Happy 4/20, followers.
pot
So apparently Jennifer Lawrence is getting some heat about smoking some pot and how it could alienate her from her fans.
Seriously?
Sheesh. Girl, come the fuck over. I got you.
Jennifer Lawrence ❤ on We Heart It. http://weheartit.com/entry/53803229
Deets.
StandardTo fill you all in:
- I just spent the better part of a day sleeping. And getting high and eating an amazing lunch with my friend. And watching episodes of Louie. Whatever.
- That guy from my frat has been obnoxiously pursuing me lately since I got with his teammate on Tuesday. Oooh jealousy.
- I’ve got a bruise on my knee and a seriously righteous hickey from Friday night. I left my earrings on Switch’s desk. I bit right around the arch of his ribcage and there’s a pretty endearing mark there now. I like how our sexual encounters have taken on the exact opposite mentality from “leave no trace”.
- I really want to sleep but two drunk athletes are having a verbal altercation outside my window. About sports and testosterone and I just don’t know.
- Guys, what am I going to do about this hickey? I feel like I’m in 10th grade. I’m not sure I can handle the ridicule.
- Also, here you go. You’re welcome. From my lawls to yours.
The hard work is done. After yesterday’s amazing news and turning in a huge assignment today, I’m feeling so incredibly free.
Time to wipe the dirt off my face (figuratively) and go celebrate the holiday like a champ.
Last night, a friend made some “special” brownies. (Yeah, yeah, I know the woman in the picture is smoking, but I couldn’t find any pictures of a cutie with brownies.) Although I’ve decided to give up smoking pot this year to do my lungs a favor, I’m not opposed to the occasional brownie.
Well.
I totally forgot I had band practice, mostly because I was just not up to going. However, now full of brownie and weed (seriously, two wonderful things), I managed to actually enjoy myself because I just felt awesome and it totally took my mind off some present circumstances that have been bothering me.
And, even better, although I felt like I was being an obvious mess, apparently I held myself together enough that when I told my friend afterwards that I was high as a kite, she was shocked. So, um, here’s to handling myself in public?
And here’s to special brownies: baked therapy.
The Holiday Party, Part 5
“I have to use the bathroom,” Noodlegirl exclaimed during some point during the night. However, we found the place occupied by someone puking.
I thought for a minute, “the gay guys upstairs! Let’s go use their bathroom."
Up the stairs we went, giggling the whole way. She put her arm around me while I knocked on the door and we were greeted by a very nice-looking young man as we chuckled and smiled at each other. He let us through to use the bathroom and was just incredibly welcoming.
As Noodlegirl was using the bathroom, I sat down with him on his couch and introduced myself. Suddenly, I noticed it, "is that a bong?” There, on his table, was a giant packed bong. Clearly, he had been intending on smoking that evening.
“Yep. You want some?”
So, maybe I’m the kind of person who would’ve probably taken some candy from strangers as a child, but I started smoking him. And, after she left the bathroom, Noodlegirl soon joined us, claiming she smoked a bunch.
We all got to talking and laughing when I got to my feet and walked around his apartment. I noticed a copy of one of my favorite books in his bookshelf and we started discussing it. Then, from there, our host asked, “so, um, could I ask your advice on something?”
Cue Ivy giving some dating advice to a stranger who she thought was gay, but was suddenly asking about girls. However, I was too high to notice.
But, I did notice that Noodlegirl had just gotten way too high. And that’s when my phone rang. It was Ren.
“Ivy? Where are you and Noodlegirl? Her date is freaking out.”
I’ve decided to stop using marijuana to self-medicate. And, by that I mean, I’m not going to use “I’ve been so stressed” as justification for letting my friends smoke me out. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t smoke every day and I don’t mean to say I’m quitting pot. But, a vice is a vice is a vice, and I’d rather it’s a fun vice than a substitute for facing my stress head-on.
Beauty and the Long Bong.
That guy from my frat. I still haven’t named him. I promise, I’ll get around to it. I just can’t figure it out.
Somehow, later on in the evening, he and I wound up separated from the rest of our friends, smoking a joint and talking. I simultaneously impress and scare myself sometimes when I consider how natural inhaling has gotten for me, especially since I don’t smoke tobacco. I have a lot of things about myself that leave that sort of impression. One of those things is my bravado, which it appears he’ll never see the bottom of.
I just have fun being a little mean to him. I made him wait outside of a crowded ladies room for me to stand in line for a stall then fix my hair and makeup just to get a dance with me. I tease mercilessly. It’s just bad.
So, I decided to be kind and gentle when we were alone. Because ever since I was a kid I’ve been told I intimidate the opposite sex for one reason or another. And, because I didn’t want to completely crack the poor boy’s ego to bits; he’s a nice guy.
Of course, I still bullied a bit. He has a long-distance girlfriend from back home and, when pressed about the terms of his relationship, he gets a little evasive. This is something called a red flag in my book. So, finally, I poked, “what’s going on with your lady then, Mr. Fidelity?”
“We’re trying,” he shrugged.
“Trying what?” I asked.
“Trying,” he sighed, “but she has a different definition of fidelity than I did.”
“And what’s that?” I pried.
After all the assumptions I’d made about him being the one making some poor little unknowing girlfriend cry and get into polyamory, he was the one who had been cheated on. I felt a little bad for all the mocking I’d done. Poor kid had his heart broken and was just trying to salvage something. How could I tease?
Our conversation jumped around a bit before I formally apologized a second time. It wasn’t my fault, he repeated. He brushed some ash from my joint off of my thigh. “I don’t know how to ash stuff,” I admitted, “I don’t know how to flick it right. I was really lame in high school. And boring.”
“You’re not lame anymore,” he smiled.
We went and grabbed some 3 am munchie-medicine-food afterwards. I think we’re going to be friends. For real.
This is about as close as it gets.
Currently hammering in some nails in my room. I swear I can handle this, guys.