I suppose I should tell y’all how my little adventure with Chef went. I’m going to do so, but you should know ahead of time that I’m not eating any more weed candy ever, because I cannot handle my own damned buzz. Allow me to digress…
I spent my morning trying to get some work done and got to the airport in the afternoon to pick Chef and his brother up. It’s worth mentioning that traffic in Orlando is atrocious, night, day, holiday, it doesn’t matter. You’re guaranteed to sit there for at least 20 minutes at some stretch on I-4. I did. About an hour or so. This is relevant later.
All is well, I’m in New Smyrna Beach at the brothers’ house, talking to Chef’s family, blah blah. He gives me a saltwater taffy. Then a chocolate. I play on the floor with some pitbulls. Life is good, I’ve found dogs.
Then, I get hungry. Like, I could have gnawed off my own arm, hungry. I should have known this was where it was about to get ridiculous.
Chef and I head back toward my house, he’s driving, obviously, in case I need to eat my arm. I have the sudden urge to roll around on the floor with Puffin, and all the talk of french fries reminds me Puffin loves french fries, and I should take some to her. It’s already getting hazy, but I can distinctly remember telling Chef I felt “squishy”, like there was just a lot of water rolling around in my head, and all my extremities.
This is where it starts getting ugly. We’re now on I4. Sitting. While this candy buzz is growing exponentially by the second. If you’ve had an edible, you know that once you eat it, there’s no help. You simply have to ride it out. Goddammit.
I tell Chef, “um, now I’m not so squishy, because it’s getting choppy. All the water is choppy.” He just keeps telling me, “as soon as we’re out of this traffic, Baby Cheeks, I’m getting you something to eat”. It’s that bad. I’m miserable high. Shit is not making me kekeke.
We finally leave the near two-hour hellscape that is stuck on I4, and although I’ve lived in the same county nearly all my life, I find myself completely unaware of where the fuck I’m at like 12 times during the ride home.
I’m basically useless as a navigator, and I keep going from “Ok, I’m fine”, to “I’m completely fucked up beyond recognition”. Which is how I managed to stop for coffee and donuts, and then for a big ass order of cheese fries. Oh, and a milkshake, let’s not forget that part.
Again, two blocks from my house, I’m lost. At this point, Chef has had enough of my shenanigans, and when you can make a complete stoner irritated, you’ve done something. I’m fairly certain I’m on the “do not feed weed candy” list moving forward, and thank Baby Jesus I am.
I’m worthless stoned. Totally. However, Puffin got her fries and I rolled on the floor with her. That’s the happy ending. Because I then passed out and slept for twelve hours, and also woke with a weed hangover.
I’m just going to stick with my fucking coffee. I’m not cut out for being stoned. That was frighteningly high. No, thank you. As an aside, though, the candy was delicious. Good job making it taste like it won’t completely fuck you up, and then having it come right back to kick you in the ass, Medi Brothers.
This Is Why Weed Is Not For Me...
I can't believe he gave you 2 knowing what a featherweight you are. SMDH
Wrecked my lungs with cigarettes (tyvm USMC), but man I used to love to smoke. Honestly? Edibles do just about nothing for me. Thanks for the laugh today though LOL!