VAPORELLA - CATCH-420

The life of a health-conscious stoner is un-flipping-fair. Not that I’m incredibly health-conscious or anything, but I am a stoner who tries to keep my inhalation of Doritos and all things cheese down to a minimum. I’ve got one of those bodies that can—and will—blow up if it’s not looked after with constant love and attention. So I exercise and eat fiber and drink water just to keep myself in pants that are under double-digit numbers and all that crap. But let me tell you, it’s no easy task considering that on any given day, at any given minute, I’m more than likely getting high, preparing to get high or already balls-to-the-wall high. And then I’m ravenous.
Regardless of what anybody tries to tell you, veggie sticks and frozen grapes are only a good stoner snack for all of five minutes. After that, I start thinking: “You know what would go really well with this celery? A hot-fudge sundae!” And more often than not, my life from then on depends upon my seeking out said sundae. If only I was so determined when it didn’t come to food. Or pot. But really, what else is there?

Enter Kathy, probably one of the best stoner pals a gal could ever want. She’s always up for a laugh or an adventure, equipped with an iron stomach to lower the chances of a bout with dizziness or paranoia, and, like myself, afflicted with the worst case of the munchies I have ever encountered. Kathy and I were a deadly combo, especially when it came to Combos. Our favorite: Cheddar Cheese. Makes my mouth water and my pants split just thinking about it.

Kathy and I would roll many a joint and smoke many a bong, then head to the 24-hour market for our usual munchie session—a disgusting menu of Mama Celeste personal pizzas and Snickers or Milky Way ice cream. Not to mention appetizers including (but not limited to) Pringles, Gummy Sharks and cookie dough. Back to one of our houses and it was on: We’d eat until we’d tell each other we couldn’t eat anymore, and then we’d eat tons more and finish by telling each other that we need to stop doing this. But we didn’t. It was a vicious cycle and we were stuck. Kathy even used to eat in her sleep, we’d get so stoned. I’d wake up the next day to go to the bathroom, and the kitchen counter looked like rats had a go at it: Crumbs and wrappers everywhere, then back to the bedroom, where, nestled in her bed, I’d find Kathy—sheets strewn and little particles of cookies dotting her mouth and chin. When she finally woke up, she had no recollection of her sleep-eating. At the culmination of her pot and sugar high, she’d black out mid-sleep. She once called to tell me that she woke up in a sandwich—pickles and mayonnaise covering her arms, lettuce strips in her hair. I guess that scared her straight. Next thing I know, she’s on a diet she deems “salads and desserts” and looks like a Tour de France enthusiast.

Truly, the only way to kill a bad habit is to relocate, so I moved away from Kathy (and no, we weren’t gay). To this day, I’m still slightly wobbly with grass and any type of solid food. I’ve finally put myself on a different type of diet for my pothead needs: I stay away from fried foods, too much meat and all refined sugars and soda. Unless I need to eat something sweet. And then, when that sweet tooth comes a-crying, the cupcake or brownie or whatever it may be has got to have pot in it; otherwise, it’s a no-no. No M&Ms or Kit Kats, only space cakes and pot brownies. And though my pants haven’t shrunk or increased in the past few years, I’ll take my diet over Atkins any day!