Living there for ten years and blazing for the past seven of them, I've learned that life in the concrete jungle is not a sustainable environment for stoners at all.
Everyone is always uptight about it and judging by the looks people have given me while lighting up the street, you might as well be hitting a crack pipe.(But for real, don't do that.)Other factors, like the journey it takes just to meet your dealer or having neighbors who complain about the smell, are nothing compared to when it's winter and you're forced to smoke outside in arctic temperatures. It's straight up unfair how weed smokers are treated there, really.
I vowed to go in with an open mind, and if I didn't come out of it with a date, I'd at least have a good story.
Fast Forward to last night: My girlfriends and I show up to Xino in Santa Monica, dressed up, and ready to make snap judgments about the eligibility of strange men.
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Today I am, because I make the rules and I can change them if I want to. Uh, because I went speed dating this week, and chances are, you're probably curious about what that is/whether it was fun and if you should try it, and I've got your back. (Note: I've taken measures to protect the some of the innocent, stupid, and/or ridiculous people I met last night.
Also, this story involves complete strangers, and therefore, is unlikely to come back to haunt me.
As in, I conveniently forgot their names.)Rewind two weeks: I'm hanging out with some girlfriends and one of them mentions how she saw a groupon-like deal for speed dating.