When I'm high, which is more often than not, I think every clever phrase that goes through my brain should be a blog post. And I only write while high. Edit sober though. When I get lonely, I facetime my sisters and closest friends. I'm sure some of them screen my calls, which is fine—I know I'm an acquired taste. One has to be in the right state of mind and time / place in order for a facetime from me to not be interrupting their entire day. Usually, I'll have just rolled up a baseball batt-sized joint, ready to absorb whatever criticism of my life they have for me. Today, one of them asked me if I knew how to cook an artichoke. I outwardly laughed in her face at how absurd she sounded—of course I knew how to cook an artichoke. I boiled it in water for a good 30 minutes. Or maybe it was 40. I'll never tell her it came out soggy, though. We'll see if she reads this and ever finds out I lied. It is just an artichoke.

Often I'm criticized about money, and my lack thereof. I don't think I'll ever understand what money is. I spend $90 at the salon on my nails, do the day job that keeps promising to pay me salary, then make $42 in tips at Dominos that same night. At least my nails will last a month while this cash will barely get me through Friday night. My father bitches about our family's $350 monthly Verizon bill, yet he charges his clients the same per hour. Don't even get me started about Bitcoin and trust-fund babies.

Time is money, right? Or so they say... In present I spend about three plus hours a day on Instagram posting social media for my agency and our clients. Recently, I've been researching potential cannabis influencers—who are basically white bitches (like myself) who have somehow bamboozled their way into insta-fame. Most of them boast their new glass and shatter, while some craft smoky scenery in their frames, like a vampire scene in the movie Twilight if they all smoked vape pens and joints. Things got much more interesting after the first few PG-13 pages, I came across a blonde bimbo hitting a bong wearing nothing but what looked like some saran-wrap holding her nipples from bursting into the flame. A good friend later informed me that this is what we call a 'terp slut.' Showing off her brown eye more than her two eyes. Maybe she's lonely. Aren't we all though? She should try facetime.

_____