420 (Not) Blazing.

I am the type of gal who, when faced with the common party question: "do you smoke?" (generally referring to weed), responds with the punny Alaskan line:

I do, but I only smoke salmon.

It's gotten me out of so many situations I would rather not participate in, and party people go about their way, giggling about that funny Alaskan girl.

Smoking weed is just not my thing!

And just like that, I am left alone from the stinky smell of marijuana. 

Today, however, I could escape no such thing.

You see, it was my first day at my first job. A job located alllllll the way in the city, some two hour commute from my humble abode here in Walnut Creek, in the iconic and eclectic neighborhood of Haight Ashbury. 

The backbone of the hippie counterculture movement, it's a part of San Francisco you'll often find to be a bit different than the rest of the city. A piece of history, I've always felt drawn to the area myself, until I was stuck in the middle of the pot capital on 420.

To put it bluntly (pun definitely intended), it's a celebration of smoking pot on 4/20, or 4:20. So today was a double doobie (pun also intended): smoke pot at 4:20 on 4/20. 

Unbeknownst to me, I was smack dab in the middle of this celebration of sorts and being in the Haight Ashbury district of San Francisco, I was exposed to more than just your average pot smoker. 

There were policemen everywhere. Insane drug users doing way more than your casual puff. Poop on the street. Obnoxious drunkards approaching you at every turn. Drug busts as you patiently wait for the bus to take you away from it all. And the heaviest smelliest cloud of marijuana coating the street and wafting into your nostrils. 

It was not the place I wanted to be in, let me tell you!

A long day, to say the least. 

On the bright side, I did enjoy my time at my new job and on the way home, I saw a meteor shower in the sky.

In my experience, I don’t need to injest/inhale/smoke (what do you do with weed??) something to feel “high” because there are so many things around me that make me feel just as good, as mentioned below. 

Drinking coffee, napping, a good workout, finding a great deal on a marvelous vintage dress, or heck, eating anything with butter. I don’t have the desire to smoke weed if I’m deterred by the smell. Why put something in my body that physically makes my nostrils recoil?

Regardless of whether you smoke pot or not, I love you either way. In my case, it’s simply a personal choice and I hope to never again have to go through such a bud time (last pun, I promise!). 

The Drinking Game.

Rainy days are for staying in. Curling under the covers with the window open as rain patters rhythmically outside, they are sleepy days of comfort and staying in. 

Not if you’re visiting some of the best wine country around though. Oh no- rainy days here in Amador County, California are for wine tasting and tipsy times.  

See, I love me a good ole fashioned drink. 

French Gimlets, Moscow Mules, Lemon Drops, Baileys on the rocks, Guinness, a fancy glass of wine, and anything with champagne are some of my special beverages of choice.  

Like anything though, I find them best when they’re drunk in moderation.  Anything in excess causes the greatest pleasures (and in this case, drinking) to cease and become ordinary. 

There’s another reason I don’t drink excessively: I don’t like how my body feels after it’s been drowning in spirits.

I’ve never been quote on quote “drunk” before, but the other night, I had a taste of what it felt like to be past tipsy and dangerously close to losing my inhibition.  

I was with my roomies, we were at home, and we played a Harry Potter drinking game. It sounded innocent enough, but after about four/five shots of vodka and a lemonade chaser, I was beginning to lose my senses.  

When I’ve been at this stage before, I become painfully aware of the fact that I am no longer in complete control. I fight against this uncontrollable weight that fogs my ability to think clearly and I halt drinking at once to avoid the inevitable change in mood and oncoming sickly sensation. 

I get called a party pooper and a sore loser for not being “loose enough”, but I simply stand my ground and continue playing my own character in this drinking game.  

They say you’re a prude when you deem yourself designated driver night after night, a drunk when you’ve drunk too much, a loose cannon when you can’t hold your liquor, and you’re made to feel left out of you’re not as hammered as everyone else at the party/bar/club. 

Forgive me if I choose to avoid awkward situations where I’m not in control of my body, or hungover mornings, or a bank account that reminded me of how much money I spent the night before on drinks.  

I’m not saying I don’t like drinking or I don’t care for alcohol, I’m just saying that in this drinking game, I’ll chose how I want to play, what I want to drink, and how much I want to drink.  

I don’t need to be drunk to “have a good time” and I certainly won’t fall privy to society’s pressures to drink a certain amount to fit in and have fun. I know what limits my body has and I know what I’m comfortable with, and I’m sorry but six shots isn’t good on my mind, and it certainly isn’t good on my body. 

To that, I’ll toast you with my fancy glass of Nuee Ardente from local winery Lava Cap, and go about my rainy day.