I’ve always had rough mornings after consuming alcohol. Throughout the night I’m as lucid as can be, using my social skills to charm my way into anyone’s heart, the next morning however is a different story. My particular brand of hangover includes a multiple hour bathroom session complete with horrors usually seen in B-movie scripts from the seventies followed by a quick scan of all social media for signs of nighttime Facebook rants or embarrassing photos.
You can imagine my reservations when a group chat flashed up on my phone early one morning while washing the taste of cheap tequila out of my mouth from another booze filled night.
“I’m getting married, we’re going to NOLA”
After a quick scan of the people in the chat I realized that our group included at least three of the rowdiest people I know which is scary considering my circle of friends includes a man (me) who was once arrested for skateboarding down the 405 freeway during rush hour traffic (I’m still sorry about that mom). I waited a few weeks thinking about whether or not I would attend what was sure to be a completely disastrous trip while carefully weighing out the pros and cons of my decision. Inevitably it was the cities strict anti-cannabis laws and in stark contrast it’s positive attitude towards alcohol fueled antics that intrigued me the most when I finally booked my economy class seat with optional legroom.
I don’t travel well. My parents never took me on trips growing up and my first experience on a plane wasn’t until I was well into my twenties. I’ve spoken in the past about my disdain for both flying and landing in entire cities that seem to have less cannabis than you can probably find on the floor between my coffee table and couch so it was a tiny miracle that I was able to ditch that peasant seat I had previously purchased and flirt my way into business class. By using the classic southern charm I had learned from watching reruns of the Real Housewives of Atlanta for years I transformed the surly woman behind the counter into my best friend who in turn made my flight just a little less painful than getting kicked in the stomach. Stoned and drowsy from the combination of several dabs and the anticipation of our bayou bachelor bash I drifted off to sleep while our plane soared passed several “fly over” states.
We landed and made our way immediately towards the area that would become ground zero for every terrible/awesome experience we would encounter for the next four days. I’ve been sworn to secrecy during an intense blood pact ritual about most of the things that went on during our tour of America’s jazzy brothel known as the French Quarter but you get the idea. Alcohol was consumed, strippers hearts were won over and ultimately broken, and one of us spent enough money on a bag of what turned out to be vitamin b12 to buy food for a family of four to survive for several weeks.
The next morning, as I strolled down yet another cobblestone block full of drunk teenagers I heard just about every drug imaginable offered to me except the one that mattered. My head was pounding and the familiar beads of sweat beginning to form above my eyebrows were a good indication that I was beginning to suffer for my choices from the previous night. I was about to abandon all hope for myself when I saw a bright green light illuminating my path toward a hummer with the words “weed world” sprawled across it. After a brief conversation with the dreadlocked man who seemed to be in charge of the ragtag sales team I chose a lollipop that was labeled as the indica strain purple urkle. Looking back, a car that advertises cannabis so freely in a state that’s famously anti-pot should have been a dead giveaway that it was a scam. But I was too busy ignoring my instincts to think straight. It turns out the candies I bought were just that; candy. So it was up to the cannabis infused pills I brought along from level blends to do the heavy lifting for the rest of the trip. If being discreet is your method for smuggling these capsules do the trick without alerting every angry TSA worker in the vicinity.
With tourism being the main source of income year round for the residents of New Orleans’ sprawling, booze-soaked, streets I couldn’t help but admire the men woman and children that survive off the stupidity of unsuspecting tourists. Anytime I’ve been ripped off while in a new place I have fully deserved it and this time was no different. As I navigated my way towards my hotel room I was about as high as NOLA’s famously below sea level marshland. Next time I find myself on that side of the Mississippi river I’ll be sure to pack my bags in a greener way and probably stay as far away from Bourbon street as possible.
Louisiana is a state filled to the brim with mystery and culture. If you make the right friends and show respect you’ll probably have an amazing time, just don’t get super intoxicated and buy fake weed candy, it contains zero cannabis and doesn’t taste good, you’re welcome in advance.
Level Blends THC capsules are available to purchase at Stoney.