Green Room Diaries: A Green St. Paddy's

It’s no secret that weed is better than alcohol. Still, for some reason, a holiday that revolves around funny hats, mythical creatures and making fun of white people is, well, geared towards the drunks and not the potheads. So, with minimal introduction (I know you’re in a hurry to get to the bar), here are a few reasons why you might want to opt for a weed-only St. Paddy’s holiday...

Stoned Sex Is Better Than Drunk Sex

I love having sex while high—whether a nice, Indica-inspired body high or the headtrippiness of a potent edible. In fact, I wrote a whole column about it last month, so you can just pick up March’s Exotic, if you want to read it. However, I do not like having sex while drunk. First of all, the legality and morality of the situation is as blurry as one’s vision gets after a few shots of whiskey. There’s this thing called "consent," which tends to become ambiguous after a few rounds. But, even if engaging in clearly enthusiastic drunk fucking with a long-term partner, alcohol gives one the type of false confidence that is anything but sexy in the bedroom. You’re mind’s telling you, "Hey, this position would be a good idea...," while the Ikea furniture is telling you, "Yeah, about that...I’m gonna snap here in a few seconds." Sensual touch and foreplay while stoned? I’m all about that shit. Drunk? I’m on par with Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet, as far as pillow talk goes. The next morning? If the prior evening was spent stoned, the sleepin- until-noon factor often leads to some great morning-after sex. If hungover from the booze? Well, there’s that awkward introduction- over-Denny’s-breakfast that tends to end in discussions of husbands and children (whether current, past or future).

Driving High Is Dumb, Driving Drunk Is Dumber

Yes, I know that you can still get a D.U.I.I. for weed. But, get this—the cops are very likely to give you a roadside sobriety test that is passable, if you’re a daily smoker. No, I’m not telling you to drive high. But, yes, I am telling you that one puff on a joint will not put you into the back of a cop car as quickly as a sip on a drink will. Hell, you can land yourself a drunk driving ticket for fuckin’ mouthwash if you don’t rinse that shit out. Plus, there is no such thing as medicinal alcohol—if you’ve got your O.M.M.P. card, a good lawyer will find a way to get any D.U.I.I. charges lowered much more effectively than if you’d been popped for one beer too many. Yes, I know that reaction time is slow when you’re high and that you might hit a cyclist going down Division St., but that’s nothing compared to what a two-ton piece of machinery can do to a gas station, while being operated by a drunk person. I’d like to think that our readers are responsible enough to avoid operating a vehicle (or bike, skateboard, etc.) while under the influence. But, we’re not gonna pretend like many of you do whatever the fuck you want to do, so let me at least suggest that you go herbally green this year for St. Paddy’s.

Your Appetite Won’t Come Up On You If You’re Baked

Irish food tastes like shit. There, I said it. I’m convinced that Irish, Scottish and English cuisine was invented to keep African people out of Western Europe. I don’t know a single brother that eats haggis, no matter how burnt and covered in hot sauce it is. Now, combine that with the whole, "Let’s wear green hats and drink Guinness" game that everyone loves to play in mid-March. What do you get? Well, mostly vomit and a few chunks of corn. Unless, of course, you opt to go with joints instead of pints. Anything tastes good, if you’ve ingested enough kush (even corned beef and cabbage). So, if you’re looking for a less-thanauthentic (vomit-free) Irish experience, go ahead and skip the "Irish" (quotes emphasized) pub and just go for a slice of pizza. That’s what they eat in N.Y.C., where all the cool Irish people ended up moving to, once they got scared out of their homeland by leprechauns and snakes or whatever the fuck.

There’s No Need To Wear Green, If Your Lungs Are Already That Color

My last name is green enough for me to get away with punching someone if they try to pinch me. But, if your lungs are covered in Green Crack, that counts, right? I dunno... it always seemed like a low-rent Halloween, to wear a certain color to celebrate alcoholism and unapologetic lack of cultural awareness. If you’re high, well, then you’re already green enough. On the other hand, if you do decide to ignore everything in this column and opt for booze instead of blunts, wearing green is a good idea, for reasons other than mocking the pale—green attire always masks the appearance of vomit and other stains, so go nuts. It’s also an easy-toavoid color, when operating a motor vehicle, so you will be less likely to get run over by other drunks.

Midgets

I know of not one, not two...but seven people who do leprechaun-for-hire gigs on St. Paddy’s Day. And, trust me, they make bank! I mean, if your ethnicity is already being mocked, why not toss in your stature and charge folks to show up to their parties. One dude, Shorty McMillen, literally does just that. For a fee, you can hire him to show up at your bar, get wasted and play a drunk leprechaun. Now, if you’re high, you’re gonna be nice to midgets. But, if you’re drunk, you may wonder things like, "How far can I toss Nik Sin?" and "Will Nik Sin reach the stage from the DJ booth?" I mean, these are all hypothetical thoughts, which I may or may have not had while drunk. But, still, trust me—midgets are great when you’re high.

We’re gonna get letters for that last line, aren’t we?