Simple.

In The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler, His Holiness talks about Saddam Hussein directly. Allow me to paraphrase because the book is not with me at the moment. He says that it is not fair to blame an entire country's woes on one person. Saddam may be the leader, but a leader takes followers, a commander takes an army. And so that empty, creepy feeling is the knowledge that his death will not bring an end to violence in Iraq or improve the world opinion of the United States. In the Mercury News, Mohammed Latif, a 35-year-old from Baghdad is quoted as saying, "Executing Saddam will not change anything because we have many Saddam still."

And the execution of Saddam certainly didn't seem to change Saddam himself. From The New York Times:

The national security adviser in Iraq, Mowaffak al-Rubaie, asked him if he had any remorse or fear.

"No," he said bluntly. "I am a militant and I have no fear for myself. I have spent my life in jihad and fighting aggression. Anyone who takes this route should not be afraid."

Mr. Rubaie, who was standing shoulder to shoulder with Mr. Hussein, asked him about the murder of the elder Mr. Sadr.

They were standing so close to each other that others could not hear the exchange.

One of the guards, though, became angry. "You have destroyed us," the masked man yelled. "You have killed us. You have made us live in destitution."

Mr. Hussein was scornful. "I have saved you from destitution and misery and destroyed your enemies, the Persian and Americans."

The guard cursed him. "God damn you."

Mr. Hussein replied, "God damn you."

And his last words: "Down with the traitors, the Americans, the spies and the Persians."

A spokesman for Hamas, Fawzi Barhum, seems to agree.

"Saddam Hussein was a prisoner of war," Mr. Barhum said, calling his execution "a political assassination that violates all international laws that are supposed to protect prisoners of war." He called the trial "unjust" and said the timing of the execution, a half-day before the start of the Muslim feast of Eid al-Adha, was insulting. "The hanging took place on the day of the Eid and this is a message to the Arab street. The Americans have launched threats to all the Arabs," he said.

I am not a terrorist and i don't condone violence. I'm pretty much a pacifist. But the attempts the the United States have made to bring peace to the Middle East have failed terribly. If peace is ever to be a viable option on this lovely little planet of ours, the United States is going to have to accept that there are ways of thinking that seem absurd to us. Upon acceptance of that fact, we will understand that our ways of thinking seem absurd to others. With that understanding, perhaps we will realize that we don't have to bomb yet another country into agreement.

As Dr. King said, "Only love can conquer hate." We (sorry if "we" is unspecific) choose hate because it's usually the path of least resistance. Yeah, it takes us to some pretty shitty places and we end up not feeling so good about ourselves, but if we choose hate, we don't really have to work that hard. It's not difficult to feel hatred for a dictator like Hussein. Is it possible to feel love for him? And i'm not talking about that hippy-drippy-ultra-granola-i-love-everybody kind of love. I'm talking about towing the hard line. In order to find love for someone we perceive as being so different from us, we have to look deeply both at the other and at ourselves to find a common denominator.

If that seems impossible, maybe start just by being kinder to the people who aren't so different from you. Like your neighbor you've never talked to in the three years you've lived in that 6-unit apartment. Or the deli guy that knows your coffee order so you don't have to say anything at 8am when you're only capable of grunting anyway. I truly think this is the way to peace. Not through a centralized government that is paralyzingly difficult to communicate with, but through the infinite number of connections you make each day. Perhaps this seems simple, but don't mistake simplicity for worthlessness. For a month, just try being the person who says hello first, who smiles first. I don't think you'll need a whole month to begin to see that the barriers you feel between you and the rest of the world are an illusion. As i cultivate this practice, more and more i'm convinced that we're all just the same person.

Don't know if i'll be posting tomorrow or not, so Happy New Year. Love to all.

SG

p.s. happy birthday, mom!

Saddam Hussein Is, Like, Dead.

The idea of Saddam Hussein has been around in my mind for over a decade. The thought of his death brings to mind that he was an actual person. Clearly, he could have used a reminder as well.
I don't condone torture in anyway. I don't condone torture in anyway. I don't condone torture in anyway. But my teachers are always telling me that yoga is union of opposites. Thus it comes to me that at this moment, while millions of people take his execution as justice, at this moment, there are those who are grieving his death. Sometimes i wonder how we haven't blown oursleves up yet with all the diametrical opposition.

I'm thinking about Tod Folds, my first boyfriend. We were in the sixth grade when the First Gulf War happened. He didn't believe that we would go to war. He thought the media were being sensationalists. I think he said something to the effect of, "It's just, so, like, commercials, and like sponsors, will like, i don't know, my dad said they, like, get more money, if people watch. And people will watch the news if there's, like a war." Something like that. We were precocious.

Since i was 11 when Saddam Hussein first came into my view, i think i maintained my 11-year-old POV of him: a terrorist action movie supervillain who would outrun a James Bond like superspy again and again. But no, he was a real human being who did things i don't want to think about to other real human beings and still insists that he will be martyrized in heaven. I saw a talk with Robert Thurman recently. Have i mentioned this before? I think it's worth mentioning again because it's a very challenging concept. He said (i'm paraphrasing.) that once we reached Buddhahood that we would be able to see all suffering and pain and despair as mothing but misunderstanding. That is, we will not deem events in history or our lives as good or bad, but see them as a series of actions, one leading to the next and to the next and to the next. I imagine that it will be like watching video of one of those magnificently-complicated tiles of dominoes designed to fall one after the other, running backwards and forwards at the same time.

Sound and Noise.

My ipod is broken. There's no left-channel sound anymore. I've tried a few different sets of headphones. I'm so sad about it that i'm tempted to use an emoticon.

My ipod is the main reason i'm able to leave my house ever. There are few things i look forward to more than putting on my headphones and stepping out of my home for a destination-less walk. Without my sense of hearing, i look at things more closely. My eyes draw the cityscape around me into me. As i walk i gather trees, leaves, dogshit, buildings, the Statue of Liberty, airplanes into my arms and put them in my pocket to examine and write about later. You all belong to me, i say as i walk past garbage cans and stray cats. And so do you, i tell all the people who look me in the eye and all the people that look down at the ground, as if they had done something naughty, as if looking at another human being were a sin, an invasion.

I am thankful that this is the saddest news in my world right now. Perhaps it's not sad. I'll hear the city more. And understand what makes a city and why i want this one to be mine.

The BQE goes by my apartment. My first night, The Ex rolled a joint for me and my old roommate, Carla. I was still trying to make The Ex mine again back then. As i was falling asleep that night, i tried to send my thoughts to The Ex's apartment, a block and a half away. Come over. Come over. I miss you. I love you. Why won't you take me back?

Every time i drifted off, a truck would roll its as-tall-as-i-am tires over the Expressway and return me to awakening. It was as if i were a witch performing a very complicated spell. As soon as i awoke, i aimed my focused thoughts right to him. It was not a very good night's sleep.

The next morning, i told him that the traffic on the BQE kept me up all night. Yeah, he said, you get used to it. It's like that at my place,too. You remember.

I said yes, but i was lying.

:(

Could somebody please pack me a bowl?

God help you if we cross paths today. I'm irritated to no end and looking for a fight. Good thing our government provides me with an entity at which i can direct my anger.

• I don't care what the government says, this is more dangerous than smoking weed will ever be.

• Also, get your hammers out to break your post-2006 RFID chip-implanted passport. In a few years, they're gonna try to implant them under our skin.

• And since three is the magic number, here's something else that pisses me off about the people who are supposed to be representing us in the world.

A Warning for Al Green and the First President Bush.

Revolutionary soul singers and former U.S. presidents seem to be taking their final bow and vetoing their last bill in tandem the last couple of years. I know that two cases don't equal a pattern, but perhaps Al Green (God forbid!) and George Bush, Sr. (Well, we all have to go some time.) ought to be keeping tabs on one another.

Any New Year's resolution, y'all? I wanna know 'em. As usual, post a comment or e-mail me. By the way, whatever your resolutions are, i already think you're perfect.

xo.

Soul Is Suffering Already.

If Soul is undying, how can its Godfather pass away?

Now that Soul is no longer protected by the firm hand and strong, yet flexible legs of Mr. James Brown, we need to be careful we don't accidentally sell it. Soul Brother No. 1 won't be around to keep sleazy boys from hitting on your sexy, but too-trusting soul. Mr. Dynamite can't blow the back of your soul open with the forceful demand to, "Hit me!" The hardest working man in show business has retired and left you with the keys to the store.

James Brown was born in a one-room shack in South Carolina and brought up in his aunt's brothel. At one point, his clothes were so tattered and old that his school told him not to come back. It was when he first went to prison that he started singing in a gospel group and from then on, he helped to raise soul music, all of our souls and Soul with encouragement, precision, freedom, discipline and love. If we're gonna get out of our own one-room shacks, away from the brothels and the prisons of our own experience, we have to treat our soul with as much attention and care our Godfather did. As one reader wished for Chistmas, we have to "stop being scared, stop making excuses, and stop taking the easy way out." (thanks, jf.)

Here's What I hope You Do Get!

May the Lord of day grant us peace.
May the Lord of night grant us peace.
May the Lord of sight grant us peace.
May the Lord of might grant us peace.
May the Lord of speech grant us peace.
May the Lord of space grant of peace.
I bow down to Brahman*, source of all power.
I will speak the truth and follow the law.
Guard me and my teacher against all harm.
Guard me and my teacher against all harm.

- The Taittiriya Upanishad, Part I,i

I love you. I mean it. So be nice; it's Christmas.

*You can fill this in with whatever or whomever it is you bow down to, with whatever provides you with your source of power.

Merry Christmas

We want things because we're sure those things will make us happy and then, those things end up making us more miserable than when we started. I hope you don't get anything you want.

It's Hard Out Here for a SquarePants.

Are you at your parents' house for the holidays? Are you going insane? Can you smoke there? I hope you're all okay. Maybe you'll get lucky and UPS/Santa will drop someone else's stuffed animals down your chimney:

PANAMA CITY BEACH

The stuffed frog, duck and SpongeBob SquarePants all were holding, but the bear was clean.

The Bay County Sheriff’s Office confiscated three stuffed animals filled with about $20,000 worth of marijuana and hashish Sunday at a summer home in Panama City Beach.

The duck was loaded with about 2 pounds of highgrade marijuana worth up to $8,000, said Lt. Faith Bell of the Sheriff’s Office. Crammed into SpongeBob was about 13 ounces of pressed hashish blocks, and nearly 10 pounds of lowgrade marijuana was found in the frog and duck (from The News Herald, Panama City, Fl.).

I had no idea SpongeBob had fallen so low.

Quiet

The city is gonna get quiet soon. My apartment already is. Before i opened the door, i had to remind myself that my roommate's dog wouldn't be running out to greet me like a rock star. My roommate took her with her on the 30-hour drive to Texas. I think i miss them.

My friends seemed to have all slipped out of town. Somehow, December 22nd came more quickly than we expected and all of a sudden it's back home, even though by now, most of my friends consider NYC to be home. Back to old home.

There are still 8 million people in the city, but on this night, made shiny and wet and dark and cinematic by an easy-no-need-for-an-umbrella rain, there is space and silence all around me. I'm not getting a vacation, yet i have a sense that i'm on retreat. What am i retreating from? I have this idea that while my roommate is gone, the apartment will be dimly light and warm. Soft music will whisper from my I-tunes. I'll shuffle around in my white socks, sit in my rocking chair and scribble in my various notebooks. Monks will make a procession, humming and carrying candles. They look me in the eye. The moon will always hang low and big and white. Time won't count; somehow, my apartment will have slipped out of temporality. There's plenty of time for all of it. Time for staying in bed and smoking pot. Time for paying rent. Time for cleaning the apartment. Time for pissing off strangers on the internet. For not knowing what to say. For victims and Buddhism. For knowing what to say and not saying it. And for much more than this.

If i ever stop smoking weed, i hope i manage to continue believing in magic. Not like David Blaine or Copperfield magic. I'm on the brink of something and that is the best kind of magic, like before a kiss or before you come. Magic that feels like that.

Christmas List

What do you want for Christmas? Email me or post a comment.

Mexican Food.

I sat in my favorite Mexican restaurant in Brooklyn tonight sipping a poorly blended piña colada, waiting for my take-out and wondering if i looked like a loser for getting take-out alone on a Thursday night. "I'm going out later tonight," i kinda wanted to reassure the couple that were seated in the dining area, minding their own business, not giving a damn whether i was solo or maybe being jealous of people who had the option of a guiltless dinner-for-one without leaving behind boyfriendgirlfriendspousepartnerbabykids. I used to take myself out to brunch every weekend in the months after i graduated from college. Once, my friend Jael and a friend of hers passed the restaurant where i was brunching alfrescro. Spontaneously running into her was fantastic, but when she asked if they could join me, i politely, yet resolutely said no. Is it appropriate to use "resolutely" here? A little fancy, no? Anyway. She, her friend, and the waitress all stopped, pausing to play back the words i had just said. "Oh. She said no and yet my body is moving as though she'd said yes. Pause. Back up."

My alone time is still important to me, but i'm beginning to wonder if i'm using my comfort with aloneness as a way to cover up the fact that i'm kinda chicken when it comes to going out. I got comfortable with being alone because i was alone more often than not as a kid. And as a kid, when i was alone in my house, it meant that i was not with my parents. It was so much less stressful to be away from them.

That's one of the things i look forward to when i'm in a relationship again: comfort with another person as if i were with myself. It was like that with The Ex, but look where that got us.

I gotta grow some balls when it comes to the whole getting of a boyfriend. But the fantasizing is so easy and hot. Continuous video of our imagined first real conversation, our first drink, our first dinner, our first night together, our first kiss, &c. Re-editing and re-shooting and re-editing till the moment is exactly the way that i think that i want it to be in order to make sure the Universe gives me exactly the opposite of what i want. The Universe is like that with me; it plays dirty tricks. So do i. I believe we have an understanding.

Just a few more hours to go in the longest night. Just a few more days in a pretty long year. Whatever you call your celebrations around this time of year, i think at heart, we're all just saying, "I shoulda beennicer to you, but at least we made it through. Here's to not being an asshole in '07!"

We're all gonna get it right eventually.

SG

The Coming of the Light

Tomorrow is the shortest day of the year. With sunrise coming in at 7:16am and a sunset at 4:31pm, the day in New York City will be 9 hours and 15 minutes long. So, make sure you get up early, New Yorkers. You still have plenty of holiday shopping left. There's your Christmas office party and you haven't yet figure out what to get your well-intentioned, but-completely--nlike yourself boss, who will most likely get you a gift certificate to Pier 1, or as i like to call it "Wicker Chairs R Us." You've still got time to make gifts for your cousins; scarves aren't that hard. Just don't get too ambitious - with only four days left, sweaters are out of the question. And then there's The Bodies Exhibit you've been trying to get to for over a year. That might be a nice thing to do on the shortest day of the year. You need a new coat, though, and would be better off using your money for that. Well, maybe. While you're downtown, you could call K:. You haven't seen her in a while and she's always more receptive to spontaneous hanging out than to pre-planned kickin' it. But maybe you don't want to bother her because she's most likely busy with something cool or out of the country doing something amazing and making a difference in the lives of thousands. Taking yourself out to brunch seems like the perfect thing to do on the shortest day of the year, but you're working during prime brunch time and you can't go back to the office after a liquid lunch...anymore. And brunch isn't brunch if it's not on Sunday in your book. Bev is always available for a dog run date. But you're seeing her and the dog on Christmas. You could reaquaint yourself with New York City, for fuck's sake. When was the last time you took the train north of Union Square? You'll get on the subway, choose a person at random or maybe make up a rule beforehand - the first guy i see wearing a Yankee's hat - and whenever that person gets off, that's where you get off. Remember, you used to say to yourself, "Look at all the places you can go for a buck-fifty. I can go anywhere in New York City." Why don't you? But, perhaps something more familiar for the solstice. Perhaps instead of branching out, you return to what feels like home, knowing that resolutions for newness and derring-do and adventure are right around the corner. A walk in Prospect Park might be perfect. You could spend your time looking at how the tree branches make arms and legs and remark at the orgiastic nature of barenaked branches. Which would, of course, lead you to thinking about the uniqueness of every blade of grass. And you'll start to think, Isn't that a Walt Whitman poem? No, wait, Leaves of Grass. And you'll think, This is a good day, the shortest day of the year, to celebrate myself and sing. And you'll believe that you could

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of
all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions
of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look
through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in
books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

Now that you've got your day planned, here are a few suggestions for the longest night of the year:

Valley of the Dolls at Clearview's Chelsea
I have to admit that when an old roommate had a copy of this, i could not get through it. I think it would be significantly more fun to see it on the big screen and scream "Neely O'Hara!" with Patty Duke and a bunch of gay boys. And stoned.

A Benefit Concert for SaveDarfur.org down at The Living Room on Ludlow Street. This will be the most i've ever done for Darfur.

Literary Girl-on-Girl Action at KGB.

The Dreidel Slam at Makor. It's an all-night Hanukkah party. Something about latkes and ninjas is involved. $25 at the door.


Whatever you do with your shortest day, your longest night, remember that the light is returning. Here's hoping we'll all be seeing more clearly soon.

SG

Online Now.

The Crush has a myspace page. He's online right now. I don't have a myspace page yet so i am unfamiliar with what happens when you play there. What are you doing, The Crush? Are you browsing through your hundreds of friends? Why do all the girls' pictures look so sexified? The interweb is such a weird place.

There have been big busts lately: below the border, above the border, and within it. I'm wondering how, if at all, this is affecting those of us who buy and those of us who sell. Is a drought nearby?

Pretty

Emily asks, "What is it about pot that's just so good?" I talk about why i smoke here, but you know what? It's the holiday season. Things can be uber-stressful. Let's just be thankful that it is so good and that we're able to get our hands on it most of the time and we can make our resolutions in a couple of weeks. What are you guys doing for New Year's? I might see Patti Smith play at the Bowery. And my friends always throw a party at Tillary Street. It's a reliable shindig, but i wish there were more dancing.

I spent about 90 minutes throwing a personal dance party today. I am an excellent dancer. If you go to the Bowery, that's how you'll recognize me - as the best dancer there.

I found out today that The Maybe Crush is single and that we have friends in common that i didn't know about. How do i do this, you guys? How do you get to know someone you see for 15 minutes a week? I swear to you tha i am a pretty girl and not a middle-aged, balding man posing as a pretty girl, but i get filled with self-doubt and junior high shyness when i see him. When he sees me, he whispers hello as if we were in a library and i do my best to keep eye contact. I must be obvious. Being an actor, i'm trained to use my entire body to express what i'm feeling. It's habitual by now and i'm usually forced into honesty even when i'm doing my best to lie because i have too many tells. Don't ask what they are.

He must know or assume that i have a crush on because if i were him, i'd assume that every woman under 40 and most above had crushes in him. That's what i assume. That's why i'm sorta like, "Why bother?" How can i possibly stand out with the crowd we run with? Oh, just look at all this self-doubt. It's remarkable how much 7th grade deja-vu i'm having.

I Miss You.

OK. I know that things have been tough and that for a while there it seemed as if i was never coming back to you. But i did come back, so won't you forgive me and let me know that you're still out there? I know that you're reading my blog; i have a hit counter and everything. Why so quiet? Am i not the StonedGrrrl you once thought i was? Have i gotten boring? Tell me what i can do to make things right between us again. If i could, i'd invite all of you over to smoke the biggest joint i've ever rolled. We'd laugh and watch "The Simpsons" and make nachos and talk about quantum physics and Paris Hilton. And we'd watch this over and over again.

SG

Nothin'

I got nothin' tonight. Some guy who wanted to decriminalize marijuana during the Nixon administration died. A big weed dealer in Detroit is getting put away for 18 years. Sick Finnish people can get pot for their pain, kinda, but don't let that make you think Finland's government is goin' all pussy on smokers. The American Journal of Psychiatry has figured out that weed isn't a gateway to anything and that teenagers are gonna get high with whatever substance they can get their hands on.

I am fine. Probably a little too fine to write an interesting post. Things went well today. I was worried that having weed again would make it easy for me to stay in bed and sleep all day. Then i would have a post about my self-disappointment to which i'm sure you could all relate. Instead, i went to another Yoga class that wrung me out and made me happy. Out of nowhere, i got turned on by my sweet, mild-mannered, but not-at-all-hot-to-me teacher when he was adjusting my hips in a pose. He's light, like a cat, and i didn't hear him as he approached me, but saw him out of the corner of my eye as he laid his hands around the top and back of my pelvis. "Why is this so hot?" i asked myself.

Pretty sure it's because i've been fantasizing about my potential crush as often as i don't have to focus on anything else. My friskiness is lurking just under the surface of my cotton Yoga pants. Still frozen with oh-my-god-it's-a-cute-smart-boy shyness when i see the potential crush, though. The Pre-Crush, if you will. This is the first time in years that a crush has made me feel like i'm in high school again, averting my eyes when he tries to smile at me and my heart swelling as i await the perfect moment to show him how wonderful i am.

Don't Judge.

None of us makes the best decisions when we're stoned. We could learn a lesson from this guy in Kansas.

WICHITA, Kan. - A Wichita man called 911 to report he was the victim of an armed robbery.

The theft? A pound of marijuana worth about $1,100 that he had been trying to sell at his home.

The victim told police Thursday that a buyer had pulled out a sawed-off shotgun and stole the drugs.

Police brought a drug-sniffing dog to the house and located more marijuana and drug paraphernalia.

The victim was booked into Sedgwick County jail on several charges, including possession with the intent to sell drugs.

The thief has not been found.

Let's be smart potheads and maybe really, really old ones.

SG

Better

I feel better. I took a Yoga class that made me feel weak. It took me a while to realize that my lack of strength was directly related to my lack of sleep. Despite feeling wimpy and tired and overly sensitive in class, now i'm experiencing the Yoga setting in. It's like my whole body just had a good cry.

The first thing i write in the morning usually is pretty depressing and self-loathing and despairing because, in general, i wake up with a vague sense of dread, an overall feeling of confusion and a healthy dose of pissed-offedness because i'm no longer asleep. And as such, I save that stuff for my real journal which no one ever ever looks at and no one ever ever will i don't care if Cosmo says it's a great way to become more intimate with your partner. (I don't know if it was Cosmo, but it was one of those horrible beauty magazines that lie about what women look like and what men want from women.) This morning, though, the blog was the first thing i wrote. But i'm better now and for better or for worse, The Man is steps from my doorway bringing his sweet, sweet plant.

SG

Regrets Only

At the end of each of my classes, i say, "And in gratitude to everything and everyone that have led us to this perfect moment, we bow." I've been feeling like that hasn't rung true for me lately. The words come out, but i wonder if my students can hear the doubt in my voice.

I feel more regret about The Ex than i ever thought i would. Until the whole babymamadrama went down, i was certain that the lessons that i learned from being with The Ex would sustain me for at least this lifetime. I thought that being with him was a way for me to learn that somebody was capable of loving me (a revelation, i assure you!) and to learn that love doesn't mean emotional strangulation. But i look back on our time together and i see where i am now and i see how many of the choices i made when i was with The Ex (and i don't mean because of The Ex) have led me to be living a life that i don't think i feel very proud of.

It was when The Ex and i started dating that i began to smoke on a daily basis. I'm not ashamed that i smoke pot, but i am ashamed of what i've done to get weed sometimes and of some of the things i've done while stoned. Or more truly, what i've not done: written the novel, learned to play guitar, run the marathon. I know that these are the kinds of things that everyone says they're gonna do, but never do, even if they're not a pothead. It's part of the human condition to have high hopes and lofty aspirations that get dashed by the daily grind of just trying to stay alive. And i know that there are plenty of potheads who have achieved massive amounts of success. But i'm talking about my personal experience and at the moment, my personal experience is that of me, broke with no weed, wishing that i'd never started. And at the same time, of course, wishing that somehow i had enough money to get some weed today. The sad part? I can't afford it and rent's due on the 20th and i'll probably find a way to talk myself into thinking it's ok to buy it and then spend next week avoiding my landlord, making excuses to my landlord, running around looking for extra work, lying to my mother about why i need an extra $100, giving my landlord a check that will probably bounce, checking my bank's website every half-hour to see if it did bounce. I'll probably do all this without breathing. Right now, i'm about to add up my paychecks to see if there's any conceivable way i could make it work to get my stone on.

Well, i can afford it, but barely. I just called The Man. He'll be here around 6pm. And the cycle begins again. I'm a fucking idiot. I regret calling. Yesterday's StonedGrrrl told Today's StonedGrrrl not to do this, but Last Night's StonedGrrrl didn't get to sleep till 5:30am and Right Now's StonedGrrrl knows that Tonight's StonedGrrrl will go batshit if she doesn't sleep better tonight.

Already, the fear is creeping in. It's ok so far because it's not the 20th quite yet, but in a matter of days, when i'm buried under my covers, not stoned, just numb, i will wonder why the fuck i thought making that phonecall was a good idea. I will wonder if i've made any good decisions in the last half-decade. Falling for The Ex? Depression. Confusion. Memories i try to forget. Leaving my secure day job in pursuit of higher seeking? Unpaid bills. Bad credit. Bounced checks. I will wonder if setting foot in this dirty city in the first place a good idea. Too many people. Lost friends. Dog shit.

In happier news, it's my dad's birthday. He's awesome.

A Crush.

I'm trying to have a crush on someone. I see him about 15 minutes a week. I think he's cute, but not intimidatingly so.. I have a lot of context for him, though. I know lots of people who know him so i'm making the assumption that he is a good and kind person. I need some firsthand experience, though. Stupid shyness.

Cake and Ice Cream

Right now, i'm eating cake and ice cream and i don't have to wake up before noon tomorrow. And i'm ston-edy-stone-stoned. Matthew Fox and Tenacious D are on SNL this week. I love them. Matthew Fox is so hunky. He's totally not my type, but i lurve him anyways.
"ER" is playing in the background. I haven't watched this show in a long time. I'm shocked that it hasn't imploded under the weight of its own absurdity. And characters. There are so many characters. It's been on since i was in high school. And high school just keeps getting farther and farther away. High school didn't get along with me, but i've been feeling nostalgic for it lately. I think i'm worried about getting older.

And We're Back.

Many of you will remember this post about The Ex. A lot of you commented or e-mailed me directly your disgust with him. "[W]e've both never had a decent boyfriend." "Make him persue your company, and if he doesn't, well.. youre better off darling." A friend we have in common and who reads the blog told me that even if The Ex was blind to it, he could see my rising strength. So, thanks to all of you for your encouragement. And for all of you who have been missing me: ditto. Here it is.

A few weeks ago, The Ex called me and offered to smoke the peace pipe and have a talk about why he reacted the way he did. I truly wasn't interested. I just was really okay with not knowing about his personal life. I wrote him a kind e-mail thanking him, but declining for the time being. I ended telling him that there would be many smokings of the peace pipe together in the future.

A few days later, he calls me and leaves a voicemail that's very insistent that we talk. We couldn' t arrange a time to get together in person and i was ready to hear what he had to say. So we spoke on the phone. I did a lot of breathing before we talked. Good thing. He says:

(clears throat) So, DeeDee (a woman we collaborated on in a performance piece in 2004) and i were having a casual relationship. (In my mind, not a big shocker; she's his type. And yet, something in the back of my mind, something that someone told me about DeeDee a few months ago) And while weweresleepingtogether, she was sleeping with someone else. Not a big deal, it was casual. And she got pregnant. (Ah. Right.) And she had a little girl and we did the paternity tests, and it's mine.

Wow is what i said. Oh my fucking God, you fucking retarded (i hate using that word, but that is what i thought. Does that make me like Michael Richards? I get confronted with a stressful situation and my true feelings about mentally or physically challenged people comes out? We are a society that is good at hiding things.) stupid fucking fucking stupid what the fuck were you thinking you're an idiot fucking moron is what i thought. The thought went on longer, but after that it's just variations on a theme and i think you get the picture.

Yeah. The fucking Ex who was stilling fucking me 19 months ago is a dad. That is some fo' evah shit.

It's only been 19 days since i found out, but i'm already laughing about the absurdity of the whole thing: a casual relationship turning into the most permanent relationship there is. He'll always be that little girl's daddy and DeeDee will always be his babymomma. Remember that song that went something like "That's just my Babydaddy?" Can someone please send me a link to it? Thanks.

Oh, and about the contest. Like, two of you entered and i need more competition than that. I never thought i'd be such a capitalist. I'm extending the deadline till New Year's Eve.

Nice to see you again.

SG

Later

Thanks for all of your concern and i'm sorry to have broken my promise about writing once a day till thanksgiving. The voices in my head have finally stopped screaming, wailing, laughing and growling and i'm managing to write again. Some shit is still hitting the fan, so i need to do my best to duck and cover. When i finally can write about what's going on, i think you're gonna really enjoy it. It's good gossip stuff, but i'm still taking the high road at the moment and waiting to expound.

Later,
SG

Too Much.

I once watched a PBS show about a family dealing with one of their sons getting leukemia. He got to the point where he was dying and was spending all of his time in the hospital. I remember very distinctly a shot of him holding a photo of himself laughing on the beach during the family's last vacation together. He kept asking where his mom was because she rarely visited him. Not because she was cruel, but because she refused to acknowledge the fact that he was not going to get better. When the doctors called his grandmother after the mother stopped returning messages, they found out that most of the family didn't know that he was dying or even that sick. Aided by the grandmom, they finally got the mother to come in. The head doctor had to look her point blank in the face and say, "There is no hope for your son."

Something in my life has needed to die for a long time, but until today i didn't see how close to death it already was. We humans are very good at being blind. When the funeral is over (i may have already missed it.) , i will write more. Till then, behind a haze of dull smoke, be well.

SG

Grass Roots

Question #7 lost 44% to 56%. That's amazing. The fact that it was on the ballot in the first place blows my mind. I know it's Nevada, the state where you can do whatever the fuck you want as long as it makes some money, but i had the idea that this wasn't the kind of measure that any state in the US would consider.

Question #7 only lost by 7%. Almost 50% of Nevada's voters want marijuana to be legalized. We should be encouraged by this. We should be motivated by this. I don't think New York is that much more uptight than Nevada. It could very conceivably be legal here.

Let's fucking do it. Let's get that shit legalized. It'll be the grassiest grass roots campaign ever.

SG

Here Is a Poem.

People think they're awful & wait
for someone to realize it. Meantime,
they try to hide the awful, shrugginh
their shoulders, bowing their heads, letting
their huge, fat bellies fall to their
knees.

The black dredge, the black drudge, the
black dregs, the plaque, the resin, the residue,
the gunk, the trash, the dirt, the
garbage of which their hearts are made
beat like a bullet.
Please don't find me. Please don't find out.

SG

DrunkGrrrl (sorry for the typos.)

So as you all know, i'm StonedGrrrl, not DrunkGrrrl. My friend, Bev, has been going through some pretty fucked up and lame shit lately and her DOC is alcohol. Thus, i've been drinking more. I mean, who wants to drink alone? Drinking with her, going out to bars has really made me question the validity of marijuana prohibition. It's Tuesday night and there were plenty of folks at the Westside Tavern getting fucked up. It's a school night for Christ's sake. I'm fucked up because i was trying to keep up with Bev and because this bald, overweight, but probably nice guy kept buying us drinks. If he had been buying us bong hits instead of shots, i doubt i'd have such a hard time hitting the right letters on my keyboard. I know this point has been argued to death, but alcohol causes more trouble than weed. So why can i get arrested for being high and why am i given a free pass for being drunk?

I think everything should be legal and i think each person should develop his or her own moral compass. Each action i take has its consequences. I shouldn't be deter from performing an action because i'm scared i'll get caught. I should be deterred from performing an action because i'm aware of how the results will affect me and those around me. Have you guys read The Dispossessed? Ursula K. LeGuin explains it better than even my sober self could. Basically, she describes a society in which people understand that the laws of karma are greater than the laws of man. No one gets away with anything.

Ugh. Even when i get too stoned, i still feel ok. Right now, i'm too drunk and i feel like crap.

I'm a good drunk, though. Bev usually is, too, but she was dating a really fantastic, like man of her dreams type and he ended up being married to another woman. I think she's sadder than she realizes. And angrier. She kept slapping me in a "playful" way, but that shit hurt. In vino veritas, as they say. Fucking bored married men.

Addendum

I forgot to mention this is the last post: make sure you fucking vote. Those who partake in Nevada have an especially exciting reason this year. But all of us, whether we partake or not, have some re-claiming to do. I know, i know. I'm disillusioned, too, but when you vote, you get to tell all those lying liars, "this is my country, too."

A Promise.

Sorry to leave you high and dry, dear readers. I appreciate your concern. I'm definitely not discouraged by any criticism i've received. On the flip side, i am encouraged by your kind words of support. Currently, i'm trying to figure out how to balance the responsibilities of my offline life with the fun of writing this blog. To make up for my absence and in the spirit of gratitude that's goin' around this month, how about a promise? At least one post a day till Thanksgiving.

All right, now i've made a real commitment in front of God and the internet.

See you tomorrow,
SG

Ew.

A commentor keeps insisting that my writing style is "victim-y." I am insulted by this to no end. I wish i weren't because i feel like my being insulted only feeds his opinion that i'm a victim. I'm sure that the best, noblest, high-roadiest thing to do would be to ignore him. Thank God i'm not that noble.

I'm angry because i'm doing my best to live my life in a responsible way and take responsibility for both my actions and my emotions. There was a time when i didn't. When i was going out with Th Ex, i was prepared to blame anyone but me for my sorrows. From the inside, i recognize the difference in how my life is shaping.

And blaming God for my troubles doesn't count as victimhood. Like i wrote in last night's post, i've grown to learn that one's relatioship to God is wholly unique. It takes a lot out of a person to be so responsible; sometimes i need to give it up to a higher power. We all feel like victims at some point or another and when i see my mind about to launch into a crazy, self-pitying rant, ("The fucking bank screwimg me over! My fucking Ex screwing me over! Fucking New York City screwing me over!") I try it out on God first. Almost 100% of the time, the fault can be traced back to wrong speech or wrong thinking or wrong action on my part. Because i meditate fairly often, i've gotten used to seeing some of the workings and the patterns of my mind. I do my best not to deny any of those patterns, but rather embrace them all as the unique, lively and bright colors that paint the mural of my mind. Because i'm so very open to all of the parts of my consciousness, my vulnerability may come across to some as victimhood. I read a lot of blogs, especially NYC gossip blogs (my dirty little secret is that i love celebrity gossip, so if you ever have any, let me know.), and there's lots of snarkiness and sarcasm. I'm doing pretty much the opposite here and showing myself to readers when i'm weak and confused and hurt. You might recognize these states of being in yourself; how often is it okay to sit with these states without trying to change them? How often are any of us able to sit in our own awkwardness without trying to cover it up with bravado or cynicism? How often are any of us willing to admit we're scared? But we all are: scared, confused, awkward, angry, "victim-y." We are also all beautiful, loving, strong and kind. One set of qualities isn't better than the other and running away from one and toward another only creates more suffering. Pema Chodron says it better than i do in her book The Wisdom of No Escape.

This is not an improvement plan; it is not a situation in which you try to be better than you are right now. If you have a bad temper and you feel that you harm yourself and others, you might think that sitting for a week or a month will make your bad temper go away- you will be that sweet person you always wanted to be. Never again will a harsh word leave your lily-white lips. The problem is that a desire to change is fundamentally a form of aggression toward yourself. The other problem is that our hang-ups, unfortunately or fortunately, contain our wealth. Our neurosis and our wisdom are made out of the same material. If you throw out your neurosis, you also throw out your wisdom.

By my example of showing myself at my worst, at my most frightened and not running away, i believe i will 1) strike a very deep and real chord in you the readers and 2) suggest that we don't have to hide the crazy as often as we think because everyone else is too busy hiding their own crazy to notice ours.

But this is the Internet and if i'm putting myself out there, i'm prepared to be insulted once in a while or come across someone who's travelling in a very different world than i am. Or maybe even often. So bring it on. I'm my worst critic (as well as my #1 Fan!), therefore it's unlikely you can do more damage than i've already done to myself.

xo,
SG

I am soooooo not into sobriety right now, which is a shame because both of my contacts are dry right now. New York City Readers, is there a drought these days? So, i'm getting drunk. My Buddhism/Yogism teachers would tell me that i need to face all the shitty shit that's happening in my life face on, but i don't fucking want to. I'm tired of being strong and looking things right in the eye. I just wanna get fucked up and forget that credit scores, student loans and electric bills exist.

I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness. It's not a cult. It's just as fucked up and mind-controlling as most other religions, except you can't celebrate Xmas and birthdays. From the get, i never wanted to be a part of it and when i started going to junior high, i delved into sports and the student newspaper and friends and used those extra-curricular activities as an excuse to avoid going to church. The JW's don't call it church; they go to the "kingdom hall." So, my relationship with G-O-D like that of many Judeo-Xtians who are Judeo-Xtians because of their family as opposed to faith, was tenuous for a long time. I stopped believing in God because i was mad at him for all the rules i had to follow. When i found Yoga and figured out that my relationship with God was completely unique and that no one had power over that relationship but me, it was like the Heavens opened up. Just like in Matthew 3:12 - 17. Because i'm in control of the relationship, i get to be angry at him when things don't go right, even when it's my fault. I can scream and cry and holler and yell at him and i have faith that he still loves me. And is watching out for me. And will make things better.

Jospeh Campbell was once asked, "Is your faith in God 100%?" And he replied, (my drunken paraphrasement), "No. That's why it's called faith and not fact."

Ghosts.

I spent the day cleaning up and cleaning out my bedroom. It seems like i got rid of more than i kept and i feel empty now. A lot of the discarded debris was related to The Ex. A couple years ago, i thought i would hold onto those ticket stubs and love-notes scrawled on the back of Junior's receipts for the rest of my (our) life. When i lived down in Virginia for a few months and he stayed up here, we wrote letters at least once a week. I kept those. I didn't read them, except small glimpses as i folded them away. "I love you very much." "When you come back, the first thing we do is see Return of the King." "Our hearts can hide when it getd hard." We loved each other. If those letters are true, we loved each other.

I threw out the ghosts of things i intended to do and to be. Knitting needles and black and white film and student loan bills that have yet to be paid. I kept all of the photos. When i look at my younger self, i always think, "I was so much prettier than i thought i was back then." I wanted so many different things back then than i do today. But i don't even know what i want. I want to fall in love. I want to make more money. I want to stop feeling like so much of a fuck-up. I want to stop being haunted by the ghosts of who i used to be.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Thomas.

Today is Dylan Thomas' birthday. He's one of my favorite poets. He died young, drunk and in New York at St. Vincent's Hospital. His last words were, "After 39 years, this is all I've done."

I like what he did. But his dying words bring to mind the Second of the Four Reminders, a Buddhist offering: death comes without warning. The First Reminder is of the preciousness of our human birth. They go hand in hand. Our lives are precious because they are fleeting. Achieving anything in our short lifetimes is a miracle. So i light this J for you, Dylan Thomas. And because it was drink, not weed, that served as your drug of choice, i lift a glass of whiskey to my lips as well. You impressed your heart onto the hearts of many people and refused to believe that you'd done anything worthwhile. Just like the rest of us.

On a less somber note, i found this little gem on newsoftheweird.com:

Least Competent Drug Agents: Just after federal and local narcotics agents cut down and bundled for destruction massive quantities of marijuana plants at a site in California's Marin County in September, officials reported that, despite security, 1,200 of the plants had been stolen before they could be taken away. [Detroit Free Press, 9-14-06] [Marin Independent Journal, 9-2-06]

I don't usually condone thievery, but in this case, I stand and applaud those who took back what the Feds stole.

Love to all,
SG

I'm Not Having a Good Time...

with this whole being a person thing right now. My finances are in such a mess that ShittyBank blocked my accounts, both checking and savings. Banks can just do stuff like that. I remember once i deposited $200 in cash, along with some checks to an ATM. Never had a problem before, but a couple days later, i got a letter in the mail that said, "Please note that your deposit on xx/xx/xxxx was for $465, not $665, as indicated on your deposit slip. Please adjust your records." I called them, of course, to say, "What the fuck?" I even cried. Not in the-i'm-trying-to-get-out-of-a-parking-ticket kind of a way, but in the-my-rent's-due-in-two-days-and-you-have screwed-me-over kind of a way. ShittyBank said they would be conducting an investigation, which i'm sure went something like this:

"Hey, Gary. Did you happen to misplace $200 from this girl's deposit?"
"No."
"Ok. Thanks."

Then they sent me a letter saying that their investigation yielded no results.

I distinctly remember being Not-Stoned-Grrrl when i made that deposit. What was i supposed to do after they told me i was SOL for the 2-hunny? Hire a lawyer? If i'm crying over losing $200, does it make sense for me to take legal action? No. And they know that.

And you know what else? I fucking hate their ads that are so "Money's not the important thing. It's about spending time with your kids before they have kids and the seasons go 'round and 'round and you can't take it with you so let us handle your finances so you can be a provider of money as well as love."

But also, i know a lot of it is my fault. I'm not absolving ShittyBank or any other bank from being at least a little evil to po' folk like me. However, i know i spend too much money on weed and food. (Interesting. Maybe if i didn't get the munchies, i would spend less on food. But then i'd probably spend more on weed.) Am i the stoner stereotype? Whenever i screw up anything financially, i feel like such a non-person. The skills that i've been blessed with, while i consider them to be extremely important for the soul and heart, don't do much for keeping the body fed. Or clothed. I had to sell all my clothes to pay the electric bill and i'm writing this naked.

If i wanna be happy and financially solvent, i'm gonna have to start looking for a literary agent. I'm gonna have to start seeing myself as a writer who has something unique and necessary to share with the world. In other words, i'm gonna have to believe in myself more and work a little harder. I find myself daydreaming about the days when i'm able to pay rent and bills and student loans and have a little to put away for my dreamhouse on Prospect Park. I feel so financially and career-ily hopeless right now that the daydreams sadden me.

If my daydreams are bumming me out, it must be time to numb out. On to the toke.

love y'all,
SG

I Have Betrayed Myself.

I haven't abandoned you, everybody! Though i'm sure a few of you thought that i was engaging in typical stoner behavior. Starting something off full force and then running at the first signs of success or duress. That ain't it. The minor Ex-drama, combined with two performances, puppy-sitting and a full day of work on Sunday didn't allow me to be a blogger. I was barely able to be a human being. I felt like a sack of skin that had somehow been animated enough to get on and off the subway.

Betrayal is where my hiatus started. Here's the story:

Last Thursday, i was out of weed. The Ex lives a block away from me and we're usually good about providing for one another if necessary. I called him and told him i wouldn't be home till 11.

"Is that too late?"
"Normally, no, but i won't be home."
"Oh."

In the last few weeks, we've had conversations that indicated his sleep-over habits. In the two-and-a-half years that we've been broken up (that's the official count, but we were still hanging out and having dinner and fucking for 18 months after we called it quits), neither of us had talked about dating. My relationship with The Ex was intense from start to finish. I was confused by disbelieving of the fact that any man besides my stepdad could love me. So i spent a lot of the relationship trying to convince The Ex that i wasn't deserving of love. Eventually he believed me and that's when we broke up.

Getting over The Ex was the hardest and best thing i have had to do so far in my life. But since he was the first man i loved who loved me back, i think it's pretty fair that a piece of him is still hanging around my heart. Last Thursday when he told me he wouldn't be home, i decided that i was finally strong enough to know if he was dating. But still too shy to ask over the phone, so i sent him this e-mail:

From: StonedGrrrl

To: The Ex
Date: Oct. 19th, 2:57pm
Subject: I don't want this to be a big deal, but

are you seeing someone?
i don't like you in that way anymore or anything and i recognize that the details of any relationship you have aren't any of my business. but since we still move in the same social circles, i'd prefer to hear it from you than anyone else.
sorry if this is ridiculously awkward.
SG

He sent me this in response:

From: The Ex
To: StonedGrrrl
Date: Oct. 19th, 3:40pm
Subject: Re: I don't want this to be a big deal, but

SG,


We are under no obligation to discuss our personal lives beyond the point that we feel comfortable - regardless of our circle of friends. It is none of my business what you do or whom you see and I wouldn’t expect you to tell me that you were dating someone. Don’t confuse our earlier relationship with our current one. I like that we have stayed in touch but we have to respect each other’s personal boundaries. If I have something to share with you as a friend I will do so when I feel it is appropriate for our friendship. That goes for any friend I have. If I have to go out tonight late you can take that any way you wish but it has nothing to do with you and is none of your business.

I don’t mean to sound harsh because I am not angry I just want to be clear because I feel this is very important. We haven’t had any problems for a long time and I feel that it is because we have usually been very accessible to each other. But tonight I need to go out and I am sorry that I can’t help you out.

The Ex

I was stunned. The warmth that i feel from him when we hang out gave me no precedent for the sharpness of this e-mail. I will admit to you that when he and i were together, i was a crazy, hot mess. But we have both evolved a lot and we have managed to develop a friendship that is both respectful and kind. I mean, i thought it was. Here's what i wrote back:

From: StonedGrrrl
To: The Ex
Date: Oct. 19th, 2:57pm
Subject: I don't want this to be a big deal, but

what i envisioned when i wrote you was that you would say yes and i would say, "that's great. i hope you're happy. i hope she's nice." or you would say no, and i would make a joke like, "why not? you're a catch!" and then, having moved past that obstacle, we could move into like a jerry seinfeld/elaine bennis relationship where we could actually talk about the people we're seeing.

your response really hurt my feelings and made me question whether i want to be your friend. i asked if you were seeing someone because i finally felt like i was able to take the answer whatever it might be. maybe the e-mail translation didn't work, but i even tried to make it a little light-hearted.

i'm not confusing our earlier relationship with our current, but i do acknowledge the deep impact that our earlier relationship had on me. if i were seeing someone, i would tell you because anything that works out for me in the future has a lot to do with the painful lessons i learned with you. i know you said you weren't angry, but i infer from the tone of your e-mail that you must have incredibly deep feelings of resentment toward me. it makes me question whether you want to be my friend.

i'm so upset with you right now. i didn't deserve the harshness of your e-mail and i deserve to be treated better by someone who calls himself my friend.

i'll read this in the morning and perhaps regret it, but right now it is how i feel.

SG

He wrote back and apologized and said he was taken aback by the timing of my question, blah blah blah.

I think his being taken aback was a good thing. It made him show his true colors, so to speak, in terms of how he feel about me. His e-mail showed me that deep down he doesn't really trust me. Just like how one's family can't really see one as anything but a ten-year-old, he continues to see me as the overly fragile, self-absorbed person that i used to be, despite the fact that i have evolved past that. Often when i've gotten in touch with him to hang out, i feel that he's suspicious that i still have a thing for him or that i'm gonna crumble into pieces again. Whether or not he realizes that he's sending out those feelings of mistrust and suspicion, i am receiving them. And it feels really shitty to be on the receiving end.

I think his being taken aback was a very good thing. For a while, i had been telling myself that i was so happy that things between us were solid and that we were still really good friends. His e-mail forced me to re-evaluate that perspective. It's very telling that he writes, " I like that we have stayed in touch but we have to respect each other's personal boundaries, " instead of "i like that we have stayed friends." He's right; we've stayed in touch. But what i see now is that we hang out when one of needs weed or at parties. That's barely a friendship.

It strikes me that this all came down over my lack of weed. The Ex and i were stoned for most of our relationship. I was often too strung out to see things as they really were and instead developed paranoid situations in my mind of him cheating on me and telling all of his friends that i was worthless. Who knows if it would have been any better without weed?

I want The Ex to move away and never talk to me again and at the same time, i want him back so i can prove to him that i'm not the selfish, manipulative, scared little girl i was when we were together. I've been over him for a while now and have dated and kissed and been naked with other boys since him. I feel betrayed by my own emotions that i should even be entertaining the thought of getting back together with him. But what do i do if that's really how i feel?

I'm letting his scrap of a friendship go for now. Even though we don't hang out that much, i see now that it's been a burden on my heart to keep thinking of him as my friend. It's too tiring to worry constantly if i have or if i'm going to cross a line with him. It's too tiring not to be trusted. It's too tiring to keep thinking i've made amends only to discover that he still has some very negative feelings toward me. Maybe, after all i put him through, (and ladies and gentlemen, it was A LOT), i don't deserve to be his friend.

Oh, well.

Anyone in NYC check out the Stony Awards last night? Who won? Lemme know.

SG

p.s. i missed you guys.

I'm pissed.

It has to do with the Ex. Everyone loves a good ex-boyfriend rant, right? At the moment, though, all i can think to write is "fuck you. fuck you. fuck you." Seriously. Anything that isn't "fuck you. fuck you. fuck you," had to be written and typed by my roommate.

Check this space out tomorrow after i have cooled down and regretted the e-mail i just sent to him.

Oh, boy. I hope i haven't lost a friend.

SG

A Few Answers

A late rehearsal. Tomorrow morning, an early class. I don't wanna be up all night, so i'm gonna answer a few of your questions and call it a day.

• I'm 27.
• I'm black.
• I'm straight and single, but i don't want to use this blog as a dating service.
• I've been in NYC for nine years.
• I grew up in Michigan.
• My educational background is in theatre, yoga, buddhism, and writing.
• I smoked my first bowl with Missy Tejada and Billy McDaniels when i was 16.
• I lean far to the left politically.
• I don't know why this country hasn't legalized weed yet.
  
• This is my favorite song.

Please keep reading and asking questions. I care what you guys think.

SG

The Hulk

I make art most of the time. In one way or another. I had an office job as a sales assistant at a children's book publishing house for several months after college and i was really bad at it. Don't ever hire me to be your secretary. I can't even type that fast.

After getting fired, i collected unemployment and was able to figure out a way to make money without sacrificing the time i dedicate to theatre and writing. And it's actually something i love to do, so it's even more of a bonus. I am in awe of people who work a 9 to 5 (or as is more often the case these days, 9 - 7). Working in an office made me feel like my body was collapsing from the inside. I could barely hold my head up. I'm not even that lazy and i enjoy getting up in the morning, but the thought of returning to my little cubicle each day of the week made me shiver and cry. And throw things. I'm not kidding. One morning i got so angry, i ripped my shirt off, Incredible Hulk-style.

My relationship with weed was at its worst then. The whole day i sat at my desk and made small talk with so many Long Island girls about "American Idol," i was fantasizing about the bong hit waiting for me when i returned home. I could see my 6 o'clock self happily drowning under the haze of weed and the warmth and weight of my covers. I wasn't trying to sleep; i wanted to sink into the center of the Earth and never resurface. I hated leaving my bed; it usually meant i was getting ready for work.

Thank God i've re-prioritized my life. The fear of returning to a 9 to 5 creeps in around the time i have to pay rent. And i don't have insurance. But i do have thousands of dollars in student loans. I'm happier, though, on a day to day basis. I sacrificied a steady income for being able to like waking up in the morning. And i'll probably marry rich anyway, so...

SG

We'll Float.

An easy day. Much needed after the weight of my weekend. Unfortunately, for you, dear readers, i find it harder to find things about which to write when life is going well. I think God makes people suffer because he likes art.

Questions i've thought about today:

Why does pot make food taste better?
Why is it easier to talk to my mom when i'm stoned?
Why did i choose pot instead of cocaine?
How long am i gonna be smoking pot?
Am i a better writer when i'm stoned?

I'm drinking a white russian right now. My roommate is taking her boyfriend's blood pressure. The foster kitty is mewing. Now. Now. Now. These are things that are happening right now. They are small things, but they are important because they are happening now. Right now i am breathing. The manager at my grocery store says that breathing is a hard habit to kick. Smoking cigarettes is, too. Can you keep up with the tangents of this post? My mind, like all minds, goes to about 600 places in one minute. I can't type fast enough to take you with me on all of those trips, but i can give you a brief, disjointed tour of the workings of my body-mind-spirit state, which i'm pretty sure is similar to all the other body-mind-spirit states out there. Even if what i write doesn't make sense, your mind will work to make it make sense. That's what human minds do; they categorize and label so as to have enough structure and grounding to remember faces of friends and family and associated feelings and moods. We can make sense where there is no sense to be made.

But what does any of this have to do with weed? I'm trying to contain this post and give it some backbone or an axis or some point of reference, but the words seem to be getting away from me. That happens sometimes. I feel guilty calling myself a writer since so many of my stories write themselves. They introduce themselves to me, sit down and tell me what they have to say. It's up to me to make them solid, as solid as words can be. But right now, i don't have much solidity in me and i don't want my words, too, either. Fluid. Loose. Flowing. Confusing. Muddled. There is always time to understand. But how often are we in complete understanding of our surroundings? It is rare for me; more often than not, i am surrounded by perplexing circumstances. As soon as i see the light of one situation, another cloudy, misunderstood drama arises to block out that light. One of my teachers said to me, "The spiritual life is 'I don't know.'" I like that so much.

Confused. Perplexed. Misunderstood. Rest there. Rest with your feet unsupported and your head in the clouds. You will either land or keep floating.

SG

Friends

I'm getting high with my friends right now. I haven't been stoned with them in a long time. The room in which i type this blog is a few feet away from where they eat and talk and giggle. FunGuy has the His Dark Materials trilogy on his bookshelf. Please read that.

FunGuy is telling his story about how he had an allergic reaction to aspirin on a plane. His lungs felt itchy and he broke out in hives.

I feel the pull of my friends. What can i tell you about them so you'll understand the brevity and perhaps bad punctuation of my post? They are intelligent, compassionate, creative, genuine people. Honest and loyal. They're my saviors and my angels. I've known them for almost the whole time i've been in NYC. I don't often imagine what my life would be like without them.

When i was in the third grade, they transferred me away from my friends to a school on the other side of town. I had been smart and well-liked and had a lot of playmates from kindergarten to the second grade. I was on the fast track to popularity. At my new school, the popular girls were bitchy, upper-middle class girls. They were snobby and rude and they cut you in half if you threatened to be smarter or prettier or more noticed than you. I didn't know that at the time; i simply believed them when they tolf me i wasn't ugly, but not that pretty. I remember sending notes like:

List in order of who you like best:
Kirsten
Julia
Sarah
Me

In return, i received:

Julia
Kirsten
Me
Sarah

At least i wasn't last. I didn't like these girls, but they were popular and that's what i was used to. So i broke into their clique by teasing girls less popular than me and thus worked up the third-grade food chain.

But i didn't like anyone else, either. Popular, non-popular, smart, dumb: these weren't my friends. After that year was over and i was returned to my original school, i vowed to choose solitude over bad company.

Thank God i don't have to make that choice now.

SG

Everybody's Workin' for the Weekend...

But i work on the weekends, so you won't hear from me that often on Saturdays. A grrrl needs to rest. I'll update the blog before i go to sleep tonight. In the meantime, though, i have a few miles to go.

xo.

SG

I Am Home and I Want To Go Home.

I'm depressed. I am home and i want to go home. Some days are like these. My life has been going on at what seems to be a relentless clip. Does no one get to rest nowadays? Businessmen, doctors, mothers, artists, yoga teachers, secretaries, garbagemen, postal workers, actors, retail clerks, clergymen, dads, editors, students, people. No one gets a break. No one stops. When i stop, i worry that i'm missing something i'm supposed to be doing.

Weed is no longer always the insta-calm that i used to rely on it to be. I consider this a good thing. If weed won't work every time, then i'm either gonna have to move on to harder stuff or learn how to relax. And i'm not moving on to harder stuff before i'm 35. For a long time, i assumed that i would always be relaxed after i smoked. But often what i've called "relaxed" has instead been a state of stagnation. In this state, the body doesn't move much, but the jaw is clenched, the hands are in fists, the shoulders are tight. This is the opposite of relaxation. This is when it's a good idea for me to take a break.

Do you guys out there take breaks? How come? How often and how long? I think, as with any healthy relationship, there needs to be space. I wish i could forever experience and appreciate weed they way i do the first time after a long break. But that's asking a lot of weed. Perhaps it's a catch-22. If i could relax more, i would enjoy weed more. But if i could relax more, would i want weed?

I don't use weed solely for relaxing. In your answers to the question, "why do you smoke?" a few of you point out that weed helps you to bring the magnificence of little, ordinary things to the surface. I, too, love that about weed. I miss the little, ordinary things because i'm going too fast most of the time. Could i stand to slow down a little when i'm sober instead of waiting for weed to catch the grace of an ordinary moment? To use the relationship metaphor again, i don't want to put expectations on weed that are more about me needing to develop certain traits rather than weed fulfilling the things that i lack. I want to smoke weed because it's weed, not because i don't know what i'd do without it.

This isn't the funnest post. But remember the contest? You could win something. That's fun.

Happy Friday the 13th, lovelies.

SG

A Contest!!! Yea!!!

The Grand Opening of my blog is a perfect time to have a contest. Though at this stage of the game, i worry that no one will enter and i'll end up looking like a loser. I shan't let the worry stop me. I blog on in the hope that the combination of time, perseverence and good writing will make this blog a successful one. What does successful mean when it comes to blogs anyway? Whatever.

I mentioned in my second post that i dislike the term "stoner." I like being "stoned," but "stoner" makes me feel like i should have long, greasy hair hidden under a baseball cap turned backwards and hang out at the mall when i should be in PE. My apologies if any of you are wearing backwards-facing baseball caps over untamed hair with plans to skip class and hang out at Briarwood Mall tomorrow. But if you don't have any by now, you must begin to develop some self-awareness to realize that you are what people mean when they say, "Stoner."

I may take this back later, but i think perhaps one of the reasons i wanted to start this blog is because i and so many of my friends defy the stoner stereotype. I want to show the many faces of weed-smokers, from the tried and true stoner stereotype to your mother's best friend who still gets high on the weekends.

I'm leaving it up to you to come up with a new term for "stoner," one that more accurately labels who you are, who we all might be, when it comes to our relationship to weed. Send me your ideas for a term that replaces and elevates the term and connotation of "stoner." Enter as many times as you want. I'll choose the one i like the best. As a thank-you, i'll buy you one $10 item (I'll throw in for shipping and handling, but s&h shouldn't cost more than the price of the item itself.) from your Amazon Wish List. I promise. I really will. Let's say the contest starts whenever i get the first entry and ends on November 15th. The winner will be announced on November 20th and said winner will be compensated by November 27th.

Remember, though, whatever label we come up with, it’s just a label.

One more thing before i call it a night. As i went about my business this afternoon on the lovely isle of Manhattan, i spied a cute boy with whom i wanted to make eye contact. Alas, he was looking at the ground. Alack, as i passed him, i stepped in dog shit.

Dog Owners, please clean up after your dogs.

Cute Boys, please look up so i can meet your gaze.

Love to all.

SG

I Have a Fear of Commitment.

An anonymous commenter had some kind words to throw my way and at the end of his post, he wrote that a "true true true stoner would NEVER be without." He wonders about my commitment to stonerdom.

I fall into the category of those who smoke several times a day. By the time my stash is dwindling, i usually feel like i’ve oversmoked and want to take a couple days off before i smoke again. That first puff after a break seems to approach nirvana. And then, about once a year, i quit for several weeks. The first puff after that long is disorienting, but i manage to get the hang of it.

Speaking of nirvana, this idea that there can be a true stoner and therefore, a false stoner, reminds me of junior high. Nirvana was pushing through to mainstream music. If you had been listening to them before the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" video came out, you were really committed to alternative music and therefore, cool. If you had Nevermind memorized in its entirety, not just the singles, you were really committed to alternative music, and therefore cool. If you wore combat boots (especially if you were a girl), you were really committed to alternative music, and therefore, you were really cool. Pity the fool who said he was into Pearljam, but didn't know the song "Garden." Upon such a one was bestowed the dreaded, impossible-to live-down title:

POSER.

I used the word "therefore" a lot in that paragraph.

I welcome all levels of commitment in this space. I think people who smoke several times a day and those who toke every now and again have something to say and probably, something to learn from one another. If you're reading a blog about weed and especially if you're commenting on it, i gotta believe that you have a strong interest in the subject. And, like with music, this is a question of taste. The stoner who smokes several times a day can't understand how someone can like weed, but only smoke it a couple times a month. The occasional smoker can't understand how i can wake-and-bake like other people drink coffee.

We only have the totality of our own experience. So if being committed to weed is important to you, then by all means, make clear what that commitment is and follow those parameters. Let’s each of us express our commitment in our own way. In regards to all things. Not just weed.

I love that you're reading and posting. Tell your friends... and your enemies. Maybe weed will bring you together.

much love.

And That Is Why I Smoke Weed.

So this is exciting. People are reading and some are posting comments. A couple of you have asked very provocative questions and i think that's great. More on those specific questions later.

I think i'm going to begin to broken record this to death, but i encourage to post comments. I know that she's a newborn, but this blog is largely going to be shaped by the people who read it. The questions you ask, the subjects you broach, the jokes you make are all going to help me steer this blog into a positive, unique direction, instead of into the deep, dark abyss of the blogosphere. But remember, be good boys and girls. It's only weed.

An anonymous poster asked me why i smoke pot. I suppose at this point i'm addicted, which is fine. I'm not trying to belittle addiction at all, but every single person is addicted to something or someone. We all have something we need to get rid of, but instead tie to our backs like we were strapping a canoe onto a station wagon. Trying to pretend as if there's a hierarchy for addiction is only going to reinforce the idea that certain kinds of people are addicts. You, me, and everyone we know. And as far as what i'm carrying on my back, i think i'm ok with what i got this time ‘round.

So what is it that i think i need that only pot can give me? Perspective. In a journal entry, April 2005, written with my left hand, i debate "whether weed fools me into thinking that everything is going to be ok or if, in fact, everything is going to be ok, and weed helps me see that more clearly." Thus far, everything has been ok. Scary things happen and i seem to survive them. We all do; or else we don’t, but that’s life. Like Siddhartha was to discover, life is suffering.

One of my teachers recently told us that suffering was an extreme translation and that the Buddha meant something more like, "life is chafing." It's awkward. It's uncomfortable. There is, of course, terrible suffering, but even when things are going well, there's often a weight hanging in the air. The weight of knowing that things can't stay gold forever.

Weed seems to help me have perspective about my own suffering. Of course, that perspective can be a little bit off. There are plenty of things that i worry about needlessly and weed often helps me let those things go. But then again, there are things that i should be concerned with and weed sometimes relaxes me to the point of laziness. I've been smoking long enough that i can see when it's happening and manage to get my ass in gear. Most of the time.

I think New York is the best city to have a good, hopefully not-so-paranoid stone on. I can see the dirty beauty of Brooklyn so sharply when i walk around my neighborhood, buzzed and smiling. A summer night, walking around the park, stoned: it makes me feel infinite.

And that is why i smoke weed: an essay by StonedGrrrl.

My answer will be different next week. I'll let you know when i think of more reasons. How about you guys? Why do you smoke? (In my effort to make commenting as easy as possible, questions that i want specific feedback on will be in bold. This doesn't mean that you have to answer those questions. But if anyone out there wants to participate and is feeling a little shy, i wanna be able to give a little guidance and structure)

That's all for now, kiddies. Tune in tomorrow when we find out if, in the words of one commenter, i am a "committed" stoner or not.

xo.

No Pussies, Please.

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Labor.

"He's never early, he's always late,
first thing you learn is that you always gotta wait."

The Guy i have right now is actually pretty good about being on time, as far as drug dealers go. He's usually here within 30 minutes of ETA and a few times, he's been early. Only twice has he been unbearably late. I had to use my "i mean business" tone the first time. And this evening, he was 117 minutes late. I didn't notice much of his tardiness because The Ex and i were busy taking offensively cute pictures of the stupidly cute kitty.

When The Guy did arrived, he said, "First the traffic and then my girl goes into labor."

OK. That's a pretty good excuse. But, also, what the fuck?

I have talked to his girlfriend a couple of times. He had to use her phone for deals after he lost his. There's no way she smokes pot. Her voice is like vibrating silk. And mine? Like crunching gravel. I don't mind; it's working for Marianne Faithfull. Anyway, The Guy's girlfriend was always nice and sounded pretty and i hope she's not alone and scared in some horribly lit hospital room because i wanted to get high.

The clock on my cell phone has gradually, over the course of three or four months, moved forward in time. It is now 8 minutes faster than the microwave and the computer, which were both originally set off of the cell. Why is this happening? I don't want to pretend i'm 8 minutes in the future. Perhaps i would like to, in fact, be 8 minutes in the future. Perhaps, like the clock on my c-phone, i will gradually begin to move ahead of my roommate, my friends, my fellow subway commuters. At first, everyone will just think that i'm becoming very psychic. But then, i will grow farther and farther away from everyone. They'll interact with the shadow of me and i will talk to their projections. I'll touch the man i'll fall in love with, but his skin will feel like slightly moist sand and i won't be able to hold him too tightly. This will be a good lesson for me.

I know that there are all sorts of holes in that scenario. There always are when it comes to time travel. Please read Einstein's Dreams. Back to the Future II is on. It's no Godfather II, but as sequels go, it's very watchable. Someone once explained to all the holes in BTTFII, but i have since forgotten them. Who cares? It's made up.

Somewhere in brooklyn, The Guy's girlfriend is moving past 4 centimeters. Let's wish them luck.

Waiting.

I'm not stoned right now. I am fucking tired and i have a headache, though, so perhaps my fatigued/pained writing style will emulate my stoned writing style.

I'm waiting for my man. The Ex is coming over to take pictures of the kitty i rescued two weeks ago. Anybody want a kitty? I'll upload a photo in the next post.

I don't have a lot to say about weed at the moment. Usually, at this moment, when i am out of weed and am waiting for the arrival of replenishment, my knuckles are a lot whiter. I think my headache is precluding anxiety. More after the puff.