Weekend Update

Proud Mama Moment #1: Sam, with Emily at the Magic Kingdom for her birthday yesterday. 

All of our Splash Mountain ride photos have her generally doing what every single person in the photo above (except Sam) is doing: holding on for dear life and/or screaming. So, the first time she rides without us? Like.A.Boss.

This also means I am now the only person in the family who has not gotten to have a birthday at Disney World. And, knowing how I feel in July and in Florida, it is likely to remain that way for the rest of my life. 

More from her day here.

And then, over in Texas, we have Nick, starting his very last-first-game-of-the-season (as a player). 

Mr #55 there got four tackles and two (back-to-back) sacks on the QB. 

They got absolutely creamed, but he had a great game.  The sports announcers had lots of nice things to say about him, too, especially at the start of the fourth quarter when he got the sacks. Game archive is here. Jump to 2:37:00.

Meanwhile, in Colorado . . .

I went to visit Deana and we hit up the Manitou Art Festival. And the Trading Post. 

Deana has become a cat lady of sorts. Not crazy, except that she's adopted four cats.

The only one who didn't come around for cuddles while I was there was the oldest, Cleo, whom I helped move from Deana's rental to this house when she bought it last year. I don't think Cleo's quite forgiven me. 

Oreo, gray, and Basil, white, are sisters. Oreo is currently sucking on Basil's back toe. Boo, the sainted boy pug who now lives with four female cats, is unimpressed.

Basil's turn to suck on her own toe. This is weird. Interesting, but weird, even for cats.

And cat #4, who puts me in the mind of Bruiser, is chunky Miss Skye, who is the most chill of the bunch. As you can see. 

Speaking of chill, after much discussion, this was the weekend we set foot in a dispensary. After the 18 months of super-max hip pain killers that have hair-raising side-effects, I was determined to find out whether MJ was just as good. Since the plantar fascitis is an on-going issue, I wanted to know if I was one brownie away from being able to walk without a limp in bare feet. 

So, you know, Mom . . . for science.

We went to one of the (many) places around Manitou, but also the highest rated, Maggie's Farm. Seriously, this weed is cleaner than almost everything you can buy in the produce department at your grocery store.

When you enter, you pull a number, like the DMV, and sit. They called our number after a few minutes, at which time, we presented our licenses to verify both our age and whether we qualified for the Colorado resident discount. 

At that point, we were allowed into holding area #2, where we sat again, for probably less than 10 minutes. At both places, the workers are very nice, very personable people with I-Pads who would look just as at-home at the Genius Bar than the recreational pot shop. People watching was fascinating. All ages, all colors, all types . . .  except for the tie-dyed, long-haired stereotype. 

In the second waiting area, there are two doors, unimaginatively titled "Room 1" and "Room 2". Big electronic screens on the walls show the numbers in each room as well as the numbers waiting. 

We ended up behind Door #1. Your number comes up when there is a person ready to help you. We explained our complete novice curiosity and that we'd settled on a brownie each. I went with the Sativa-only strain, while D chose the hybrid Indica-Sativa option. Since Sativa is largely psychoactive, and Indica more geared toward the body, Indica would probably be more suggested specially for pain. But it also has the side-effect of feeling like you can't move, which doesn't sound appealing to me at all. Since both have been reported to help with pain, and the Sativa is suggested more for day time (brain) use, that was the one I was interested in. 

Once we'd placed our ($6) order, we moved into the last room: The Cashiers. Once our little pre-packaged brownies were verified, our IDs checked yet a third time, and our money handed over, the little white paper bag was stapled shut to avoid any "Open Container" fines as we exited the establishment. 

Seriously, the Oxycodone currently in my medicine cabinet was easier to obtain.

After dinner, we nibbled on our brownies (not bad, a tad on the dry side, but tasty) and watched Secret Window. 

I'd read that it could take a good while to feel any effects, but by the end of the movie, two hours later, mostly we were just bored waiting. Deana chalked it up to "tried it once" and broke open the wine. 

That seemed to be about the time things started slowing down. 

Basically, we ended up sitting on her back porch at the fire pit in the dark, watching the flames and the stars, and listening to the crickets without saying much of anything. Well, not entirely true. Deana would ask me something that didn't make sense, and I'd say, "What do you mean?" and, as she told me this morning, she realized she had no idea what she'd just asked. So that was productive. 

The fire was absolutely mesmerizing. And I will admit the handful of white cheddar popcorn and roasted almonds I ate out there tasted really, really good. 

Oh, and by the time I got up again: no foot pain. Woo!

But I was also having a really hard time keeping my eyes open, ironic since I'd developed enough of a resistance to Vicodin that I can take them all day and never feel sleepy. 

So I headed inside, washed my face, and tucked myself in. At that point, behind closed eyelids, were some really very cool effects, lots of musical chords and kaleidoscopic colors (that seemed to be associated with the notes). And then I just slept really, really well. Definitely not a day-time pain killer, at least for me. 

I can see, very easily, why reports of people who come to Colorado and over-consume edibles to the point of doing very stupid things make headlines. The effects are much, much slower: metabolized through the liver than the lungs. The people on the news basically eat a cookie, feel nothing, and keep going. I cannot imagine how yucky they felt when it finally hit them, half a dozen cookies later, and there was nothing to do but ride out the effects.

Consuming marijuana is considerably more psychedelic than smoking it, too, regardless of strain. So . . . one brownie and done. K?

Having no interest in lighting up our lungs with any kind of smoke, and only purchasing the single brownie (which they also recommended when we bought it -- nothing pushy about sales) in completely child-proof-as-well-as-all-adults-without-scissors packaging, this has to go down as one of the tamest first-timer forays in the history of pot.