Tag Archives: Baked

What I really think about security blankets.

Where can I begin this story??

I guess I will start in my childhood, in my bedroom with a slanted ceiling and no windows, and a twin-sized bed with a brown metal frame. That bed held a number of important elements of my life at the time–my pink rose comforter, my Sparky Bear, and (most importantly) the pillow I slept with every night. The former two items have become less and less prominent over the years (though I still love ya, Sparky!), but to this day the pillow has not fallen away from me. Like so many children, I found the pillow to be a sort of security blanket for me.

And this was no ordinary pillow, folks. It was old and flat and had the best, most comforting scent, and through my off times and weird childhood insomnia, burying my face in the pillow just made everything feel better, and knowing it was there when I went to sleep at night was the best kind of constant. As a small child, I would refuse to let my mother wash the pillowcase, for fear of it losing it’s smell.

(Of course now that I’m a mature and intelligent, level-headed adult, I launder my bedding more frequently. I also figured out that it doesn’t take long for that scent to come back, and sort of never goes away anyway.)

Through the years, the pillow adorned many different looks–early on it was a double-sided Burt and Ernie/Big Bird pillowcase, and then a light pink flannel one (that became so worn down it was no longer soft flannel, but the flat cotton base), a purple cotton pillowcase, a tie-dyed pillowcase, an orange and yellow striped case, and most recently a cool, very pale green, very soft cotton pillowcase.

While the pillow and I have grown apart slightly over the years, it is still on my bed every night, and it is still the pillow that I hold in the highest esteem.

And the other night, after a long drive back from Bellingham to Portland, while I was passing seemingly endless bowls (and joint, and lung hits, and etc.) with an old friend, Tank pissed on my pillow.

(A quick aside in case it hadn’t been mentioned before–Tank is an adorable, quirky, shithead of a black Pomeranian-Terrier mix who belongs to Taylor and her best friend/our roommate Angela.)

I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you I was upset. I didn’t take it personally though, since when Tank has an accident inside, he does it on the run. I guess if you’re gonna get busted for peeing inside, you might as well go balls to the wall and hit as much shit with your urine as you can, and he does.

It was late at this point, and I was stoned, so I left the laundry to be dealt with at a later time, without thinking about it too much.

Until I went to bed, of course, and found that the only thing awaiting my head now was a spare, uncovered pillow. And (aside from not only lacking my security blanket, but knowing that it was somewhere with urine on it) here was my dilemma: the idea of a naked pillow, uncased against my face while I sleep, really freaks me out in a weird, germ-phobic, obsessive way, but all of our clean pillowcases were downstairs in the laundry room, and hell if I was marching my high ass down there just for a fancy cotton sack to line my pouch of fluff.

And so, I decided to cover my pillow with a clean, soft, button-less, cotton t-shirt.

After a look through my clothes, I selected a white shirt with coral polka dots from Value Village, that I have hung onto for years but rarely wear.

I put the shirt on the pillow, and it seemed to fit well, but I was nervous that the shirt was too short, or would ride up over the pillows hips in the night and gather at it’s waist while I slept, leaving my face once again vunerable to the bare pillow underneath! (Yes, these thought processes are tiring.)

So, looking around, the best solution I could come up with was to cover the bottom of the pillow in the brand-spankin’ new blue-with-pink-roses clearance granny panties I had recently purchased from work (out of curiosity, really). Just to be extra safe, I tucked the shirt into the oversized underwear, and voila! As you can see, the outcome (as pictured above) was somewhat of a masterpiece, and a the very least a blessing in disguise!

After the completion of this piece of beauty, I named her Granny Pillow, stood her upright and tucked her under my chin (in a manner that made it look as though I was actually wearing a shirt with pink-polka dots, tucked into granny panties) and giggled while doing my best sexy dance for Taylor. Har har har.

I love you, Granny Pillow, though you really aren’t a sufficient replacement for my old faithful.

In other news, I realized today that I only posted five blog entries last month, and that really is no good.


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What I really think about smoking and driving.

I realized while driving stoned the other day how much I enjoy watching the movie that plays in my rearview mirror as I coast slowly down the road. When the sun is out and shining it looks just like stock footage from Doris Day and Rock Hudson films.

Things are getting dangerous.

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What I really think about the munchies.

It’s time to get back on track, and this blog has been a long time coming. And a long time in the making.

Countless hours of trying to fend off the munchies, countless methods of attempting to satisfy them once and for all, too many dollars to count spent on powdered, raspberry-filled doughnuts, cheesy/oniony/sour creamy potato chips, candy bars, lemon-lime sodas, hot dogs, and various other impulse purchases.

In my opinion, there are few pitfalls to the stoner lifestyle, and they are entirely conquerable–if you feel you are awkward around people, smoke more and get used to it, and get out of your head. If you think you’re being lazy, get up and do something.

There are only two serious downsides that I have yet to overcome, the first: total exhaustion.

What the hell is it about smoking that makes you feel like you’ve been awake for four days, alternately crying, and sprinting with 50 pound ankle weights on? I can barely stay awake when standing upright or engaged in stimulate conversation, don’t even get me started on the difficulties I encounter when someone puts a movie on the television or dims the lights.

But even worse than the sleepies are the munchies… No matter how hard I try to suppress them, or prepare for them, or satisfy them, I never really have, without ending up feeling hungry, or nauseated.

There is the never-ending search for the perfect munchy food, something sweet and something salty… Or something sweet and salty, like caramel covered Bugles. Once upon a late night I saw these at the convenience store down the road, and I thought I had discovered the answer to my problems. But, alas! they were a sticky mess, and the caramel made the Bugles soggy, and they are nowhere near guilt-free.

But perhaps this ode to the munchies, or rant about them, comes at just the right time. Tomorrow, Taylor and I are doing the 21-Day Vegan Kickoff. I think it might actually be a vegetarian thing, but I guess we’re just upping the stakes. And for the most part, we keep away from meat, so going vegetarian would be too easy, in my opinion. I’m hoping that trying out the vegan thing will not only help the good eating habits I’ve already developed, but also make me healthier and more aware of the stuff I’m putting in my mouth. I will have to study many more ingredient lists, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all.

We start tomorrow! Which means that I need to go grocery shopping real, real bad. We’ve got lots of support–we’ve told all of our friends and roommates, and several of my family members have offered up recipes and cookbooks. Whoooo!

Let’s hope this goes well, and since smoking is a totally vegan thing, let’s hope I find some easy, quick, amazing, veggie dish to whip up and satisfy my munchies! Otherwise I’m gonna be pretty hungry for a while.


Filed under Belly-aching.

What I really think about graham crackers and frosting.

In case (in the space of time between now and when you were eight) you have forgotten how delicious a graham cracker-frosting sandwich is, remind yourself.

Nearly every time I visit my  mother (who lives only about 25 miles away from me) she inevitably sends me home with some food and/or random item she thinks I may need. A few weeks ago, this meant graham crackers, frosting, and the offer of a rolling pin (but I told her I could spring for my own).

Why? you ask? Because  a few weeks before that, her sixth grade class had made gingerbread projects as a holiday/geometry project, and she consequently had graham crackers and yellow frosting coming out of her ears. I told her I guessed I could be troubled to take them off of her hands, and then giddily skipped home to snack on one of my childhood favorites.

In case you don’t know how this is done, here is the recipe (heh heh heh):


1 package of graham crackers

1 container of cake frosting (I infinitely prefer chocolate)

A knife (optional)

Some weed?


1. You’ll probably want to roast a bowl, or two, or three;

2. Maybe put on some South Park? Or any other adult cartoon. Or children’s cartoon, for that matter;

3. Open the box of graham crackers and the container of frosting (beware–these are both two steps in one, as the graham crackers are in a box and have a plastic wrapper, and the frosting has a plastic, reusable lid and a foil covering that you must peel back–complex shit, I know);

4. Choose a graham cracker, and break it in half (I prefer the two square halves, but you could always break it lengthwise for a looooong rectangular sandwich–fun!);

5. Now, using your knife (or finger) spread some frosting on one of the halves (you can choose, a thin layer or a liberal amount) and top the frosting with the other half of the graham cracker (if you’re really baked and lazy, you can quarter your graham cracker and dip it in the frosting, but I think the sandwich allows the full flavor and effect);

6. Tah-dah! Graham cracker-frosting sandwich!!! Enjoy!

Variations on this recipe include: substituting cookies for graham crackers, substituting ice cream for frosting, adding other candies/sweets into the middle of your sandwich.

Tee hee hee…

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What I really think about math homework.

Let me tell you, if I am ever thinking about how much I miss high school, all I have to do is try to solve a couple of math problems, and I’ll remember that only sadists and masochists enjoy high school. I suppose that the thought of P.E. class turns me off almost equally, especially with my lung capacity at what it is. But, regardless, as I sit here trying to compute, I remember what my beef with math is: I have never been able to fully grasp mathematical concepts. I have gripped the edges or beginnings or some parts of it, and have always felt like the answer was right in front of me and I was just missing it, not seeing or remembering something, and that is the most frustrating thing.

I am sitting down in the basement of my house, on the floor on a rug, room dimly lit, tapestries all around, my best friend next to me tinkering on her guitar, playing familiar folk songs, but whistling in place of the lyrics–I’m feeling all kinds of bohemian as I scribble down craziness and jibberish in my notebook (nevermind that it is actually not creative writing, but just me trying feebly to find the answers to simple mathematical problems assigned to my friend, who is going back to school to get her diploma.

But my methods are rusty, to say the least, and even when they were fresh, I was never very good at wrapping my head around any of it. It has been two years, or more, since I have done anything more than simple math, and even then the math was simple, nothing I couldn’t eventually circle my way around to. Maybe it’s the herb that’s working against me, but I think that it was actually (previously) keeping me super-focused and ultra-interested, ha. Really though, I think that there was a lack of interdisciplinary education, because seeing something in terms of something else, a comparison, helps to give perspective, and that helps you understand what mathematics is, and why it is significant, and how it applies to other things (ie: literature, science, nature, everything), something I did not figure out until college. Mathematics was simply memorization for me.

I can respect it, but never grasp it fully, and since I have to hate what I don’t know (right?!) I’d rather be without math, and off with it’s head! But I’d better press on, and try to help out a little more. It’s got to be rattling around up there, somewhere.

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Filed under Belly-aching., Critiques., Thoughts.

What I really think about wpm.

71 words per minute with only an average of 5.0 mistakes per minute? That’s my all-time record! At least, that I can recall.

Oooh for some reason, there is almost nothing more fun than taking typing tests on this lazy day. Well, not entirely lazy! I did make a delicious scramble for breakfast, and a loaf of cinnamon bread, and I helped Mariah make a piece out of an apple! And then when were done smoking out of it, we ate it! (Actually less exciting than it sounds, the deliciously cold, crispy sweetness of the Gala apple does not mask the smoky, resin flavor well. Yuck).

Anyway, as Casey and I were sitting around being assholes to one another and applying for jobs, we came across a few secretarial positions (is office assistant the P.C. term now?) that required the ability to type at least 45 wpm (words per minute, just in case you weren’t sure). So we’ve been taking typing tests, and, of course, I’ve been winning. Heh, heh. Steadily moving up from 60 wpm to 65 wpm to 66 to 68 and finally! 71 wpm! A glorious triumph!

Oh God, I really do need a job.

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What I really think about wake ‘n bake.

Evil wake ‘n bake, a surefire way to ruin your entire day.

Of course, when I woke up at 2:07 this afternoon, there wasn’t much of a day left to spoil. And, if we’re being completely honest, I had already woken up around 8:45 to piss and (since once I’m up, I’m up) smoked what was left of my bedtime bowl in order to lull myself back into the haze of sleep.

Little did I know, that haze wouldn’t lift for another five and a half hours.

In fast-forward I prepared for the day, ran my two errands, and roasted a bowl with my friends on the way the Lan Su Chinese Garden downtown Portland on 3rd and Everett, after which we indulged in our munchies and ate some authentic Chinese cuisine in the heart of Chinatown. Har… har… Maybe not so authentic, but so greasy and delicious. And dirt cheap.

Then we smoked some more on the way home. Then we played cards and smoked again. Then I did a Sobe. And now Taylor is home, so we’ll have a little more.

Why does one little, innocent wake ‘n bake always turn into an all-day event of bowls and food and fatigue?

Speaking of which…

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What I really think about your bong.

Triple percolating so you feel like you’re getting the cleanest, smoothest, least toxic toke–it’s overcomplicated, and too hard to suck on, and sometimes I’d just like to pass the pipe instead, cause it feels communal and doesn’t set my lungs ablaze.


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Filed under Belly-aching.