High 7

Woman by Willem de Kooning

I was nearing bankruptcy but I was feeling a little generous so I went to my trusty association and bought grams and grams of super lemon haze and some mounds of really potent fudge brownies smothered with THC-concentrated butter and chocolate syrup to be shared with my new beloved friends during the holidays.

They say my association is the best in town and sells only top quality products. They're not wrong about that. The coffee shop is magical! It’s compact and dark and the air smells like slowly cured cannabis. Towering shelves containing neatly stacked sealed jars offer a wide variety of strains perfectly grown in different regions of the world—the USA, Colombia, Africa, Spain, France. You name it. I'd say, this one is one of the best holidays of my short life. The candy shop door is finally open!

I got a little excited so I smoked my first top-notch super lemon haze right there and then. Some random Kyrgyzstan dude offered to roll my joint. He rolled a thick and perfectly packed jay. I thanked him. We smoked together. I smoked SLH and he smoked hash. While he talked nonstop about Kyrgyzstan—its gangs, killings, poverty—I, on the other hand, was trying to figure out how to correctly pronounce and spell the name of his country in my head. Kyrgy--Kyr-gy-z-staaaan. SLH hit me good. I was sweating balls and I couldn't concentrate. Our conversation was going somewhere but I had to excuse myself for some fresh air.

I strayed too far away and found myself wandering around my neighborhood. Half-conscious and brain fart-loaded, I peeked inside my goodie bag, which I procured from the coffee shop earlier, to check out my freshly baked brownies. The box of fudge brownies was staring me right in the face, taunting me with its fudgy, gooey, chocolatey deliciousness. I hated it. SLH turned me into a prune. I wanted to devour the brownies but I needed to control my appetite.

The brownies are for my friends. The brownies are for my friends. Goddammit! The brownies are for my goddam friends! For our goddam hiking trip tomorrow! Oh, fuck it! I took a piece. Chocolatey fudginess exploded in my mouth! Wooow! I took another piece. And another one. Shame and guilt crept inside me but gluttony kept me going. To appease my heavy appetite, I rushed back to the apartment and stuffed as much food and liquid inside my mouth.

People who join hotdog eating contests must be really stoned. Maybe someday I should join a hotdog eating contest, I thought.

My brain was about to explode from consuming a cocktail of drugs, salad, beef, rice, water, and Fanta. Gross. I rushed to the toilet and flushed down some of my stomach contents. Some foods were undigested and whole. I laughed at my puke before watching it swirl in a frenzy.

After my mini buffet, I texted my Russian friend, Albina, "Sorry, but I don't think I can go on the hiking trip tomorrow. Please, go without me. I am so stoned right now. So so stoned."

My mind was in a frenzy and I was surprised with how well I could still spell words. I collapsed on my warm bed and buried my body under the soft fuzzy sheets.

Albina replied quickly, "Are you sure you are ok? I'll pick you up right now. My house is near yours anyway!"

She didn’t even bother waiting for a reply. The expat community never fails to surprise me. Unlike bitch Linda, the expats treat me like family.

Next thing I remember, I was walking the cold streets of Gran de Gracia semi-barefoot (with only socks on) and holding a tissue roll that I must’ve picked up when I was puking in the bathroom. Albina was right next to me, asking me a bunch of questions that didn't make sense. I knew she wasn't joking. For chrissakes, she's Russian. Russians don't joke. But everything she said was funny. She was funny. The night was funny. The chilly weather was funny. The crowd was funny. The Christmas lights were dancing and bright and funny. I was losing my mind...

When we finally made it to Albina's place, guess what happened? Yep, I passed out on the couch once again. And when I opened my eyes, boom, there was Tay and her boyfriend, Mark, standing right in front of me. Turns out, they got invited to the party too. And man, did they come bearing gifts! Cold pizzas, chocolates, burritos, nachos, and quesadillas. They said it was to "sober me up." But who wants to sober up? I was already stuffed from my early dinner, so I just laid there and listened to their hazy conversations.

To break the ice, after they finished eating, I offered them some of my leftover brownies. And let me tell you, I was so damn giddy when I found out Albina had brought them from my place. Mark couldn't resist them fudgy brownies. He saw what they did to me and wanted a trip to remember forever. And boy, oh boy, it sure was a trip to remember forever…

Tay and Mark started debating which fur baby they will adopt in the future—a cat, a dog or a bunny? Meanwhile, Albina, high as a kite, went on a rampage about how messed up the USSR was, how bloody intelligent Stalin supposedly was, and how corrupt Vladimir Poopin is.

"Poopin fucked up Rrrussia! Oh, yes, Rrrussia is still a superpower country, oh, well, Moscow, Moscow, is rrrich, but the rrrest of Rrrussia is in poverrrty and hungrrry. Did our government ever care about the Rrrussian people? No! They only care about the economy and money. Money. Money Money. Fuck, money, you know??"

I turned to Albina and jokingly asked, "Are you sure you're still Russian, Albina? I've been in Spain for only 2 months and I'm already having a breakdown, you know? I'm having a fucking i-i-identity crisis! I-I-I don't know if I'm still a Filipina. My friends don't understand me anymore. I speak alien languages now. I'm a fucking freak, surrounded with freak friends. My country, my country is in deep shit and I can't do anything about it. It's in deep shit like Russia except times 10 or something.”

“Our president is a tool. My people are fucking hungry and dying and always always begging for food. I feel so sorry for them. I hate it when I feel sorry for them. Not just the poor. Every one of them. It's like they're stuck in-in this slave limbo. They always ask help from other countries when calamities hit. And it's not like we're Africa poor. We have so much resources but the govern, the government fucks it up..."

Thoughts were flowing, conversations kept going on and on. We talked about the universe, quantum entanglement, evolution, Jung, Tchaikovsky, and the flies in Albina's apartment. At some point, Albina switched to speaking Russian, Tay and Mark were chatting in Spanish, and I decided to serenade everyone with a kundiman by Nicanor Abelardo.

Our trip took us on a rollercoaster ride of highs and lows, but mostly highs, if you catch my drift. The night was long and we were high, high as a kite. We forgot about the hiking trip scheduled the next day but we didn't care. We didn't care because we had good brownies, good wine, good company, and a good night sleep.