My first time



Editor's note: I probably should have had a joint before this.  But I didn't, and I can't turn back the hands of time.  Also, this is the first blog post I've ever written about anything, so be gentle.

As a teenager growing up in the middle of the canadian prairies a while ago, I was raised to believe that weed kills. As part of a drug-free world, cannabis was the gateway drug to a life of abuse, addiction, poverty, depression, and death.  And I believed all of it. Terrified to even speak its name around my family, the thought of taking a rip off of a bong or a cored-out apple at a bush party in the middle of nowhere scared the shit out of me. 

And then, I caved.  Around the first time I stole booze from my parents' basement stash, I went to a party that was basically a Wiz Khalifa concert.  I was legitimately too naive to figure out how the hell all these kids got weed.  But that's not the point.  Eventually, someone hands a bong to me and suggests I try to take a rip from it.  As the lighter hit the chamber, I had no fucking clue what to do, so I tilted the bong towards me as I inhaled, drinking what felt like a gallon of bongwater along the way. 

Let me tell you, that was maybe the dumbest thing I've ever done in a long list of dumb acts I've committed so far in my life. After about 45 minutes of throwing my entire life up, I felt gross.  Like the hands of karma were giving me my comeuppance for tempting fate the way I did.  The invisible hand told me that what I was doing was wrong, so I decided then and there to swear off of weed.

And that devout approach to a smokeless life stuck for a long, long, long time.

That's it for now, but the next time you see one of these articles, it'll be about the first time I took an edible and what I learned from that. Probably.  













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