At Tokyo Smoke, we’re anonymously chatting with our friends, café dwellers and extended creative community about their Cannabis habits over the course of the week. From strains to supplies, anecdotes and advice, the outcome is always interesting.
This week we’re following a 31-year-old female who classifies herself as a seasonal smoker.
2pm: I’m at a cottage, north of Toronto. The lightbulb recently went off: freelancing means I can work from anywhere that has Wi-Fi. I don’t get very much work done today, instead sitting with my friend and his Pax2 on a boathouse. We’re smoking Pink Kush and jumping into the lake. Two hits are plenty for me, he smokes twice that. It’s an Indica but it always makes me upbeat. I recently smoked it before the sweaty Skepta show at Danforth Music Hall.
7pm: Dinner break. Vampire Weekend on the record player.
10pm: I make dessert. Grilled peaches with balsamic, mint and shaved dark chocolate over good vanilla bean ice-cream. We refill the Pax, this time with Moby Dick which makes us dozy immediately. We don’t finish the dvd we’re watching.
1030pm: I think I could safely classify myself as an outdoor or summer smoker. When the weather isn’t good enough to sit in a park, I don’t even keep cannabis in the house. I’m juggling a couple of lifestyle clients and my friend is up for a big promotion, so we meet up to try a new Korean/Japanese snack bar and then walk to Trinity Bellwoods. We’ve brought a tarot deck to check in on our professional futures and are smoking Pink Kush in my tiny pipe; a brushed stainless silver, military grade magnetized accessory that was a Christmas gift from a girlfriend whose long distance boyfriend ran a hydroponics shop in the UK. They’re not together anymore so I’m VERY careful with it. According to an ‘Intuitive Reader’ I spoke with once, you’re not supposed to be drunk or high when reading tarot but the cards we pull are highly accurate.
11am: I’m scrambling to get everything done for my clients before the weekend, where I’m due to be a bridesmaid in Niagara on the Lake. I remember I have a joint rolled already and grab it at the last minute, flying out the door to meet my ride.
10pm: We’re mid-heat wave and the sweltering afternoon rehearsal is followed by a relaxed barbecue hosted by the groom’s parents who are incredibly lovely. I had time between them to reply to four emails about an event I’m helping throw next week to launch a client’s new property. This is a small but WASP-y wedding; I’m in a beautiful dress and converse and the converse barely squeak passed the unwritten dress code. The bridal party hits a humid local bar with no patio. I grab the ‘bridesman’ (the sole dude standing on the bride’s side) and we smoke too much of that joint, forgetting to save more than a roach for the rest of the weekend. I think this is Pink Kush but honestly, it doesn’t matter. Happy buzz at the end of a hot day.
8am: Hair and makeup in a bridal suite.
3pm: Tears, my friend looks stunning and so happy saying her vows.
11pm: The Bridesman has been demoted to Bridesboy (mostly because I prefer the alliteration) and we finish last night’s roach in between the rows of a stunning Niagara vineyard. Thanks to the WASPs, the bar is all the way open and the DJ is terrible but we’re all tearing up the dancefloor.