My Inexperience with Marijuana: Story of a new short term smoker

After receiving an invite to attend an educational session on medical cannabis featuring one of the nations leading experts, a doctor of medical marijuana, it had me thinking of my experience or shall I say inexperience with marijuana. When initially approached  about my knowledge of medical marijuana, I wondered,”how in the hell did this guy find me, I’m not marijuana savvy at all and why would he think I would be interested in it.”

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I’m saying that, because out of everyone in my family and as well as my friends, I am the last to ask about marijuana. I hated the smell, I don’t like the smoke, actually any smoke, especially after my Daddy suffered and died from lung cancer. I accepted the invite after reflecting on my previous experience with the green flower..

Recently, I learned that Whoopi Goldberg is starting a  marijuana venture designed entirely for women. Marijuana has been an important part of Whoopi Goldberg’s life recently, helping her dull the pain of menstrual cramps and combating glaucoma headaches.

The comedian and actress has never shied away from marijuana use, discussing it publicly on a number of occasions. She now joins a number of fellow celebrities who are endorsing cannabis products, including Bob Marley’s family, Willie Nelson and, unsurprisingly, Snoop Dogg.

Whoopi’s company, Whoopi & Maya (which she co-founded with the medical marijuana industry veteran Maya Elisabeth) will find its niche in the marketplace by targeting their marijuana-infused products to women. These will include a tincture, a balm, a bath soak, and sipping chocolate. So, I thought if it had anything to do with Whoopi I should at least attend the session. Whoopi Goldberg Marijuana





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I turned my nose up to those who smoke “Weed” and thought it was a form of a drug some years ago, but had a change of mind when I developed health problems; migraines, kidney stones, interstitial cystitis, ovarian cancer and breast cancer genes ran in my family. I was so tired of pills, tests and doctors, because nothing seem to help, especially with my pain. After four surgeries to my pelvic region I suffered with pain, with pain came stress, which brought on my migraines and elevated my blood pressure. I was a mess. Sometime in 2015 my Mom, whom smoked since the hippie, Bob Marley days suggested that I take a few puffs of a joint to see if it  would help and it did and from that day forward I would partake of a few puffs of her goodies here and there to help relieve my body’s aliments. I also loved the effect it had on my smiling. I smiled at other people’s BS and that was beneficial to me.Related image

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My family couldn’t believe Miss. Goodie Two Shoes was smoking marijuana. They used to make fun of me, because I wasn’t inhaling nor did I know anything about strains, so basically they blew me off “literally,” because they said I wasn’t getting high. I didn’t want to be high, I wanted to feel better. I never understood how people could smoke “blunts” back to back or wake up smoking.  There are these “weed heads’ that would put $20-$40 of Good in a $2 cigar and just blow and do it again 30 minutes later. Like how high do you really need to be??

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My ex-brother -n- law taught me about strains of marijuana, Indica, Stavia and Hybrid, which can get to complicated for me to understand or explain. I found out that my Mom was a traditional marijuana smoker and all she needed was regular aka “Reggie” which is a Sativa dominant grade C and has a moderate to high THC level. All the levels of THC is unbeknownst to me as well. I was told names and it’s uses, that’s it and that was more than enough for me. My fisrt experience with the good stuff was when my brother n law told me I need some “Kris Kringle” for my pain, I thought he was just using some street marketing on me, so I could buy the expensive weed, but nah this stuff is heavy lol. Later on I would read that if you are inexperienced smoker such as myself, you may not enjoy the raciness that can come along with this Sativa. I not only didn’t like it, I hated it and it would cut my newly found guilty pleasure very short.Thinking about it, I do not think I made it to a full year of smoking marijuana.

cannabis sativa vs indica Cannabis plants have been growing all over the world for centuries and have,like all other species, adapted to their new environments or evolved due to interbreeding.


When I found out there was marijuana that could help relieve my medical issues I was sold. I didn’t mind the smell or the smoke knowing I would feel better. I looked at the smoke as medicinal after that, it not only helped me with my medical issues, but it helped me with my mood, dealing with aggravating people and stressful situations which helped lower my blood pressure. It helped with my sex drive, relaxing and all things that helped with balance. I found that certain strains will have you cleaning up your entire house or some will blow your mind to the point of super creativity. Plus, my Mom found this stuff called “Blunt Power”, along with the specialty candles and incense that would mask the smell.


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In buying the expensive strains of marijuana in bulks and not being a true smoker, I found that I was wasting money aka other smokers sought out my smoking friendship and it included my Mom lol. Let’s say I would buy a half ounce, I would have someone roll me up some joints aka white-boy’s dosing myself at one joint per day if that, which barely put a dent in the bag and the person would know that. Before day 5 came around the bag was gone and not from me, but that didn’t stop me from buying this way. I made them aware and made a smoke box for them to put money in if they wanted to smoke. Thinking on it now, did that make me a dealer?? Like OMG was I operating a resale dispensary lol. They barely contributed to the total amount I spent.

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My move to New Orleans drastically changed my medical marijuana smoking habits, because the stuff was too potent. Two joints lasted me the whole week, plus I did not like feeling high. My family and friends here who smoke do not seem to be affected by the potency here and actually appreciate it. Claiming that it’s better here.. Maybe, because we are closer to the border?? I do not know how the disbursement of marijuana fields go, but whatever the case I have stopped smoking entirely.

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My sister who’s a long time smoker was in town at the time and we made a call to who we call “Red Truck” a Jamaican friend who has helped me since my move and from what I heard is very heavy handed and very nice. Well, I told him it didn’t matter what kind, but as long as it’s “Good,” because my sister was here, so he gives us a strain called “Sour Diesel” which my sister rolled up some in one of those stupid blunts, well leaf. She claimed I wouldn’t mind it, because the leaf cigars do not burn like the others. As she rolled, I waited in the living room with candles burning and the Blunt Power ready. We never smoked in the house, but we were having so fun girl time. Plus, the kids were at summer camp, we were watching the rerun of the Miss. America pageant as we ate a big bowl of buttery popcorn that my sister popped on the stove for us. In between mouthfuls of popcorn and sisterly conversation we inhaled the “Sour Diesel” as we watched the contestants being introduced by Steve Harvey. Sour Diesel, sometimes called Sour D, is an invigorating sativa-dominant strain named after its pungent, diesel-like aroma

By the time I had my 3rd puff of the leaf concoction I felt my head bob and let out a little whoosah laugh, but a second head bob would send me to my bed. “Ooh, sis I feel hot and light-headed I think I need to go lay down,” I said as I crawled in my bed from the foot of it. My sister shouted from the sofa, “OMG you feel that bad you need to go lay down. Girl, you need to cut it out.” But, I was really feeling sick. She made her way over to the bed, because, she noticed that I had not quite laid down, instead I was in the bed on my hands and knees with my head in my pillow. “Are you OK? Why aren’t you laying down. Why are you on your knees?” I didn’t realized I wasn’t laying down. I asked her how she felt, claiming I think I had food poisoning, because my stomach felt tight, but she reminded me that we ate the same thing. “Girl, lay down for a little bit and I’ll be right in the living room.” OK, I attempted to lay down, my body went flat, my head on my pillow and out of nowhere I heard a voice softly telling me, “If you close your eyes, you not gonna get up, my ever.” I called for sister, “I can’t lay down something wrong. I feel hot and dizzy like I’m about to pass out laying down and I’m scared to close my eyes.” It must of went over her head, because she didn’t hear me say the last part. ‘Dang, Dee you blowing my high, what’s wrong with you.” She asked if she could get me something, as she looked with concern in her eyes. I sat up in bed with my legs folded and said I need some water and  turn the air conditioner way down.

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Before she could make it to the kitchen I yelled for her to get me a big cup of icy cold water. While she was in the kitchen I went from various laying and sitting stages as I took off my shirt and bra telling myself not to go to sleep. My sister return to find me sitting in the middle of the bed, holding my shirt against my chest, trying to hold up my breast. She looked at me and immediately, became a triage nurse stating, “Your blood pressure has to be high, I have been observing you and you don’t look so good. Where is that blood pressure cuff I gave you in Minnesota? I know you have it, because I backed it and slid it in one of your bathroom boxes. I need to take your blood pressure. Here’s your water” She put the Mardi Gras Cup of ice cold water in my hand and I poured in over my head as she looked on in total shock. “Oh, lawd Dee what is wrong with you!” Please, give me more “ice” water, I need ice, there’s no ice in the cup. It was an extremely hot and humid New Orleans day and the ice had been used up and the trays had not froze yet. “I gave you what was in the ice trays,” she said with worry as she walked off to get the blood pressure machine.

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While she was in the bathroom, I called for her and asked for more water and an ice pack. This time she return like the speed of light. This time I drank the water, instead of giving myself a bed bath. She handed me this aluminum foil wrapped frozen something to use as an ice pack and a few Popsicles. Before I can ask what it was she reminded me of the lack of ice and told me that this was better, because it was frozen rock solid whatever it was. Neither of us could remember at the time. I was down to just my underwear by then and I slipped the frozen aluminum foil block into my underwear, sitting on it. Her mouth flew open and then she said, “Yes, that will help you cool off from the core.” She left out again with a couple more frozen packages, put them on my bed and would tell me to lie on top of them. I’m still unsure why I felt the need to put the frozen thing in my underwear, but it helped me feel better. I gobbled down the Popsicle within a few minutes as if they went ice or concern for brain freeze.

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Within that time, I felt my heart beat coming out the side of my neck. I just knew I was having a stroke. My sister, the new nurse returned in a flash with the blood pressure machine, ordered me to lay down flat with my legs uncrossed as she unsuccessfully wrapped the cuff the wrong way, then ordered me to put it on the correct way, as she pushed the button. I attempted to tell her that she would not get a good reading with me laying down, but in mid sentence I told my poor lil sister, “I’m scared, I don’t want to die, I think you need to call the ambulance, I’m scared.” She looked at me with her small almond shaped eyes that had turned into huge saucers and said “Dee do you feel that bad?” I said, “yes, I’m scared I can hear my heart beat in my neck, something is wrong. I’m burning up from the inside out. I think I need to go to the hospital.” I believe in some form I told my sister I needed to either go to the hospital or call 911 about 3 times, until she finally replied.

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“Yes, Dee you can hear your heart beat, because your blood pressure is 212/179, but I don’t think that it’s that high, it’s wrong, sit up. You want some more water?” I looked at the numbers and said “OMG, that is really high, something is wrong….yes, I want some more water.” She came back with a chair and another cup of water. Before I drank it I said a said a teary, choked up, “I really need to go to the hospital. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”  “Dee, how would you get to the hospital? Uber, by yourself? What if you black out before you get there and they don’t know what’s going on? I can’t leave the kids will be home shortly and what you want me to tell poor Niyah? Your Mama on her way to the hospital in an Uber, dying?” “Because, I’m certainly not calling 911 and devastate the children. We have children tot think about here. How do you think they would respond seeing you be carted out here on a stretcher? We in New Orleans the paramedics have gun shot victims they need to tend to.”

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“Nope, that will not be  responsible for me to call 911 for you. I will not traumatize the children.” I’m not sure how I looked, but I know she was serious. She ended her rant of me not going to the hospital with, “If you really feel like you gonna die, let me check your blood pressure again while you sitting in the chair and you can go on ahead and die right there on the floor.” She pointed to the middle of my bedroom floor, the cold sandy cheap tile floor, right in front of the chair she sat there, showing me where to lay and die. “So, you go on ahead when you feel like it, the floor right there, I’ll keep the kids outside until I’m sure your dead, I’ll get that cart, wrap you up and roll you into a canal, because you know I don’t believe in no funerals and we will tell the kids you went on one of your fabulous vacations whenever they ask.” Then just like that she walked out the room, where I overheard her tell my 20yr old niece who was living with me at the time, all that transpired and her refusal of letting me go to the hospital and how I was to die… I wish I was making this up..

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My sister walked right pass me leaving the smell of her freshly lit Newport in the air of my house as she closed off the living room from my room to show me how serious she was about me dying on the floor. My niece came in to the room, laid on my bed with her newborn son, my great nephew, she looked at me with her always not serious cute face and grinned at me. “Auntie Dee have you ever heard of a trip?” I was in some form of prayer at that moment, calling forth my grandmother to pray to God on my behalf, because I wasn’t sure it was right to pray when I smoked earlier. “No, Nene I never heard of a trip.” She just sat their stroking her babyboy, smiling at me, but laughing hard on the inside, as she told me a “Trip” is a side effect of smoking “Good, Dro, Gas and etc” marijuana, basically paranoia and anxiety. “I had it before, but never like you. My Mom said you feel like you gonna die and stuff?” “Well, I would be very sad if you was to die, because you are my best Auntie and you not gonna die, it won’t last too much longer. Has it been an hour yet?” “I’ll go fix you something to eat. How about some steak and potatoes?”

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I was in the room alone and my mind went right back to my Grandmother, she passed away a couple months prior to this incident.  So, I sat in the chair my sister gave me, at times singing my Grandmother’s favorite hymns and praying with my hands extended to the ceiling as if I was praising. I asked for forgiveness and prayed that what I was feeling was this “Trip Out Side Effect” vowing if my life was spared I would never smoke again.

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As I was singing this “Little Light of Mines” my 7yr old Babygirl came through the door, “Hey Mama” and bounced right pass me in her typical fashion, not phased by anything outside of what she wants at that moment. Next in walked my younger niece, 6yrs old and my granddaughter, with my niece leading her. She swung the drapes open from the entry way that divided my room from the living room and stop right in front of me and gave me a kiss and walked to the bathroom. My 7yr old granddaughter, said “Nana are you OK, you don’t look so good?” as she put her hands in mines. I told her I had a fever, but I was feeling better. She followed suit as the others, all trying to quench their thirst and relieve their bladders. My sister made her way in, looked at me, “You looking a little better, I told those poor girls you were feeling sick and they were so worried and so was I, but no ambulance was coming here,” she said a matter a factually as she walked towards the kitchen. I had to snap out of whatever it was I was going through for my girls. I couldn’t have a stroke if it was really happening, I wasn’t gonna traumatized my babies.

As I came back to life sitting in the middle of the floor in the chair which was now dripping water from the package in between my legs. Yes, I still had the frozen aluminum foil package in my underwear against my vagina, were it thawed out with ease. When my sister passed by, she thought I peed on myself, but no lol. She retrieved the mop and handed me some sweats to put on, but I wasn’t completely ready to stand up. She physically swung me and the chair to the side to get the water up, she was still in nurse mode and I was her total care patient. As she swung me across the floor,  the smell of seasonings arose and I asked if she smelled it and she did, but we didn’t have clue as to where,but agreed it was coming from the kitchen, maybe through the vents.. We were certain that Nene was prepping the steaks with bell peppers, onion, garlic, salt, pepper and left it at that. After she finished mopping, she insisted that I get up, reminding me that the dampness can stir up bacteria in my vagina and with that she helped me up. I pulled the foil package from between my legs prior to taking off my panties so it wouldn’t fall to the floor. As I pulled it up and outwards, bringing it to my dresser the smell of seasoning became apparent. Nene had not started the steaks, because I my vagina was busy thawing the steaks out… lol

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She was right, I didn’t need a hospital visit nor was I dying, I was having bout of paranoia from smoking too the  “Sour Diesel” marijuana. I look back on that incident feeling thankful, but also with thoughts of my sister and how scared she was at the thought of  losing me. I sent my sister into denial, shock or something. Can you believe that my sister refused to call 911, regardless of  my blood pressure being high enough for an emergency. I know that she didn’t call nor want to call, because it would have made it a real emergency. The fact of me saying I felt like I was gonna die, was real enough for her, she couldn’t deal with the thought of it and especially me verbalizing it. She couldn’t accept it, so she choose my fate and that was to live or die on the floor… OMG, it’s funny now, but I really scared my sister.

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On the flip side what if she would have called the ambulance?? Marijuana laws have not completely passed here. I read you can have up to an ounce I heard without going to jail, but what would be of me had I went to the hospital for a trip?? The doctor’s would have did testing and found the THC in my system, I would be labeled a “Marijuana Addict” who “overdosed” on “Sour Diesel” marijuana?. The social services people would have been called and the list goes on and what to say?? The truth? “Uhh, I only smoke a little to help me with my pain and stress even though I know it’s still technically still illegal?? I’m not sure I would have been more fortunate in the North where at least medical marijuana laws have passed.

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I do know for a fact that marijuana can be beneficial in treating the conditions such as mines. Also, I think  it should be legal on both sides, medically and recreational. Marijuana works, it certainly helps with stress and you never heard of an insanely high marijuana user being violent.. I think for people such as myself they can be medicated with it, using sparingly and in the correct concentrations.

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I think it’s wrong that the wealthy will be able to profit off a plant that the poor have been incarcerated for. It was the minorities who knew of the benefits of weed. Plus look at where and how it grows, it’s truly a weed and grows wild, where no wealthy American wants to step foot. I’m not sure if the marijuana needs some sort of fancy testing to determine what strain it is and what it can be used for, but I think who profits off it should be fair, such as the Mexicans who have trafficked it for years and received the harshest sentences. The prices should not get all astronomically high as I hear they can get. How would regular marijuana smokers be able to afford to smoke anymore, sctually that’s where the money is at. I wonder how much the profit is in the states that allow you to buy weed from a dispensary?

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Then there’s those edibles, which are great for people like me who would prefer not to deal with the smoke and smell, but those can get you in trouble too and actually, I had a similar story to eating a brownie, but not half as bad as this story. All marijuana should be dosed in my eyes, but then again you have those as I said that can “Blunt” themselves into a coma, but somehow manage to do their daily routine, slowly and peacefully, but it gets done.

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Regardless, to how you eat it, smoke or rub it on, I can not risk smoking myself into a “Trip” again. That was really bad and although funny, my sister is traumatized by it. I only took 3 puffs, passes or whatever ya call it and I went into full “I’m Gonna Die” psychosis.

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Marijuana may be the cure for all, but I must stay away from it. I can not chance ever feeling like that, if you ever felt like you were facing death with a severely elevate blood pressure, you can relate, its awful. But, if you one of those people who take delight in seeing someone in the chicken coop clucking along with the chicken go on ahead and laugh, your day will come with the increased popularity to brand the best marijuana. Some genius will breed the ultimate seed blend and make a powerful strain that will have you singing to the Gods as well.

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If anyone ask me I tell them I’m allergic to marijuana..until then puff, puff, pass for me, but one never know what will be taught at the educational session this weekend. Now, if I can be dosed just right, between managing my pain, great mental and emotional well being without the effects of feeling high, but feeling good would be perfect for me. I wouldn’t want to go through figuring out my perfect blend, that’s a bit much. Now, I’m back to my first mind and remaining the Bougie Bitch that thinks marijuana is bad for you..nah, I’ll support the cause for others if only educating myself and attending sessions to get the law passed.

Now, that you know my marijuana story, what’s your’s?

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A native of New Orleans, who left her beloved New Orleans to spend twenty years of living in the land of Minnesota Not So Nice. Minnesota was full of opportunities but would learn that the soul of the state and the people who made it was just as icy cold as the temperatures. After the years and my 40th birthday flew by, I decided it was time to pack up my youngest child and come back to my roots, my birthplace the city that not only birthed me but gave me life. I would not be who I am without my New Orleans beginnings. I am all things that would challenge the belief of growing up in New Orleans. I was a 16yr old teen mother of a premature baby born with a severe medical disability. And only With the help of my mother, was it possible for me to BE! I was able to endure and survive the obstacles laid before my child and me. In a city that was built by my family, but did not allow for us to reap the benefits I overcame. Charity Hospital was my second home — a building filled with miracle workers who made it possible for my daughter to have life. I have lived a life of rainy days with peeks of sunshine, that are my children, including those not of my womb. I'm the proud mother of three and a grandmother of three. My dream was to live the life of the nursery rhyme of ”The Old Lady Who lived in a shoe,” and for the most part, I did. I cared for several children over the years as a special needs foster parent. I would learn that my love was not enough for some children, but I loved them through their pain. I'm not sure if I ever had a case of true love or came close to what love looks like on television, but I had my share of men and the mirage of love. I survived two abusive marriages. Though I longed to return to New Orleans on a daily bases, I must admit my move was one of the best decisions made for me. I am a college graduate; I was a successful entrepreneur. I coowned a soul food restaurant and catering company in Minnesota for 12 years. I developed the talent of creating custom cakes after the murder of my beloved cousin Melvin Paul. He survived Katrina only to go to Minneapolis six months later to be murdered over a parking spot dispute. But with the challenge of creating a simple wedding cake, I was able to find healing. I created the House of Cakes in honor of him. Minnesota life had me pretty materialistic. I worked to the point I do not remember much, but work and handing my children love money. I thought by having the big house on the hill, a husband, having a family, the ultimate provider and being involved in all things that matter, plus having the funds to match would cure me of what I was told was a generational curse of lack of everything from money, love to even self-love. But for the most part, that life poisoned my heart and soul. I was blinded by visions fed to me by the media. I was told I wasn't anything unless I was better than the Jones's. I lived being ok with a broken, bleeding heart. Life like this did not exist in my family while living in New Orleans from what I viewed with my eyes and soul. We may not have had all the things I acquired over the years, but we were happy, we were together. Family outside of New Orleans wasn't family anymore. We lived separate lives and had awkward moments when we bumped into each other in public. I hated living in Minnesota even though life their helped me in so many ways. I felt deep down the only way to repair it was to get back to my roots, my soul, my home, myself, my New Orleans. I'm here, and I love it. Even being in the so-called Blighted Area of New Orleans and not having all the financial and material security, I'm happy. I am determined that She, yes, New Orleans is a woman is just like me; together, we will overcome and will rise from all that tried to kill our spirit. Nothing like starting from the bottom and making your way back up!. I just know in my heart that New Orleans will provide for me. There's a bank account with funds in it owed to me by way of back pay for my ancestors. And I will receive my inheritance, and I will continue the traditions and customs of the old to keep the heartbeat of New Orleans beating. I'm down in the boot, living the life that feels right to me awaiting my destiny...

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