The bonus of living in a legal marijuana state, are the prices.
I used to go through half an ounce every 10 days. I’d pay $80-$100. I have since discovered dabbing.
It has a bad rap. But, y’all, the good stuff, tastes and smells like the dankest most delicious stuff you’d ever put in your mouth. Potency? I’d suggest getting your snacks, drinks, and blanket. Get comfy bc your 1st dab? Woah
So, let’s talk about cost. I’ve heard that grams in illegal states can run around $60 and it’s usually made in a not so sanitary way.
Here, I can purchase a deliciously perfect gram for $20 ($21.79 after tax) That G lasts me 2 weeks.
So who ever nurtured that original idea, you should be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize
The hardest thing you’ll ever have to master through your apparent losses, stagnation, disappointments or misfortune — is learning how to see the equivalent light in you, taking another shape, shining new truths you’ve been too busy or distracted to believe.
It’s almost like a cosmic joke that your breakdowns can be recycled into fuel for your breakthroughs; that the kind of openness and surrender you need to succeed – in anything, life, love, art, business, whatever your idea of “success” – comes only after some kind of failure or beautiful letdown crushes the shell of your smaller self.
I’m not sorry for wishing, for hoping, for knowing that the world can be touched, and then saved, through each person, each hour, each dream, and each word that comes out of our mouths.
I’m not sorry for my high sensitivity to the hurts & the joy & the madness of life, for my idealistic realism, for the courage to stand up for myself & for others, with my heart in my mouth, with my gut in my head, with my knees, always shaking, a little.
I’m not sorry for being too much of myself and my power, for you. Because less than too much of myself, is just not enough, it’s not worth it, for me.
How’d I go from Courtside to curbside?
From ride or die to fly on by?
Didn’t perform to your needs?
Did I overreach my means?
I didn’t beck when called
Or put you above all?
Your problems, here, take my ear,
Have my shoulder.
But me? Fuck that I have errands to run, you’ve been passed over.
Never felt more rejected, and I made decisions
Based off your perspective!
I’m the fool.
It’s me not you.
Trust is weakness
True, pure dark bleakness.
35, 12 month, years
And I still can’t see through my peers
I’m too nice?
But it’s all I’ve got left, in my bleak, weak dark demise.
Twice! Twice! I held so tight
With innocent delight
as a new family grew between us
Sure, we’d argue, fight
But only WE could call us that!
Step. Tha Fuck. back.
And then it happened
All at once in one swift glance
One dove fell
Never a chance.
Then rage set in
The proud Protector lashed out
Hey, go fuck yourself executive director!
Oh no tis tis
we can not have this
We shall box you up, starve you
Until the lies we feed you are all
She this’s and that’s
Oh fuck you really believe,
you are betting it all
for a Rat?
From family to famine
From prime rib to Ramen
It’s cool. I expected more
Like I said it’s my burden,
and it’s been bore
I’ve held onto it.
So tight, my fingers bled
But my words fell def
Or maybe your colorblind because I wrote them in red.
I’ll always be here,
it’s the sucker in me
Being what I said I’d be
Not what they devised about you and me and she,
But, know it hurts. It burns like hell. Screaming for your repeal
Had bitches skippin meals.
Looking like a fool for you, because..
That’s what families do
In March, Cowboys owner Jerry Jones privately communicated his concerns to his partners regarding the NFL’s substance-abuse policy. On Friday, he applauded the league’s decision to collaborate with the NFLPA in studying the potential benefits of marijuana in managing pain for the league’s players. “I agree with what the NFL is doing,” Jones said in […]
So when I moved to Colorado, I was beyond excited to check out a marijuana dispensary. I’m not sure what I expected, but thus far I haven’t been disappointed.
As I pulled up to a plain looking building, aside from the huge neon Bob Marley graffiti art that took up the entire 2 story side, I was ready to LEGALLY purchase bud. With a smile from ear to ear and a million questions running through my head I walked through the door and was greeted by a smiling, welcoming, ARMED man. Cool, if it were my spot I’d set up the same way.
“Hi! Welcome! Have you been here before?!”, he asked without breaking his smile or eye contact. And then it hit me, uh uhh I’m here for, for bud? Followed by a nervous laugh he looked over my ID and asked me to have a seat. Only a certain number of people were allowed in the purchasing area. Cool- dig it.
After making smalltalk with the handsome, gun toking security guy he smiled at me and told me I could go back.
I wasn’t ready, y’all. Before me was a huge indoor grow room. And when I tell you it was a majestic site, I will be downplaying this experience.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? It’s…its…beautiful! After all of the sketchy dealers, the worrying about getting pulled over, the getting robbed paying top dollar for Schwag weed because it was the only option, price gouging and irregular potency/quality, this. This stellar operation, the knowledgeable bud tenders, the different methods of intaking your THC, wait…wait…does that sign say 11 CENT VETERAN PREROLLS?? As in prerolled joints?? $.11?? Christ on a cracker this can’t be real! Yupp, one a day, forEVER. FOREVVVVER.
It was then I realized, we did it. This is the infancy of a new era, and I am in the middle of it!