. My friend the brewmaster reached into his pocket, pulled out a one-hitter, and proceeded to pack it.

  “Ladies first,” was his pronouncement, handing me the packed one-hitter. Which looked kind of like a cigarette. Hey! I’d smoked cigarettes before! This would be no big deal. I took a long and cigarette-y drag, then exhaled almost immediately. And…


  My friend the brewmaster looked at me a little weirdly but didn’t say anything. He took his hit, which I noticed was a lot longer and deeper than mine, but whatever. Then it was my turn and I did much the same as I had before. Still nothing.

  It went on like this for a while, and I maybe got a wee buzz from the car filling up with smoke, but it was nothing like the high I thought I’d experience. By the time we got to the Ministry concert, my friend was completely stoned and loving life, and I was just… disappointed.

  Since that day, I’ve smoked quite a bit more marijuana and I know now that you don’t just take a shallow college-girl drag off of a one-hitter before exhaling the smoke out instantly. Looking back, I marvel at what a dork I was, but we all have to learn sometime. The second time I smoked weed I had a little bit more help and the experience went MUCH more successfully. I got massively high, ate an entire bag of Doritos, and couldn’t stop laughing when my girlfriend drew a crude picture of a lobster claw and spent an hour pontificating about how she could TOTALLY sell this to Red Lobster.”

  And THAT was the first time I got high off of weed.

If you love this chick as much as I do, you can indulge in more of her sarcasm and humor on Facebook and Twitter. And, of course, at est. 1975.

*photo of marijuana joint taken by Ash2555; unrolled joint taken by Tha Weed Smoker; one hitters taken by kyuubi02x


  1. I've heard that happens often–that you don't get high the first time you smoke pot. Not that I would know. I'd never do anything like that. I also don't drink.

    P.S. And YAY! Chris and Sarah together in one place!

  2. "I also don't drink," said the woman whose avatar is a sexy lady drinking her ASS off.

    P.S. YAY!

  3. So funny! The first time I tried it I was in my early 30's *gasp*. Same thing, first time nothing. I though our friends got ripped off. The second time, much more successful. If I ever do it again I would try it in brownies or some other baked goods.

  4. I smoked pot for over 35 years and there are no adverse side eff…..

    Wait. What was I sayin'?

  5. Brownies are delightful.

    With or without pot in them.

  6. You could TOTALLY sell that to Red Lobster.

  7. Umm…drinking? NO! I do NOT have a deep love of tequila and Irish Whiskey. Not at all!

  8. I always wondered if eating it in brownies would cancel out the munchies or if it'd make it worse, so you'd eat more brownies, then get more munchies…

  9. Just explained to a college class yesterday that I never write anything my parents will be embarrassed about on my blog. There are other things they just may not get like 4:20 so that does not count if they don't know what it is. Then mom tells me today "your father knew what 4:20 was" but I am sure he only knows because they live outside of SF and it is basically a city holiday there.

  10. Your comment made me chuckle at how we are all so different and so are our blogs. If I didn't write about stuff my parents would be embarrassed about, I wouldn't have anything to write! 😛

  11. Hey you stole my pipe ! Give it back!
    Too funny …. Chris, I to have always wondered if eating it in food …. will I just eat till I pass out? Hmmmmm …. wondering minds must investigate ! Love your sense of humor Sarah.
    Trying to go back that far in my head …. just can't find it 🙂 I guess I should try and repeat it …. its 4:20 somewhere!

  12. I'm kinda with Sarah on this one. I mean, seeing as my entire existence has been one long embarrassment to my parents, I figure why stop now. *grin*

  13. She IS awesome! (Plus, I think you'd find some "EXACTLY!" moments on her series about her lady parts.)

  14. Thanks Debbi! Glad to see you swung by my blog!