Me and Mary Jane A pot newbie's clumsy foray into the world of medical marijuana
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    July 5th, 2012Mary JaneMedical Marijuana Consumption

    So now I’m home. With my pot. Staring at it. Walking in circles around it. Picking it up and examining it. Poking it. Prodding it. But not consuming it.

    What can I say: I’m nervous! Not only have I avoided this moment for 20 years, but there’s a lot riding on it. What if the minced-pot-laced-mac-and-cheese miracle cure was a fluke? What if I get too high and start running naked down the street? And most importantly, what if, after my years of drug abstinence, I die of a cannabis chip overdose and forevermore my parents have to tell Sweet Valley High Drug Overdose people that their daughter O.D.’d? (Did you ever read that Sweet Valley High book where Regina Morrow, the good girl who never got into any trouble, was pressured into trying cocaine at a high school party and DIED? You may think that my drug avoidance was because of street smarts or health concerns, but no, it’s because as an avid 12-year-old fan of Sweet Valley High series, I learned my lesson early that good girls finish last…when they snort cocaine.)

    At this point you might be recalling that you heard that medical marijuana can be good for anxiety. You also may be thinking, if this chick doesn’t get high soon I’m going to shove some Xanax down her throat and shove a joint in her mouth. Understandable.

    Okay, so I finished dinner (I’m certainly not going to get high on an empty stomach) and set the drugs out on my coffee table.  I decided to start with the chocolate chips rather than the mint chips because…my god, do you think I’m going to try drugs for the first time while also entering into the strange world of mint-flavored, unnaturally-light-green, weird candy chips? C’mon. Okay, so how Pot Browniemany should I have? These chips are an unusual size—smaller than a Hershey’s Kiss but bigger than your average chocolate chip cookie chip. The only food-pot I’m familiar with are the ubiquitous “special brownies,” so I figured that a normal pot-head would eat the number of chips equivalent to the size of a brownie. Being a newbie, I go for about a third of that size, so 5 chips.

    At first bite, they tasted good! Just like a regular chocolate chip. But as I continued chewing, a slightly yucky natural-but-not-really-natural herb taste started to emerge. Not terrible, but not good. I’m sure to veteran druggies the taste is delicious because it foreshadows the high to come, kind of like how beer tastes delicious to me after years of getting wasted, despite the fact that it made Goody Two Shoesme want to barf the first time I tried it (and yes, even though I don’t do drugs, I spent my college and post-college years in a drunken stupor (but of course I got all my studying done and always showed up for work on time…and I didn’t party in high school…this is goody-goody me we’re talking about, after all)). (Random aside: That last sentence just reminded me of how my adorable college roommate from El Salvadore used to call people “goody tissues” when she meant “goodie two shoes.” We never corrected her. It was more fun to snicker behind her back.)

    Time to sit back and wait for the drugs to take effect…

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    July 4th, 2012Mary JaneMedical Marijuana Possession

    The next bridge to cross in my new drug life was the transportation of the illicit substance. The paperwork I had gotten from the pot doc was very clear in its vagueness when Marijuana Rulesexplaining the legality. (You may remember the “here’s my lawyer if you need it” card they gave me in case things should go awry.) It goes something like this: Pot is…illegal in the US, legal in California, illegal at your workplace, legal if you want to make growing pot your new job, incredibly illegal to grow the forbidden 25th plant, legal to transport in the trunk of your car, incredibly illegal to transport anywhere else in your car. Whew!  Okay, trunk. No problem. Except that there is no trunk in my (very cute) min-SUV. Foiled again!

    I read further and there was an addendum that said it was okay to have the pot in the main part of your car as long as it wasn’t within reach of the driver or any of the passengers. As we already determined, I wasn’t going to be transporting any school children or kittens (man, it would be hard to keep it away from those kittens–they get into everything!), so it just had Hiding Medical Marijuanato be far enough away from me. For once my short arms came in handy. I put the baggies in the very back of the SUV. Then came the decision about whether to cover it. Obviously I didn’t want it just sitting out for the world to see, not to mention that it is Southern California, where chocolate melts pretty fast in the back of a car (ah, but does the marijuana infusion in the chocolate make it more or less meltable? Experiments to follow.). But at the same time, I didn’t want to be accused of “concealing” it (I mean, is a hidden bag of cannabis chips the equivalent of a concealed weapon??). Luckily, when I bought my car, they threw in one of those pull-out-horizontal-hide-your-valuables-screen-thingies for free, so I figured the cops couldn’t justify an official car accessory as illegal concealment.

    Now that I had my pirate booty stashed safe away in my car, I had to make a decision: risk a day of work with my secret package in my office parking lot, or go out of my way to drop it off at home? I know it seems like an easy decision, (“Grow some balls and keep the pot in the car, you neurotic freak!“), but I came this close to taking it home. The deciding factor was that my car would be in a parking garage, so at least the pot candies wouldn’t melt. I made it to work with no one the wiser.

    I spent the workday flushed with my secret. Did I look different? Could people tell that I was now one of the cool crowd, a rebel, a druggie (well, by tonight)? I think they could. I can’t Cigarette Crowdbe certain, but I could swear that the mailroom guy with the low-hanging pants and surfer haircut gave me some sort of secret pot-smokers signal. Even the cigarette crowd that lurks on the patio seemed to give me a respectful (clandestine?) nod as I passed by.

    The way home was even more exhilarating. You’d think that by now I’d be used to carrying black market cargo, but something about rush hour on the freeway seemed to raise the potential for random police stops. What if I were rear ended? What if someone cut me off and my new rebelliousness got me into a road rage situation? What if the heat from the California sun set the pot on fire and I got totally stoned (dude) before I even made it home??

    But alas, no such thing happened and I got home scot-free with my new goodies.

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