My boyfriend was pretty excited today. Why? Because today was the first day he had cannabis delivered.
Ah the future. Where you can literally hop on your computer, put in an order for Humboldt sativa, maybe a few indica minis, and thirty minutes to an hour later… cannabis at your door. With taxes and fees, you definitely pay for convenience, but heavens is it nicer than code words like “1/8th of cucumber” texted to some friend of a friend with no assurances they’ll come through.
But are we boring now?
I remember the old days when knowing who had weed was a stressor and the power you could feel as someone who “had a guy”. Never mind that “the guy” was unreliable. Never mind it was ALWAYS awkward buying weed from someone who was an acquaintance or, worse, really took the concept of being a dealer to paranoid highs. I can’t be the only one who got a tongue lashing for accidentally saying “marijuana” out loud in a dealers’ presence. We’d nod our heads at early legalization activism and wistfully imagine traveling to Amsterdam. Man, cannabis could be a real serious subject for something we used in the back of the Poor Billy’s Seafood Restaurant kitchen.
But times changed and they changed fast. In 2013, I moved from Hawaii, where weed was practically currency, to Los Angeles into a studio apartment with my then-boyfriend. I had no job, no friends, and no money. I found an 1/8th of weed in my travel duffel bag, stowed away accidentally, that had somehow escaped both my attention and the TSA’s. For a little while, I had a break from white-knuckling my kneecaps looking for work. Those first few weeks in LA were filled with smoking up after a day …
Author: CK Kimball / High Times