Happy Valentine’s Month. For some of us, February means love and happiness. For others, it means, "Hey, thanks for the slave labor, here’s a hashtag." But, for me, it means that I change my phone number, yet again, to avoid the cases of exes crawling out of the emergency jar and asking for some pipe action. I can’t be the only one who fears the sins of his past, so I’ve brought you this article to see how many other dudes and females-intofemales can relate. I wanted to do this gender-free, but it just didn’t roll off the fingers correctly. However, this column can apply to ex-boyfriends, as well—I just don’t have that many, so do the gender swapping in your head and enjoy...
This is the chick you dated briefly during that period of your life when you "took a break from college to see the world," which means that you spent all summer at random festivals in California, hopping from one hazy experience to the next. OG Kush would always show up and you recognized her by the extreme aroma, which was somehow intoxicating. Everyone else thought she smelled like a hot dumpster, but man...ten seconds with her and you were in the clouds. The bad news, however, was that the comedown was awful—piles of hand-rolled spliff butts littered your car, your priorities were put on hold for longer than usual and for some reason your hoodie smells like a moldy oak tree. You two broke up on good terms, simply because you were starting to resemble a homeless lottery winner.
After you dated OG Kush, you decided to rebound with Sour Diesel—this chick smelled amazing, was properly trimmed and was readily available. But, the head trips were too much. Two seconds into trying to relax and she was always bringing up stuff that made you worry. "Did you forget to pay your power bill? What about the dentist, did you make an appointment with them? And, what about that bruise on your shoulder??? Are you sure it’s just a tight muscle or could it be skin cancer?!" The questions would never cease and the mind games wouldn’t stop. Man, she was so pretty, though...and she had a great aroma, was seemingly innocent and super cute, but no man can handle that kind of head trip, day after day. You two broke up because she wouldn’t stop telling you that everyone knew you were high.
What the fuck were you thinking, dude? You thought you could handle this small, quiet and seemingly harmless fling, until you were face-down on a shag carpet, in a shady motel on a bad side of town. I mean, did this really count as "dating" or are we gonna be honest? This wasn’t an ex-girlfriend—it was a crack whore (with all due respect to sex workers who use cocaine in rocked form...I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about the crack whore variety of crack whore). No one should get you off that fast, for so cheap, using a miniature flamethrower and a bowl-shaped glass utensil. Let’s not front—this wasn’t a relationship, it was a business transaction. And, goddamn if you won’t do it again. Crack Whor...excuse me, "Full-Extract Cannabis Oil" was (and still is) a cool as chick. You’ve just got to make sure you don’t lose your wallet around her.
You know, in retrospect, this was a super-cool chick. Yeah, she was kinda seedy and always demanded to be picked up by a friend-ofa-friend, outside of a Circle K, but who else was giving you that kind of love in middle school? How else would a suburban teenager like you get the opportunity to interact with actual drug dealers, who move bricks across international borders, sell them to kids using pagers and weigh out the bags with those weird, handheld scales that looked like protractors??? Mexican Brick Weed gets a bad reputation and for no reason—she was reliable, a cheap date and easily the most uniquely alluring-yet-off-putting scent that reminded you of nature. These days, she is extremely hard to come by, but she’s always been super flaky, tight and sharp—chances are, wherever she is, she is making a lot of young dudes happy.
Just because it looks like weed and smells like weed, doesn’t mean it’s actually weed. But, for a few weeks during graduate school in Seattle, you experimented with this one and really enjoyed her. She wasn’t what you expected, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t good. Sure, you’ve heard about the kind of Kratom you pick up at or around cheap convenience stores in urban areas, but this was the upscale variety, who was properly manicured and goddamn if she didn’t present exactly like any other plant you’re used to. Yeah, it’s kind of awkward explaining her to your parents, but it’s equally cool that your friends are progressive enough to not only accept your ex for who she is, but also, they’ve actually started considering the idea of dating a girl like her—because stereotypical weed strains have become so lazy, expensive and dangerous that the modern man should really consider embracing alternatives, before they find themselves in family court, up against the world’s most expensive lawyer and a bitter strain from your past. Changing genetics is cheap—but, having your farm raided by the government is not.
Perhaps, I should just stop smoking for a year.
