Tag Archives: Venice Beach

A Little Pot Goes a Long Way

Writing has been difficult this summer.  I blame my lack of sleep.  And having kids.  And now a dog.  And the color blue.

I went out to dinner with a friend last night.  We had a wonderful time discussing life and how confused people make us and how one should feel about people with amazing genetics and how does one raise normal kids and how can we get friends who take us to Paris and is that table of guys going to hit on that table of girls.

World Peace should be occurring now because of us.

(If it doesn’t, it’s due to the conversation at the table to our right.)

I came back to the condo on the lake around 9:45 with 2 of the kids.  Kevin was mountain biking with the eldest child.

I walked into our bedroom and smelled pot.  A lot of pot.

Way more than I smelled at the Santana concert.  Or when walking past the 420 camp at Venice Beach.

And that’s A LOT.

I told the kids to stay in their room and then I walked around outside.  Our place is next to a bar, so I figured someone from there was doing something in the field in front of the garage.  But it didn’t smell as strong the farther I got from our condo.  I walked back between the garage and house and I saw a pink unicorn.

Kidding.

The garage door was open and I became freaked out.  Then the dog barked at her reflection in the window but maybe she wasn’t barking at her reflection because then she came into my room and barked at nothing and she doesn’t bark unless she wants something and she didn’t want anything and were there harden criminals outside our bedroom and what would I do if there were and if it’s medicinal marijuana should I call an ambulance or should I ask for a drag?

By the time Kevin came home, the pot smell had dissipated. No one was around.  I didn’t even find a joint on the ground.

The new rule should be that if I get freaked out, there should be some evidence somewhere that I had a reason to be freaked out.

And cinnamon and nutmeg should be added to joints smoked outside my bedroom.

HEY!  I just made this another cooking post.  I can feel a book deal just around the corner.

She hides her vicious guard dog side.

Watch out pot smoking intruders! She hides her vicious guard dog side.

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California. 

The title should be sung like the OC theme song by Phantom Planet. It makes it better. 

I escaped Montana for the CA. (I’m not in Orange County and this blog post obviously has a theme)

My friend Kelli and I are staying off of Venice Beach. I was supposed to spend my time alone writing. But I may have slept 12 hours. Hard to know. I was unconscious. 

My husband is coming for the weekend when Kelli leaves (this isn’t a literal episode of The OC where she would’ve stayed) so I was looking for a place that would be easy to switch occupents. Two large beds in other words. 

I couldn’t find any close to the beach and not lots and lots of money. Until I found a vacation rental. 

It ended up not quite looking like the photos online.

  
It’s a nice entrance. At least it’s nice and safe. 

But I do wish I’d known there wouldn’t be any soap. 

I guess I should pretend I’m on the episode where the group goes to Mexico. But then Marissa sees her boyfriend cheat and OD’s and Ryan steals her from the hospital and her parents hate him and don’t like him until Marissa dies and Ryan offers to kill the guy responsible. 

Maybe I should choose a new series to compare my life to. 

Suggestions?