My Blah Blah Blog

I had a very productive conversation with a hairdresser the other day. First, he informed me that once you take LSD, it stays in your body—specifically in your spine—forever. So if you should, say, ride a bucking bronco or do some wacky, pretzel-like yoga pose, it could trigger a flashback.

I have successfully rolled my back on a foam roller many times without being transported back to the moonlit beach in Provicetown where I listened to that Traffic album for sixteen hours. And when that chiropractor once sneaked up on me and snapped my head around like Linda Blair’s, I had a vision of kicking him in the balls but I’m not sure that qualifies as a hallucination.

Changing the subject, I asked the hairdresser how to go about buying medical marijuana. He was taken aback. “Do you want to smoke pot?” he asked. “It is strong as fuck these days.”

There was a time when I would have found his surprise annoying: Didn’t I project the kind of cool associated with drug use? However, I made a note-to-self: I am now fine with that.

I said I did not want to smoke it, I just wanted to know how some people I know have bought it from a dispensary even though they do not have cancer or any other weed-worthy diseases.

“You just go to a pot shop, tell ‘em you have, like, bad anxiety or something and you really need to get some relief. They will write you a prescription, for, like, sixty bucks.”

“Where is a pot shop?” I asked.

“There’s like three of them right up the street.”

“This street?”

“Any street, babe.”

(I loved that he called me “babe.”)

Okay, so if I ever feel the need to buy some pot, I know the ropes. Maybe I’ll just wait till I go to Colorado where it’s easier. The truth is, I don’t feel an urge to do drugs of any kind any time soon. I mean, besides the Crestor, Namenda, Biotin, Valtrex, Eylea, Magnesim Citrate, Lunesta and Valium.