Archive for March, 2008

Life is Good

bong hit

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First hits from my new bong. This thing just makes me smile. And to think I’m going to Amsterdam in a month seems pretty unreal. I’ll be there for 10 days – by myself. I’ll be spending lots of time with the camera, lots of time smoking ungodly amounts of weed, and lots of time seeing a city that I could potentially live in. (The trip originated as a means to go check out potential grad schools.)

Anyway, I got this lovely lady at a head shop called the Village II that’s located right off the main drag of St. Marks Place on 2nd Ave. It doesn’t look like they have a website, but they have a great selection. I didn’t do any research before purchasing (unless you count the years spent smoking out of a variety of pieces), but I’ve been to a few shops in the village and this seemed to have the highest quality pieces that I’ve found as of yet.

However, the best selection is located across the pond. Can’t wait to see what I find over there.

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A Very Belated Birthday Present

About a month and a half ago I was supposed to get 2 bongs for my birthday. One of them finally showed up today as a surprise shopping trip with my cousin. This was the result of that little extravaganza.

Bong1
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I’m amazed at how well it photographs – and hits 😀 It’s so pretty. I think I’m in love ❤

More later when I’m not so high 🙂

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I Booked a Trip To Amsterdam.

Naturally, I had to celebrate with a bit of pot. Click on the images to view larger versions.

Herb.jpg picture by amybabyamy

Bowl-1.jpg picture by amybabyamy

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Weed = Instant Friends

Cocoa Beach

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Last week I left cold, gray, wet New York for a sunnier, warmer, palm tree filled Cocoa Beach (Florida). The first few days I was down there were spent trying to get my head screwed back on straight. I think I get seasonal depression because every time around this year, when the gray days never seem to end and just roll on one after another, I start to feel a bit hopeless. It took all of a day and a half of sunshine for that to go away.

I spent the majority of my time hanging out with my family drinking margaritas and going to delicious seafood restaurants (my father just retired and I tagged along on an old folks family vaca) . However, by the last couple of days I was itching to get back to the land of normal twenty somethings and away from the Bingo ladies, but not necessarily back to the cold.

On my last day, I was taking a walk down the beach by myself and amidst the sea of 55+ and 10- age groups, I spotted a couple of guys surfing. One of them noticed me and, I imagine, was flabbergasted to see someone relatively young that he didn’t recognize (I’m pretty sure this beach town is small enough that you’d know just about everyone in your age bracket who lives there). We made enough eye contact so that when I was on the return portion of my beach stroll, he motioned to me to come over and chat.

After we introduced ourselves and as his buddy was coming out of the water, he asked me if I smoked weed and if I would like to go smoke a blunt with them. It’s a very strange thing and something I don’t fully understand when someone can immediately sense that you are a pothead, or at least enjoy the green stuff. So naturally, I went and smoked with them (excellent weed, by the way).

In the hour that I hung out with them, we became friendly enough that I was invited over for dinner. I love restaurants, but I was a bit tired of them since I eat out the majority of the time in New York, as well. Home-grilled fish sounded amazing, as did the promise of more weed and a night of hanging out with a couple of very cool — and attractive — guys.

After easing the tension my plans brought about with the family (“But, how do you know they are ok? What do they DO? Are they in school? But, you’re by yourself!” — I couldn’t just come out and say to my super Catholic family, “They smoke weed. They’re totally chill. Lay off!”), I left for a night that will go down in my personal vacation history.

I had a delicious dinner that was cooked exactly the way that I cook for myself, read: ingredients that are as fresh as possible and cooked to enhance the flavor of the food itself, no drowning it in sauces. In fact, days later I still can’t stop thinking about the food; it made me remember how much I like to cook. Other than the food, bong hits and beers were plentiful, and these guys (and their two friends that showed up) were extremely laid back and easy to get along with.

Basically, I had a very good last night of vacation. So good, in fact, that I am now questioning my choice of geographic location. I really love New York, but the weather sucks 85% of the year , the people are high strung, and the boys, as my cousin so eloquently put it, “are like girls with dicks.” No offense to you New York boys, but WHY are your jeans tighter than mine?

I attribute this night to none other than the shared appreciation of Mary Jane. Without her, I don’t believe I would’ve felt such a strong sense that these people are my kind of people. So thanks, MJ. You pulled through once again.

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