Anubhavābhāsa - Illusion

Recently, Dr. B gave me a stern talking-to. He told me I need to drink less wine because it messes with my nervous system, which is already hyper-susceptible to anxiety and depression. He told me to try pot instead.

"Never let it be said that Dr. B is a prude," said my Mr. Rogers-esque psychiatrist.

Now that marijuana is legal, I should not have been afraid to visit a dispensary. However, my boss lost his job last year because of a compromising photo concerning him and a whole lotta buds, so I was not taking any chances.

First, I asked Cara, who loves not only marijuana but all substances in general. She was busy with baseball games.

Then I asked Georgia, who was way more of a badass than me in elementary school, and who must therefore, it should stand to reason, still be more of a badass and get me some drugs. She was busy with her flea-market business, though.

On the plus side, she gave me this cool Babs record!

Then I asked my sister Dragonfly, aka Lily, who dropped out of college, joined a commune, quit bathing momentarily, and lived in a van for quite awhile.

I should have just started with her. She knows a lot about a) music, b) massaging, and c) marijuana!!

Lily sent me a bunch of pictures of where I needed to go and what I needed to ask for. Then she said I could look it all up online and order it there, and I asked her why she didn't just give me that option to start with? So I looked at all the pictures she sent me, tried to match the pictures to the online store, and eventually gave up and poured a glass of wine.

"Do you want me to just get it for you and you can Venmo me?" she asked. 

"YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I said.

Lily duly arrived a few days later with her daughter Lemon in tow. (Lemon and I were set to have a sleepover).

"Here's your stuff," she said, setting down a paper bag on my counter. I also got you a drink. I don't know if it's good or not, but I figured it's worth a try. Don't drink the entire drink or eat an entire edible at one time, okay? Take half and wait a few hours."

"This is not my first rodeo, Cara gave me homemade edibles before, remember? When Sam and I did 'Things We Missed at Wheaton' Night? And I had to babysit him all night after he ate the entire bag?" 

"Oh, yeah. Okay, well just do a little at a time."

"Will do!" I said.

The bag sat on my counter and looked at me balefully for a few days. When I finally made myself get down to brass tacks and try the contents, I immediately ran into problems.

"I can't open it," I yelled into the phone as Lemon and Mink accosted my sister. "The container won't open!! How do I open the container?"

"Read it," Lily said, manhandling her children in the background. "What does the container say?"

"'Pinch here,'" I grunted. "I'm pinching! I'm pinching and nothing's happening!"

"Ugh, I hate that kind!" she nodded. "Try squeezing it from the sides and --"

"GAHHHHHHHHHHHH," I yelled. "I got it. Okay. Thanks." I bit half of one gummy off and began the 12-step process to reinstate the lid.

"How did you feel?" Abbie asked me hours later. Yoga instructors are phenomenal at asking how you feel.

"Like my head and torso were floating around about 6 feet off of the ground."

"Oh...okay...okay?"

"But my feet were still on the ground!!!"

"Okay..."

"BUT THERE WAS A GIANT BUBBLE OF INVISIBLE AIR SPACE WHERE THE MIDDLE OF ME WAS SUPPOSED TO BE!!! LIKE I WAS INVISIBLE BUT ONLY IN THE MIDDLE!!!"

I could sense Abbie reaching for something to say on the other end of the line. 

"Do you..did you like feeling like your head and shoulders were separated from your legs and feet by a bubble?" were the words she finally settled on.

"No," I said. "No, I do not think I liked that."

"Maybe next time, try one-fourth of one," she suggested.

"I did drink a blueberry beer with Lucy," I pondered. "Maybe I should try one-half again, only not drink a beer?"

"Sure, try that.”

The next 2-3 days I tried various iterations with equally disappointing results.

On Friday night, I set off to meet my date, Riley. I did not have high hopes because my last date was lackluster. I kept watching the dude's pecs jump around under his shirt while he was talking and wishing they would stop and wondering if he even knew he was doing it or if it was just automatic at that point. 

I pulled up to Riverport, where Riley was producing or managing or directing whomever was performing that night. Immediately upon approaching the backstage guard shack, I saw a guy wave to me from a golf cart. It was...

Wait... Jared?

My sense of unreality increased. How had I failed to notice in the pictures Riley posted that he looks like my friend Jared, aka the Only Person On This Blog Not to Have a Pseudonym??

I had told Riley that I wasn't going to stay to watch the show, since I'm still waking up at the crack of dawn (thank you, Teacher Time) -- also, having grown up behind the Iron Curtain, I was basically allowed to listen to two things only:

A) Christian music

B) Barbara Streisand (see above)

Ergo, tribute bands and lead guitarists for this, that, or the other mean very little to me.

"But you're wearing a Rolling Stones tee shirt," Georgia said to me, as I stripped my shirt off to model my new 70's dress for her. It was Saturday, and I'd stopped by the flea market where she worked to recount my date and give her a souvenir from Europe.

"I'm wearing it ironically," I explained. "I have no idea what the Rolling Stones sang. Couldn't tell you a single song. I think there’s magazine named after then, though.”

"Okay, so he likes music...how'd the date go?"

"He looked like Jared, so I couldn't pay attention to what he was saying. Also, everything felt surreal. I remember that he talked a lot about drugs and sex, and it was weird hearing Jared say all of that. I can't tell if I vibed with him, or if I was just getting along well with the representation of my friend."

"What do you mean he talked a lot about drugs and sex?"

"Just that!" I said. "I'm not sure what happened. Maybe it was because in the app, I told him dating was exhausting because it involved so much small talk? So he just figured he'd dive right in??? But now I know that his last relationship both began and ended with 'shrooms."

"No," Georgia said. "No. I don't like it. Next."

"I'm like 42, G," I said. "Maybe I'm supposed to be giving people more chances."

"I mean...okay."

"Right as I was getting in my car, he asked me if I smoked weed. It was the strangest thing. Like, we were saying goodbye and he just randomly asked me that. I said, 'No, why?' and he said it was on his list of questions to ask me, only he didn't get to ask me them because he talked almost the entire time."

"He was probably trying to offer you a joint."

"What? No. What? Damn." 

The next half an edible had no effect whatsoever. Lily told me to try half the drink. I felt dubious. Yes, it had been 3 hours since the edible, but what if something went awry? Or what if this was all just a crock?

I tried a few sips of the drink. Maybe 1/8th. Immediately, I regretted it. I felt like I was going to vomit.

"I don't think I like marijuana," I told Lily. “I gave it the good ole’ college try. NEXT."