In the hazy aftermath that is April 21st, I attempt to describe the events that transpired yesterday. Alas, I am still too high, and have been staring at this screen for an hour. You will have to wait until sobriety comes.

After a full day of exploring Pike Place Market and Capitol Hill, I am finally sobered up from the mass amounts of ganja that my body took in yesterday.

Where to begin? Ah yes, the troll.

Me and my pal I figured the first thing I’d do to celebrate 420 was to go visit the Fremont Troll. He was a friendly chap, and I hung out with him and people watched for a good hour, until deciding it was time to make it down the first annual MMJ Magazine Cup. I had gone on couchsurfing the previous night and asked what people were up to for 420, and in so doing found this event. I had no one to go with, and it was for medical patients only. I had emailed them and explained that I am Canadian, therefore have no medical marijuana card for the States; I do, however, have a dinky little fake looking card for a dispensary in Victoria. Okay, maybe I didn’t describe it as such. They responded, “You should come down. I can’t give specifics but just come down.” You certainly don’t need to tell me twice.

As I awaited my bus from the troll to who-the-hell-knows-where, 4:20 struck. There were two other chicks at the bus stop waiting, neither of which looked particularly stonerish, but how could I sit by and not make note of the time and date? “Happy 420 new friends!” I exclaimed. Both of them replied with a smile, “Oh! I’d forgotten!” Consider yourself reminded, bros!

I hopped on the bus and excitedly made my way. When I got off the bus I was a little wary of where I’d ended up. I had gone past downtown Seattle and wound up in a rather industrial neighborhood. There were few stores or restaurants to be found, and the ones I saw were closed. It didn’t look promising, but I was still excited. I made my way to the venue at which this event was to take place. Once again, it didn’t look terribly promising; I was surrounded by warehouses, waiting to get in to what looked like a simple warehouse to me. Seattle’s hottest new venue? I wondered about what I’d read. No matter! It was 420, and I would have a ball no matter what.

After half an hour of waiting and seeing all the staff confused as to what was going on, finally they let us in. The security looked at others’ medical patient cards, as it had to be a specific kind. When I got in, I simply told the woman who was checking mine that I am Canadian and I had emailed and they said it would be fine. She didn’t even think twice, and promptly gave me my wristband.

I was in.

Now for all of you who have watched Weeds, there is an episode where Andy, Doug, and Nancy go to a medical marijuana tasting. There are booths everywhere, and Doug and Andy keep saying, “this is definitely the best one.” I was there.

As I entered I was surrounded by vendors. One sold beverages, while the other sold gems. A booth was filled to the brim with synthetic dreads of every sort, and next to it sat beautifully hand crafted jewelry. In the line outside I had met a girl who was also there alone, so we teamed up to make our way through the awesomeness that was this event.

We gazed at the vendors as we walked along, passing the munchies table, which was filled with veggies and dip and other such things – all for free. That’s when the smell entered my nose; that’s when I saw the haze filled room. Oh boy.

The first table I passed had mini tarts and banana bread. My new friend and I grabbed a little piece of banana bread. Yummy. The next table? It had three kinds of cheesecake. I don’t even like cheesecake, but this? Dear lord, it was delicious. And every bit of each scrumptious treat was filled with delicious mary jane. As we got into the open room, we were surrounded by tables. Each one had five to ten jars filled with weed. A random guy walked up to us with a hand held vaporizer and offered us some. Then he pulled out a second hand held vaporizer, this one with oil in it. I don’t think this guy was even one of the vendors, he was just a swell dude. One of the guys I had met in line had a brand new bong that he had been raving out, and came over to us to christen her with him.

The treasures I brought homeI turned this way, and they had mini chocolate pastries attached to their business cards. I turned the other way and they were giving out free grams. WHERE AM I?! Heaven, that’s where.

At this point I stopped eating the edibles, as I was already getting insanely stoned. I mean, I use to be a very big time stoner, and I could out-smoke most people I knew. Recently, however, I haven’t been toking very much. My tolerance has gone way down. I should probably have paced myself. But how can you pace yourself when at every turn you’re being offered the best of the best, and even just standing in the room got you more high? I don’t even need to mention all the baking, because anyone who knows me knows how hard it is to turn that down.

“Want a free chocolate?” Hell yes I do! White chocolate with weed? Are you people for real here?

“Wanna smoke a bowl?” Of course I do! Oh, this stuff won second place in last year’s Cannabis Cup? At that table in particular the guy had some oil, and a bong unlike any I’ve used before. Clearly everyone there was a stoner, and it was a total free for all, but the guy at this table was leery of giving us oil. He asked my friend if she really toked a lot, and she clearly did. I watched him grab a freakin’ blow torch to heat up that bowl, and then I watched her cough her lungs out. He turned to me and asked about my tolerance. “Dude, I use to toke a lot, but my tolerance is low now,” I frankly told him. “Okay, I’m not giving you any of this then!” he replied. I so did not want any; I knew it would kill me.

The DJ announced, “Anyone who wants to be a judge, come sign up here!” Ah, how me from a year ago would have been right on it. I know my own tolerance, though, and I knew there was no way in hell I could partake in judging. But the glorious option was there.

When we got to the table from which the free chocolates had come, we chatted with the guys. Three chocolate bars for $20. One of the guys running the table said he still couldn’t even eat a whole chocolate bar, then the other guy laughed and they both said how that is way too much for them; half a chocolate bar is strong. Woah, bros, woah. This was top notch product.

At some point my friend and I went outside for a cigarette. Oh boy, fresh air was well needed (well, as fresh as it gets when filling your lungs with poisonous tobacco, but what can you do?) As I stood outside blazed out of my mind, I was thoroughly entertained by the conversation that transpired. My friend (white), and the two security guards (a black dude and an Indian dude), had the most racist conversation about people from Whidbey Island. I’m pretty sure my friend was from Whidbey and was making fun of it along with them. It was just the most fascinating thing to see and hear; I don’t think they had a clue how amazing this was. Here were two major targets for racism – the black fellow and the Indian fellow – being totally and completely racist against Whidbey Island. It was glorious.

Now all of this sounds like it transpired over the course of a few hours… right? Wrong. Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore; I was way too stoned. I had to get out. I left without saying a word to anyone, not because I felt ashamed of being a total lightweight now, but because I no longer had words. They were gone. I just vanished and walked straight to the bus stop.

I have been smoking weed for over seven years. For at least six years of that I was smoking weed all day everyday.

Yesterday was the most high I have ever been in my entire life. Period.

I got to the bus stop and felt a bit more levelled out with the knowledge that soon I’d be back at the house, and I could veg on the couch, or, more likely, pass out. It would be a long bus ride, but I could handle it… right? I waited for the bus. And I waited. I made note of what time it was on my iPod, as time was certainly warped in my world. That’s when I realised I’d lasted… one hour. I was in there for an hour. I almost greened out after being at a marijuana cup for one single measly hour. I waited for the bus for about 20 minutes with no sign of it.

Then some aliens in combat outfits walked by. Either a comic book convention of sorts was in the neighborhood, or that weed was a lot more insane than I thought. I’m pretty sure it was the former, but I will never know for sure. The point is, three aliens definitely walked by me.

I started closing my eyes for longer periods of time at the bus stop, ’till finally I decided that this was one of those times where you suck it up, and you pay whatever the taxi home costs. Sure, it was costly, but not as costly as falling asleep the most stoned you’ve ever been, sitting at a bus stop in a sketchy neighborhood in a city you don’t know, without even a cellphone. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t scared, but I also know when not to be a complete moron.

When I arrived at the house no one was there, and I instantly lay down in bed. I spent an hour or so basking in the sweet glory of my extreme baked-ness, until the wonderful urge to fall asleep overcame me.

I woke up three hours later.

I was so high still. This is a first for me. I’ve had many newbie tokers tell me of how they wake up still high from the previous night, but I’ve never felt this myself. Sure, it was only three hours later, but this was still something that had never occurred. So I was wide awake, stoned, and content as could be. The only problem was it was 11:30pm and I was positively starving. The stores were closed, so it was definitely time to order pizza. Dear. God. What pizza it was! I ordered from the first place I found online that was open, and it was Pagliacci Pizza. Best pizza of my life. I swear.

After pizza was bedtime… again. When I awoke in the morning at 11am, I was still stoned. It took me a few hours to sober up today. Seriously, this has never happened to me. Usually if I’m too stoned, or just sleepy stoned, even a nap will get me out of it. Not this time.

My white chocolate deliciousness, the pastry attached to the business card, and my free gram are all awaiting me…

…I think I will pace myself this time.


Danie is a lovable and insane digital nomad of sorts. If you ever wondered what's a nomad, you've come to the right place. She enjoys oversharing, telling every detail of her life, and chilling on the beach, among other things. Danie is rather odd, and she likes it that way. Be sure to subscribe to hear more of her ramblings, and find out when Danie finally gets to fulfill her biggest dream: cuddling a platypus.

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