Amnesia

Lately, I've been toking on some very strong Amnesia from Clandestine Gardens. Clocking in at a wonderful 28.1% THC, this potent sativa really knocks your block off. One of my favorite growers, Clandestine, raises every plant with sunshine, unicorns and love, resulting in a heady, potent, and flavorful buzz, with a great aroma and a stickiness that rivals the paste you used to eat in elementary school.

Just a few hits from that shit and my brain collapsed.

No shit.

Look at that fucking deliciousness. Just look at it.

I'd been meaning to try the strain for a while. I'd heard good things about it, I'd seen it in the local retail stores and considered buying it, but, fickle smoker that I am, some other strain would catch my eye like some gaudy butterfly and I'd go with that instead and then I’d forget all about the Amnesia. It was like I had amnesia from not smoking Amnesia.

Anyway, my girlfriend and I were in Cascade Herb Company, in Bellingham,​ a week or two ago. I forget why we went, because I had literally just stopped in at The Joint - Bellingham​, for some outstanding Blue Bastard, which was an Indica from Treedom​ and a couple of half-gram pre-rolls of Bruce Banner and LA Cheese, from Analytical 360​, so I was well set for the night. Evidently, she wasn't.

Blue Bastard

Oh, I remember now. My girlfriend wanted to get a new vape cartridge and I had a 20% discount at Cascade, so off we went, hand in hand, in search of more weed. Because nothing says buy more weed than saving money on dope and nothing says true love more than going weed shopping, hand in hand, with your girlfriend. Skipping through the sunshine and rainbows, slipping on the unicorn shit.

We hadn't been to Cascade for a few weeks. We'd bought a few vape cartridges there, before our vacation to the east coast, but we hadn't been back since then and I'd been lazy, buying my weed closer to home, mostly because of my odd work hours and the vibe at the shop had changed a little bit.

Cascade has had a bit of a turnover in staff lately, with most everyone that we know either gone, or working hours when we usually don't or can’t frequent the store. When you've been going to the same place for a long time and you're used to dealing with the same people, you kinda sorta build up a relationship of sorts with those people and when it all changes on you, it throws off your equilibrium. It's like switching weed dealers, or escaping from the backwoods in Deliverance. It takes a little while before you become comfortable again and I still shake uncontrollably when I hear banjos.

We walked into the store and the comforting smell of good weed washed over us like a warm summer day. Sure enough though, it was all new people working that night and there wasn’t a familiar face in sight. Bummer, but no biggie, It doesn't need to be a social call. We'll just get our shit and leave, but things didn't go as expected. The dude behind the counter was really cool and patient with us, he ensured that we had the time and the attention that we needed and this made us feel more like people and not just a number. We checked out a few cartridges and then headed over to where the flower was, sitting all pretty inside of the glass display cabinets.

Everything looked and smelled so good! I just wanted to cuddle with all of the lonely little buds.

Fuck. I was about to blow my weed budget. Again. That happens more than you might think.

My girlfriend and I looked over those delectable nuggets of goodness, smelling this and sniffing that. Fondling bags and ogling buds. We asked questions and compared strains from different growers and the guy behind the counter seemed to have a taste in weed that was similar to ours, so we felt as if his recommendations could be trusted. He spoke highly of a few strains and growers and I picked out a few bags of buds, for us. I also asked for a recommendation for something that would make me giggly and stupid. Dude strongly recommended the Amnesia, from Clandestine Gardens. I'm quite familiar with Clandestine's products and I've never been disappointed. Their prices tend to be at the higher end of the scale, ranging anywhere from $14 - $17 a gram, but when it comes to quality and potency, you definitely get your money's worth. As I like to say, you can tell that it was grown with love… and unicorn shit.

Things were starting to get a little out of hand. In addition to what I had purchased earlier, between the two of us, we now had an additional eighth of Strawberry Tangie, an eighth of Amnesia, a gram of Blueberry and a big ass joint of Double Lemon Cheesecake for the ride home. You have to have a travel doobie. It's like a rule, or something and I'm big on following the rules.

We bought a lot of fucking weed. No worries, though. You can never have too much weed and it was all going to a good cause.

Getting me high.

Because I'm a charitable motherfucker.

But we hadn't finished shopping yet.

My girlfriend still wanted a vape cartridge, We looked the cartridges over again and she asked me to pick one out for her, because she knows that letting me do that kind of shit makes me puff out my chest and feel all smart and self-important and stuff. This way, I think I'm in charge and don't realize that she's in control. Whatever, I can live with my illusions. Quite comfortably, I might add. She told me she wanted an Indica, so the choice came down to either God's Gift, which we'd just had, or the Afghani Hash that I had looked at earlier and which I had kind of a hankering for.

I hope that's enough for the weekend.

Just before we left, the owner popped out of the back and it was nice to finally see a familiar face. He greeted us and then he introduced us to all of his new employees. Suddenly, the store felt as warm, friendly and welcoming as it always had. I'll tell you, that's the kind of shit that makes me feel like a valued customer and keeps me coming back. It's also one of the many reasons that I recommend Cascade Herb Company to everyone that I speak to. Keep up the great work, guys!

We smoked up on the way home and then we smoked up some more when we got there. The Double Lemon Cheesecake was smokealicious. We tried out the Afghani Hash and the Strawberry Tangie, first thing and pretty soon, we were both pretty lit.

I put the Amnesia away for later.

We smoked most of what we bought that night, over the course of the next few days and then we bought some more weed, forgetting all about the Amnesia. Sort of. I just kept looking for excuses to smoke other strains, keeping that Amnesia in reserve, making it my side bud.

It took me two weeks to break into the Amnesia, but after smoking out all day yesterday, I finally cracked the seal last night. I packed a bowl and then my girlfriend and I drove over to the grocery store to get some mushrooms for dinner. She lives close to the store, so we were only able to take a hit or two each, before we got there, so we sat in the parking lot for a few minutes and finished the bowl. I was feeling fairly fine, as we got out of the car.

As we approached the store, my girlfriend noticed one of her besties on her way in as well, with her bestie's bestie child in tow, so we took a moment to stop and say hello.

That moment was all that it took. By the time the two of them were finished talking about whatever shit women talk about, the weed had caught up with me and my eyes had glazed over like a doughnut. I was pretty fucking stoned and it felt fabulously fucking phenomenal.

Unfortunately, the worst place in the world for me to be when I'm stoned is at the grocery store. It can be deadly. I get lost. I fall into some kind of mysterious, space-time warp anomaly thing and I emerge from the store twenty-seven years later, like some kind of wasted Rip van Winkle. It's not pretty.

So, the two of us are now wandering around the store, fingering the food and leering lasciviously at this and that, sucking up time the way work sucks away my life. Gone and lost forever, but at least we were laughing our asses off. Everything was funny. 

Time dilation has some strange effects. So do large quantities of weed. Makes you think you know shit about time dilation, when you really don't know shit at all.

We were only there to buy one item, for fuck's sake! Well, there was one other item that I wanted too, but I was so high, So high, I couldn't remember what it was.  It was like I had amnesia from smoking the Amnesia.

At some point while the two of us were wandering through the desert, trying to find the promised land of the exit, we ended up in front of the freezer case where they keep some of the higher end things like duck and bison, as well as a few, more exotic meats. I noticed that they had frozen duck breasts and I suddenly had to have them, but I was stoned, so I had to debate it with myself, first. I live on a pretty tight food budget, so I have to justify spending money on erroneous things like food.

"Stop fondling the breasts and just throw them in the basket." My girlfriend demanded. Quite unfairly, I might add.

Jealous much?

I threw them in the basket and then I wanted to go stare at some short ribs, because I'd been wanting to cook them for a while and it never hurts to look.

They didn’t have any fucking short ribs. Bastards. Who does that?

We started looking at the steaks, instead.

While we were busy touching all of the packages of steak and playing with our meat that we had no intention of buying, she asked me what I had done with the duck.

"What did you do with the duck breasts?" she asked me.

"I've been pinching their little nipples," I replied. “They seem to like it.”

Did you know that a platypus has no nipples? Me either.

She looked at me, askance, rolled her eyes at me and said, "Don't make me kill you. I'm not in the mood to hide your body right now."

"You'd have to dig a hole, first," I answered quite smugly. Have to follow the rules...

"I have," she told me.

"Oh," I said. "Shit. They're in the basket. Please don't hurt me."

Fuck me. Gingers are dangerous when they get all riled up.

"No, they're not," she said. "There are only two things in the basket and duck isn't one of them."

Wtf?

I peered into the basket. I saw some mushrooms, some other fucking shit, but sure enough, there were only two things in the fucking basket and, neither of which was duck.

"What did you do with the duck?" I asked her.

"I never did anything with the duck," she continued, "You never put it in the basket."

Well, fuck me. Apparently, my overly stoned ass had thrown the duck back into the freezer. I sheepishly retraced my steps and went back to get them.

When I returned, she was looking a bit smug, but I quickly turned the tables on her.

"Did you remember to get your wine?" I asked her.

A panicked expression crossed her face and was replaced by a look of determination. She didn’t say a word, she just turned and ran like hell for the wine section.

Distraction and sleight of hand. You can always distract a woman with wine. It works like a charm, every time.

After that, we were over at the butcher case and we got into some conversation with the meat guy over exactly which cut of beef constituted a "medallion," because at $20 a pound, that medallion had better be something special and not the cheap ass sirloin that they usually try to pass off as "medallions." The meat guy didn't have a clue and to be honest, he told us that he thought the meat was sirloin. Well, as red as that guy’s eyes were, I'm pretty sure that he didn't have a clue about much and I know that fucker was just as stoned as we were and I’m fairly certain that he knew that we were stoned too. We know our tribe.

From there, we went to go stare at some expensive and nasty smelling cheese and then we went over to the new section that was full of artisanal meats, such as Jamon de Iberico, specialty salamis and other wondrous things, but, as before, we bought nothing. Finally running out of shit to look at, we made our way to the front of the store to pay for the few things that had managed to make it into the basket.

I still couldn't remember what the hell the other thing was that I had wanted to buy. It was like I had amnesia, or something.

As we were headed to the exit, we heard my girlfriend's bestie call out, "Oh my God, are you guys still here?"

Nice job there, Captain Obvious.

We sort of explained why it had taken us an hour and a half to buy four items. You really don't want to tell anyone that you're stoned out of your mind on fucking weed while you're in front of their nine-year-old child. It's just poor form.

We said our goodbyes to bestie and child and we left the store, headed for home. That was when I finally remembered that I had needed to buy toothpaste, of course, but now it was just too late and there was no way that I was going back. Grrrrrr...

On the way home, I was still so stoned, I forgot where I was going. And where I was. Which happens more than you might think. My driving was fine, I was just a mental moron, but at least I was coherent enough to drive, even if I didn't quite know where I was. I just kept driving until things looked familiar and luckily, I guessed right, when I turned left, instead of right.

Somehow, I managed to get us home and I even managed to cook dinner without the summoning the fire department. The cooking thing just took a while, that's all. Trying to multi-task was a disaster, because I kept forgetting what I was doing.

Eventually, I managed to get it right. Pan seared duck breasts with a balsamic glaze and a bacon-mushroom risotto, made with beef stock. It was fucking amazing. I make the best shit, when I'm stoned.

After dinner, we smoked a little bit of the Blueberry, to wind down after a long day and that seemed to ground us a little bit more..

Fuck me. I've smoked a lot of dank shit over the years and that Amnesia was some of the dankest shit I’ve ever smoked.

On the Goodshit scale, I'd give it a 9.5 out of 10.

And now I'm off to smoke another fat bowl of it. Thanks, Clandestine!

Crash Landing

My friend Luke and I have known each other for over thirty years and I've shared a few stories of our misadventures together. It would seem that when you place the two of us on the same patch of earth, some seriously strange shit happens. More brothers than friends, Luke and I have also been roommates at various times throughout our lives and I have to say, there's never been a dull moment.

Before we go any further, let me describe Luke to you. I don't think that I've ever described Luke before, not on these pages, anyway. Please realize that I am going to poke a little bit at him in my description, mostly because I'm an ass, but it's basically accurate. Luke is a stunted, little, rotund man... I kid. Luke isn't very tall. He probably claims to be 5'8', but I think he's more like 5'6" and he's been going bald since before the day I met him. Hell, he's been going bald since before he went into the womb. Luke wears glasses and is definitely one of the most Jewish looking people that I've ever seen, so just picture a short, tubby,balding  Jewish guy with glasses and you've pretty much got Luke.

Okay, now that we've got that bullshit out of the way, I need you to bear with me for just another moment, because I need to build this next bit o' bullshit up a bit, so I'm going to go off on a bit of a tangent.

I once worked as a DJ at a posh nightclub in Miami Beach, FL, back in the mid 80's. Now, before you can say to yourself, "Holy fuck! How fucking cool was that?" let me clarify things a little bit for you.

It wasn't exactly posh and it wasn't exactly a club, either. It wasn't exactly Miami Beach  and if I'm going to be honest, I wasn't exactly a DJ, although I did a pretty shitty job of pretending to be one. Let's break this down point by point, shall we?

Point #1 It wasn't exactly posh and it wasn't exactly a club, either. It certainly wasn't posh until the lights were off and as for being a club? Well, it was, but it wasn't. It was a shitty little dive bar, or "club", if you will, that was tucked away in the basement of the Marco Polo Hotel, a hotel that was fairly well regarded and did serve an international clientele. The "club" in the basement was still a fucking dive, but in its own way, it was totally fucking awesome. I realize that this was actually kind of, sort of two points, but don't you try to play your math fuckery games with me.

Point #2 - It wasn't exactly Miami Beach. Well, it wasn't. Not even close. It wasn't even within jerking off distance, but it was fucking close enough, okay? The Marco Polo is actually located in Sunny Isles, FL, which is the northern tip of Miami-Dade County, so it's in the same county, which makes it fucking close enough, okay?

Point #3 - I wasn't exactly a DJ. Well, I was, but I wasn't. I mean, it was my job title and all and I did play music, but to say that I failed in fulfilling any part of my responsibilities would be putting it mildly; I was the worst DJ ever, but I can make a mean motherfucking mix tape and that's basically what I did all night long, make mix tapes. How I got this job is a story in itself, but that's a story for another day. I could go into all of the reasons why I sucked as a DJ, but let's just say that I didn't give a fuck and I played whatever I wanted to, was an absolute wanker and constantly fucked things up. Pretty much the same shit I always do. Trust me when I say that I excelled at that job.

Anyway, even the worst DJ ever has to have DJ equipment and I bought myself all kinds of stuff, mostly tacky shit like disco balls, rope lights, strobe lights, revolving police lights, etc. My bedroom looked like the set of a bad 70's porn film. The Feng Shui was fucking great though, let me tell you, even if I have no clue what the fuck Feng Shui is.

Blah, blah, blah... This sure is taking a long fucking time to tell a relatively short story.

Anywho, around this time, I was having some medical issues that were causing me to have a lot of horrible migraines. The headaches were non-stop and would last for weeks on end. It turned out that the strobe lights and all of the other flickering lights would serve as triggers for the migraines and sadly, my light show had to go. Bummer.

Luke and I were roommates at the time and I mentioned to him that I was looking to sell my lighting equipment and he told me that he was interested in purchasing them. We negotiated a price and they were his. The lights disappeared into Luke's bedroom.

Months went by...

I'd met this girl Kim and it was our first date. We'd gone out to dinner and then headed back to my place for a little Betamax and chill. Luke had a date as well and he was supposed to be gone all night, so Kim and I had the apartment to ourselves. Betamax and chill, yeah baby! Just as things were about to get hot and heavy, fucking Luke comes busting through the door along with his date, Irma. Irma. Seriously. Who the fuck names their child Irma? What the fuck is wrong with people? Anyway, those two shitheads come busting through the fucking door like fucking gangbusters, drunk giggling and totally cock blocking me, Fuckers.

Luke stopped long enough to chat for a moment and introduced the girls. I was screaming, "Get the fuck out!" the entire time. I didn't really scream it out loud, but I did think it right to his face. I was giving Luke some serious stink eye coupled with the universal look for you need to get the fuck out of here before I set your ass on fire. Luke didn't get my subtle hints and both he and Irma continued their cock blocking. Luke walked into the kitchen to get a drink and I followed, coming up behind him and whispering into his ear, "If you don't get the fuck out of here, I'm going to set you on fire." In my defense, I did say it as nicely as I could. Luke, being the perceptive little cock blocking motherfucker that he is, managed to absorb that subtle hint and he and Irma made themselves scarce, disappearing into Luke's bedroom, giggling like drunken idiots, which they were.

Luke's bedroom went dark.

Back to business...

I turned out the lights in the living room and then Kim and I got back to some Betamax and chill. I was in the middle of, "Praise Jesus, I'm about to get some!" when the room lit up in shades of red as the laser light show in Luke's room started up. The blue rope lights were next and then the blue strobe.

Wtf? I felt like I was about to have sex in the middle of an airport runway. Kim and I looked at each other, perplexed.

"Does he have an airport in there, or something?" Kim asked me.

And that was when we heard Luke's voice, just as loud as could be.

"Better watch out, this plane's coming in for a landing!"

"Can he fly that plane and land it?" Kim asked me.

"Surely you can't be serious," I said.

"I am serious... and don't call me Shirley." she answered.

I fucking lost it. Just the thought of that tubby, little bald fucker sailing through the air, hoping for a one point landing sent me off into maniacal madness and laughter. I started giggling and then I was laughing so hard that I fell out of where I was and off the couch. Thankfully, both the floor and my face broke my fall.

The next thing we heard was a loud thump, followed by another loud thump, which was in turn followed by a scream and then another scream, both so loud and shrill that I couldn't determine if they came from a man or a woman.

Irma came running out of Luke's bedroom.

"Luke's been hurt," she said.

I lost it all over again. How the fuck do you hurt yourself while fucking?

Kim and I jumped up, fixed our clothing and ran into Luke's room, where we found him splayed out on the floor and he wasn't moving. I knelt down to help Luke while Irma explained what had happened. Evidently, Luke had made his landing approach, bounced off his water bed runway, sailed through the air and managed to hit the floor in a perfect belly flop of a heap. I started laughing again.

Kim, Irma and I managed to lift Luke off of the floor. We dropped him. Twice. I shit you not. Luke screamed out in pain both times and all that I could do was giggle uncontrollably. I suppose that I should have felt bad, but I didn't. Fuck that, it was funny.

The three of us were able to drag Luke's ass onto the couch (sorry about that wet spot, bro) and he just laid there whimpering. Whimpering and cock blocking me. Look, I know he was in tons of pain and all, but I just wanted to get laid and here was my supposed best friend, keeping it from happening. What kind of fucking friend does that?

Luke wanted to go to the hospital. I wanted to get laid. The selfish little prick wanted me to take him. We were at a bit of an impasse.

"I'm not carrying your ass down three flights of stairs," I told Luke. "Besides, I'd have to drive your car. There's no way you're riding bitch on my bike."

Irma shot me a look that made me feel as if I were the most horrible and selfish person on the face of the planet. It made me feel good. It made me feel proud.

"I'll take him to the hospital," Irma said.

Good luck with that.

"No one is driving my car anywhere," Luke told her.

I knew that line was coming and Luke had just painted himself into a corner and I still wasn't getting laid. Who was the selfish motherfucker now?

In the end, we called 911. Just fucking great. More red lights, more people invading my apartment and more of me not getting laid.

Fucking roommates...

The paramedics checked Luke over, strapped him to a gurney and carried him out of the apartment. No matter how hard I wished for it to happen, they didn't drop him on the way down the stairs. Doesn't anyone care about my happiness?

Obviously not.

Fuckers...