J'adore les francais! -chronic, growling and more

French people are badass. I kinda want to be one. There are two super cool french chicks in my classes that are a whole lot of fun, and they introduced me to french boys, which are also a whole lot of fun. :-)

One in particular knows the way to my heart. Not by way of excessive complements, fancy restaurants, or anything like that really. I didn't even really like him. Not at all. However, he did go with me to one of my favorite bars here in Manhattan, called "Off the Wagon" where he learned how to play the great American sport of Beer Pong. This was funny as hell. We lost both rounds against two seasoned pros, but held our own quite well the first time around. The real event of the night was after the bar, when dude surprised me by pulling a sweet J out of his pocket. Little did I know what was rolled up...

So this brings me to one of my sketchiest life moments. Worse than the crap I used to do in college down in KY. We found a metal building on the side of the street in East Village. Behind the building, there was a space of about two feet in between the back of the building and a chain link fence. This was the burning location.

I looked to make sure no cops or sleaze balls were around and I took a single puff. I remember imagining that my hair was in two braids on the sides of my head, and that as I puffed the J, my braids got stiff and slowly began bending and moving upward, pointing up to the sky like Wendy from Wendy's. I remember thinking to myself, "braid boners...hee hee hee" It occurred to me that my hair was hanging straight down my back, and that I had never smoked weed like this before.

It is true that this was in fact CHRONIC. The real deal. 100+ bud in the bluegrass state. Phenomenal... the stuff of which dreams are made! I have smoked a lot of bud, and some really awesome (and really shitty) bud, but never true chronic. Especially not with a french dude. I just remember laughing so much...after I spent the first minute high in a semi-freakout trying to determine if I had in fact smoked crack or pcp in an alley, because I felt kinda funny. But no, it was only the maddest, baddest weed in the world.

So I had an awesome time smoking. We chatted on the street for a while and dude put me in a cab to my home. As it was 3 AM, the smart thing to do would have been to walk straight into my apartment, through that door where I was dropped off by my cabby. However, after smoking I could think of one thing and one thing only: a well-crafted sandwich.

Thus, I walked a block up and crossed the street to go to this little deli owned by some Turks. I go there for a lot of my groceries, so the guys there sorta know me - or at least recognize me. However, two homeless guys that I walked past on the street followed me to the store, and one followed me in! It was super creepy, so I told one of the Turks, "That guy followed me in here," My turkish hero refused to sell the dude cigarettes and kicked him out of the store. You can imagine how this drama was fucking with me - it was too much action! Turkish hero also went to the trouble of walking me back to my block. However, when we walked past the homeless guys, one of them started growling and barking at me, and the other yelled, "BITCH" in my face. What really fucked with me was when one of those scabbies looked at me and shouted, "You smoke, don't you?!?!" I thought that they knew I was blazin'. My fuckin ferret back in KY probably knew I was blazin'; it was obvious I'm sure. Now I realize that they probably didn't have a damn clue and just wanted to bum a cigarette. However, when you smoke the chronic, you rationalize things quite differently!