Spinster columnist Maureen Dowd flew to Colorado to eat marijuana candy so she could write about it and warn all you kids against doing the same stupid thing. She did her drug of choice alone, in a hotel room in a place far from home, which is kind of sad. But that’s a junkie’s life.
Sitting in my hotel room in Denver, I nibbled off the end and then, when nothing happened, nibbled some more. I figured if I was reporting on the social revolution rocking Colorado in January, the giddy culmination of pot Prohibition, I should try a taste of legal, edible pot from a local shop.
What could go wrong with a bite or two?
Everything, as it turned out.
Not at first. For an hour, I felt nothing. I figured I’d order dinner from room service and return to my more mundane drugs of choice, chardonnay and mediocre-movies-on-demand.
I strained to remember where I was or even what I was wearing, touching my green corduroy jeans and staring at the exposed-brick wall. As my paranoia deepened, I became convinced that I had died and no one was telling me.
It turns out that MoDo used some seriously strong stuff, and used it the wrong way, which made her whole trippy experience even worse. But…
Green corduroy jeans?
It’s one thing to admit to drug use, another to admit your noobness in using drugs while trying to seem with-it, but MoDo has to return to New York at some point, where the fashion police are as militarized as the real police.
Marijuana use has been proven to do bad things to the brain. But how does MoDo explain a terrible choice she made before her terrible choice to use drugs?
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