On the list where all of us online diarists congregate, the question came up the other day about who has smoked marijuana and who hasn't.
I have to pop all of your illusions, now. Yes, Princess Jeanne smoked marijuana. Of course I inhaled it. And because it did absolutely nothing for me (or to me), I never bothered with it again. I don't know, maybe I have some sort of strange physiology where I simply am not affected by THC. I've seen articles about people who have a genetic defect where they can't taste or smell certain things. Whatever the reason, it never affected me and I never saw much point in it again.
I was in my second year at UM, and there was this one Friday night that I think was in January some time. My roommate was away somewhere with her boyfriend, and a lot of girls on the hall had gone "home" for the weekend. There was a party across campus that I went to with my across-the-hall-mate, Karri. She was from Wisconsin somewhere -- if you live in Wisconsin, you can go to school in Minnesota cheap, and vice-versa... they treat you as if you were an in-stater -- just to see what was going on and see if there were any decent guys out. We both stuck around for a while, talked to some people we knew, and then got bored and left, after consuming more than a little punch. We made it back home, and Karri told me that her boyfriend had brought her some really good smoke the previous weekend and asked if I wanted to share it with her.
I was still in the "experimental time," everyone. You remember, back when you really didn't know what everyone else did or didn't do, and in early 1988, I don't think we had 90210 yet to teach us all that you're supposed to dress slutty and act like a ditz? Back when you just went along with anything that sounded like a good idea? Karri was sort of an early throwback-Deadhead, but she listened to bands like Alison Blue and 10,000 Maniacs and Cowboy Junkies before they were cool. So I said, "sure," and we sat around her room -- tie-dye parachute across the ceiling and a framed print of Jimi Hendrix at Altamont on the wall -- and she rolled a couple of what I now know were really large joints. We lit it up, and talked about where everyone was, and what had gone on that week, and our self-important RA, and she kept getting softer and softer and softer when she talked, and laughed a lot. I tried hard not to cough, to pull the tangy smoke in and hold it as I'd seen others do, and began to get the distinct feeling that there was something I was missing.
That's right, all that good weed had no effect on Jeanne, no, not at all. About the only thing I felt was a dry throat. Still, it was kind of nice to hang out and talk to Karri, who always seemed to be a little distant and never seemed to be around when I was in a mood to hang out. No effect, nothing, nada. We listened to a Housemartins CD she had, and she talked about her parents, getting mellower and mellower, and I just sort of listened. Eventually she said something like "I need to find that Brian Eno tape and play it for you," and then fell asleep. I went back across the hall and went to sleep also, and that was the end of Jeanne's Adventure In Psychotropia.
Sorry to disappoint everyone. Do you want to hear the yogurt story again?