It's not supposed to hurt - Part 3: Quintessentially speaking

Okay... It took me some time to complete this particular part of the story. Reason for that is that I wasn't necessarily able to write since I was emotionally overwhelmed by the experience I'm about to describe. Now that I see everything in perspective I can stop licking my "wounds" and continue working on my writings as emotionally exclusive as every other vacation junky. Don't skip the read, even if it emphasizes on love interest and future planning rather than cannabis smoking. In sum, it's all about lifestyle and decision-making related to cannabis smoking. So, read it; be informed and entertained...

Well, let's get started...meeting a sweet pot chic in my age up in Amsterdam 😊
As there was my last day in Amsterdam and only few hours left until my flight back to Vienna, there wasn't much space/time left for offensive plans. Thinking me back into the situation, I guess I should have tried to calm down and make the best of the situation--because the situation wasn't bad at all since I was sitting there in the GOA coffeeshop with great hash and a seemingly awesome person. I knew exactly what to do with my hash, of course. However, I wasn't quite sure what move of mine would work best to make the girls heart beat a little louder. When we sat to our table in the coffeeshop, she remained quite reserved. We didn't get an empty table and therefore had to sit opposite some pot kid with a cap. It appeared as if she wouldn't feel comfy then; she must have felt confined due to the crowd around her and the narrow space she had for herself to roll a joint. From all the impulses she conducted throughout the last three days, I would have thought that she would love to sit [so] close to me. The opposite was the case; she was one of these ladies who need a little zone of empty space around their waistes to feel free and unrestricted.

I myself wasn't responding smart at all but impatient instead and so, after asking her about her professions (she was astrologer, masseuse and yoga teacher), I would pick on her astrology thingy and question her beliefs loudly. That wouldn't turn her on, I creepingly (🐌) realized. She then suddenly picked up her phone and sank into it. Now, usually that's a red flag that makes me vanish, but in the moment it felt as if it was MY fault that she'd escape into her wonder screen. So I asked her about what she was reading on her phone and stuff, hoping to get her back into a conversation. But it wouldn't work; she was lost already. After a few minutes that kid from opposite the table left the shop. The girl then asked me kindly to change seats. After that and before I finished rolling my first joint [on the other end of the table], she stood up and blabbered something about a deadline for an application for traumasensitive massage or something (doesn't matter), then shook my hand and left forever. (Forever--because back home, when I texted her a few times... you guessed it: she 👻ed me.) And so another pot chic passed by on my seemingly endless search for a soulmate in a hell that whispers "You won't find her"...

In a nutshell: nice girl, sweet smile, soothing voice, but what I missed where deep conversations that would bring me any closer to her. On top of that, I didn't do her a single time (far far far from that). Briefly, nothing happened, so it's not supposed to hurt--but it kinda did 😢, and when I left for Vienna I felt heartbroken. I would spend the next days and weeks asking myself what went awry, but nothing would make sense. I fell into a slight depression and intended to dwell down there at least for a month. But the heartache would fortunately leave after about two weeks and after that time it made no longer sense to pity myself. However, the pain and the sadness I carried through the day brought about some fruitful ideas that, I think, are worth sharing...

Drawing conclusions

Now, that was not the most breathtaking story you've ever read, was it? That probably happens to you and your tinder dates all the time; right? Nothing peculiar at all. Hm..., it was kind of bitter for me, though 😔. Let me explain...

As you've certainly figured out already, I'm single most of the time I roam around in this world. It's less that I want to be single all the time; I simply cherish my freedoms and my independence as a single so much that I hardly ever feel eager to find a partner; I hardly ever feel the need to bond with someone else, probably because I don't know much about the comfort of a decent fulfilling relationship. I dunno... Some of my colleagues tell me that they need the security and that they choose to search for a partner when they endure too much loneliness. I scarcely ever feel this way; in fact, most of the time I enjoy my lonetime [of which I have plenty]... and a certain amount of it I need almost every day. However, I feel that strange void in my chest already.

Friends around me found families and therefore have far less time to nourish our friendship lately; and the profound communication I have with them is now rare and already insufficient. After all these years it suddenly makes sense to have a loving friend around, if necessary every day. So here I stand with a fresh desire for friendship and love, ready for a certain commitment that I wouldn't have contemplated years ago.

The reason why I told you about two of the few interesting encounters that I remember in recent months, is because these encounters made me realize what I'm after; and I assume almost every  pothead in my country is coping with the same scarcity of pot chics and therefore might face difficulties when it comes to meeting potential, compatible lovers, friends, companions, soulmates; because, face it, if you prospect for your soulmate--a person who accompanies you for quite some time on the road--you want it to be someone who shares interests, someone who supports you in who you are and the things you love to do, so, of course, it has to be a pot chic; it has to be someone like you.

The hard thing in a typical Austrian setting is to eventually perceive pot chics as who they are...you know, there's no dresscode or something. Maybe they weigh less in average since they prefer their calorie-free drug to 🍰, chocolate and 🍔, I dunno. My point is, you don't know before you know,... and the trick is to make'em visible first. So, here is how you do it:

Instructions on how you first "approach" a pot-loving, kind-hearted pal that [therefore] turns out to be a potential soulmate [in mothafuckin Austria].

1. Just be yourself

Now, that sounds a little harsh, but what I meant to express was

2. Roll a joint right in front of her...

...cuz if she actually is the one (or as educated polygam dudes out there would put it: if she's good to fuck for quite some time) then she deserves to know in advance what she can expect from her love interest. But we aren't that far yet. First you have to

3. See how she's reacting...

...cuz if she's not completely frozen or asking "Willst du den etwa hier rauchen?", instead staying right where she is, willing to smoke that shit with you,... then she's at least open for your habits--and that's worth diamonds. But you know,.. when she leaves, that's pretty much it. Anyway, next

4. Light whatever crooked thing you just nervously created

--since you've practiced rolling a joint for spontaneous celebrative occasions several times-- you then

4. Light the joint and hand it to her

If she doesn't run away with it, continue with Advice #1 and you'll be fine, promised.

 

 

So, that's it, folks. Hope you liked this introducing post section and you took something with you until we meet again. In the next section, before neglecting the topic completely, I will mix it up the cannabis topic with something different. Contact me if you want to participate in this blog project. I'm grateful for every tender soul who accompanies me on my journey. Feel free to leave a comment anyway.

Yours,
Kulla 👹

It's not supposed to hurt - Part 2: King's Day and the day after in Amsterdam

Allrighty. So, if you've read Part 1 of this post already, then you've just accompanied me on my tour on King's Night, the pre-party to the greatest national holiday for the Dutch--King's Day. But I perceived comparingly little of this pre-event since the most interesting venues were sold out. I could have visited a few more coffeeshops, but when I left the Green House shop I came to ponder about the girl I had just met. First, because I am always getting suspicious when an attractive lady shows interest in me; I am simply not that much of a fuckable-looking contemporary these days. (In fact, I usually give them the creeps).  And second, because I couldn't get her out of my head for a while... too inspiring and too nice for a girl of her fashion. So maybe sleep would help me order some thoughts. I left for the hostel...😴

Next morning I woke up at about 10 or something--too late for breakfast in the hostel where I stood. So I went out on the streets rather early and got myself an English breakfast in the city. It was about eleven o'clock. The later it became the more people dressed in orange would appear on the streets. Lots of people already opened their private sales stalls or less where they would sell stuff. Most of the time they sold refreshments and fast food. The ubiquity of spots where you could buy beer and hot dogs, in fact, made it easy for me to organize lunch. On my way from the city center to Vondel (the shop I recommended in Part 1) through Vondelpark, I had a hotdog each estimated 500 meters, I guess. I visited several bars and had my long-anticipated edible in a coffeeshop called The Rookies. It was an orange space cake with half a gram of weed in it. Tasted good but didn't have much effect on me. I needed something stronger and therefore had another primavera in mind.

So I headed for the next coffeeshop that smiled at me: Terps Army. I recognized the logo of the shop from a fairly successful cannabis social club in Barcelona, went in hoping to get the best there. The shop itself was rather small, but an entire seating area was empty, so I gave it a try: Although they had mostly indica and hash I ordered one of the two sativa strains they offered that day. I think it was ordinary Amnesia weed; served the purpose. Later I rolled a joint with tobacco and the darkest hash they sold. After sucking that shit in I remained high as a kite for hours. I slowly walked through the city, passed a few canals, didn't count the hotdogs I swallowed during that time.

Later in the evening when I came to senses again, I was eager to know if it would work out with that girl from the night before. So I texted her and asked her out for nine o'clock. She postponed to ten then stopped responding. Something went awry with our WhatsApp connection and I expected to never see or hear her again; unlucky. But since a holiday romance wasn't part of my Amsterdam plans anyway, her ghosting me wouldn't ruin my night. However, quite early I felt tired from walking through the city. I called it a day rather early in the evening and went to my hostel dorm where I would fall asleep with ease.

Next morning I woke up at about 9:30 or something--just in time to grab a few slices of toast, ham and tomatoes plus some orange juice from the breakfast bar in the hostel. I checked out at ten and headed for a coffeeshop I avoided to visit just until then. It was an eyesore of interior design that I didn't want to condone and it's called The Dolphins. The hash I eventually got there was light-brown and had a nice kneadable texture. I stood for one joint in the bar, not because I started to get used to the environment but because the shop was the only place so far where they would play Metal music. When I heard them playing "Two Minutes to Midnight" of Iron Maiden I knew I would have to stay at least for a cup of coffee. The coffee was great and the women behind the bar looked awesome in their white blouses. To summarize, a lovely place, not only for the blind ones.

Speaking of women, that girl from King's Night texted me in the morning. We chatted a bit and she invited me for a cup of coffee and a stroll through the streets. We finally met at two--and my flight was at eight. So there was still plenty of time left to get to know that hot stranger.

But before that, I would go to the STRAAT museum. A free ferry brought me from the station to the area where STRAAT is located. I walked a bit further to check out the only coffeeshop around. It was called the Funny People coffeeshop and it was just a take-away-counter 😟. The selection was very basic; insufficient information about the strains. I bought two pre-rolled joints, 5 bugs each; one with hash, the other one with a sativa mix; both had too much tobacco in it and scarcely gave a high. Taste was...yeah...like tobacco pretty much.

Speaking of tobacco, they say there are certain coffeeshops where they'd not allow tobacco smoke. That appears to be a myth. I am one of these people who roll their joints with tobacco and everywhere where I'd ask for the "tobacco zone", they'd say "It's not okay to smoke cigarettes, but it's okay if you roll your joint with tobacco in here". Even in shops that had boards on the table saying "NO USE OF TOBACCO IN ANY WAY" they'd allow me to roll and smoke my joint with tobacco. To conclude, don't feel urged to change your smoking habits; it's not necessary 😁.

It was necessary, though, to meet that cute girl. We texted about four hours just to find a spot where we could meet and at two I found the bar where she had two pieces of cake while waiting for me; I picked her up there. I should have waited until two thirty, because every further slice of cake would have done her well; she was just skin and bone, I figured. Anyway, we canceled our stroll due to rainy weather and had our coffee in a coffeeshop named GOA. They served Lavazza in paper cups; didn't have oat milk, so I drank mine black with sugar. She paid and even wanted to invite me for the hash we'd have there, but we picked differently, so I wanted to pay for myself. The selection was quite pricey, but the quality was convincing as well. Here is where I'd find my favorite hash variant; it was a White Choco Bloc: Dark brown, lovely kneadable texture, slightly creamy, tasted more like classical Marrocan hash. In a nutshell, I had a hot cup of coffee, the most formidable hash that I sucked in in ages, a starting conversation with a lovely lady, and about two hours left to.... I don't know...

...What were my intentions with her? Making out like two sixteen-year-olds at promnight in a sausage-party-like environment like GOA, as a souvenir or something...? Having a deep conversation about the meaning of life then falling in love with each other and cancelling the flight due to a spontaneous mission of love? Making an appointment for ayuverdic massage or private yoga classes with her the next time I visit Amsterdam? Those were all good ideas that I didn't have in that moment. Instead, I fucked up so bad; I don't know if I can put it in words...

...read me in Part 3

Kulla 👹

 

It's not supposed to hurt - Part 1, King's Night in Amsterdam

Hi guys, you may wonder why this is the first post of this blog. Well, I've deleted all my past blogs because all the conclusions I presented in the past turned out to be bullshit and as a responsible pseudo scientist I try to be helpful with what I utter. Fortunately no one reads my blog.  Maybe this time, I can give you something solid...

So, just to introduce myself, I am not a regular pot smoker, I am generally anti-420, but pro decrimininalisation, I sometimes try to convince regulars that they should give up smoking and instead search for purpose in life. Maybe, throughout my quality time writing, I can tell you why I think and act that way. As I never made it a secret, except always when I talk to the underaged (-then I usually preach ascethicism),... when I go on vacation I usually venture out for places where I can get decent kush. This time I eventually made it to Amsterdam, Netherlands, where I'd spend a fortune on regular doses of strongest sativa* weed strains and finest hash chunks from all over the world. If you're a pro drug person but still haven't fucked up your life with something addictive so far or if you're fed up with alcohol in your home country, you're best having a coffeeshop tour through Amsterdam that, I promise, you'll truly enjoy. However, I am not sure if this is a happy or sad story....

 * Before I continue, let's get one thing straight: when I talk about sativa and indica strains I just do it to explain what I am after. In the view of most 420 preachers a sativa provides a head-held-high feeling throughout the day and an indica brings about a couchlock feeling. Most kids in Austria still believe in this more or less unscientific taxonomy. We now know that the relation of THC, CBD and the dominant terps in your weed decide what effect you have. There are about 420 cannabinoids and over 500 terps about which we know very very little. When you order a sativa, hybrid or indica in a legally established club, the dealers there usually know what you're actually looking for - a bombastic high. So, don't go there if you want to cure or mitigate a mental disease such ADHS or depressions. That's your doctors business; he knows best.

Lately I spent my vacations in Malaga, Spain. Malaga is not necessarily a hotspot for Cannabis Social Clubs (the Spanish quasi-equivalent to Coffeeshops); in fact, the single one I've been to is already closed and it was the only one that existed in Málaga. In other words, if you search for weed in Málaga today, you have to buy smuggled, often dirty, Marrrocan hash on the beach from the dealers. However, there, in this CSC you used to get a cosy selection of fair-priced weed strains, four or five of them Cali weed, and at least three or four choices of hash that were good enough to compete with the illegal Marrocan hash that you may get offered on the beaches. Most of the time, the Social Club was almost empty. A couple of kids sat on the couch and zocked on the PlayStation, but most of the time no client was in there. In other words, not a place to meet kind pot-smoking chics.

Why is that important, you ask; well, for me, pot is a social drug. I enjoy it so much more in company and always am eager to find a tender soul I can share my time and drug with. The pot-smoking chics I got to know throughout my journey were always extraordinarily nice girls, open-minded and warm-hearted to a certain extent...and those chics clearly differ from this great deal of arrogant hotties on Mediterranian beaches that would treat you like an old perv when you ask them  help you cream your back. Pot chics on the other hand are sociable and if you get lucky they come to you first. Usually they are laid-back and talk very little. They always have a little bit of sunshine and time left for you and even bring plenty of their own pot when they hang out with you. In places where there are no spots were you can smoke pot legally, those sweet creatures are so fucking hard to find.

In Malaga it took me over a week until finally two German girls crossed my ways in the hostel where I stood for the rest of my vacations. Of course, then, I would spend most nights accompanied by the girls. We would spend the evenings together and walk through the city whenever possible, and we would smoke buttery Marrocan hash the two brought from the beaches;  every situation embedded in good mood, everything ending in constant laughter. But all good things appear to come to an end: One of the girls gave me her phone number and so I continued chatting with her for a few weeks--in order to stay in touch and maybe meet her again. But when I saw her cuddling and kissing her dog on her WhatsApp status one day, then telling her that I'd love to be in the dog's place, she would block me immediately and I would never hear from her ever again. Happens a lot everytime I confude friendlyness with sexual interest. In a nutshell, nice girl, delightful smile, awesome boobs, but what I missed where deep conversations that would bring me any closer to her. On top of that, I didn't do her a single time; briefly, nothing happened, so it's not supposed to hurt--and it didn't. In fact, the time I spent with the girls was awesome and I kept only the good memories of them. Free from any hurts or pains I would be ready to love and live again. Head held high with a clearly fostered ego I'd simply move on.

Yeah,... and then there was Amsterdam the other day. I spent only two nights up in the North before heading back to Vienna, so, two and a half days to come to grips with Amsterdam's coffee shops. From all the museums in Amsterdam I had only scheduled the Van Gogh museum and the street art museum STRAAT. The rest of the time I kept for my goal to try at least five sativa strains each day, try edibles at least once, and find my favorite hash variant.

Pretty soon, I found the shop where I'd get my favorite sativa strain. This time it was a simple Strawberry Haze from a coffeehop named Vondel, a footstep away from Vondelpark, in the West. The shop was recommended on YouTube and it seemed as if they found a professional way to sell high quality throughout the year. The weed had a fruity smell, and when you broke the buds in half you saw the hellishly toxic cristals sparkling fiery in the inside; just as much it had a slightly fruity taste, and when the joint was lit you saw a film of oil moistening the cigarette paper right below the ember; that's what you're after. I came back for more the next day and combined a Lemon Haze weed with an Amnesia Hash -- just as good, just as effective. But my favorite hash variant I would get somewhere else...

After Vondel I went for the city center and tried a few coffeeshops, with my choices still focusing on sativa strains in order to stay motivated and level-headed throughout the tour. In one of the shops I perched next to an old pot lady. She was nice and talked far above average for a pothead. So I got to hear her story of current events. It was much. She was very concerned about the wars going on at the moment and the crisis we're in. When she explained how things could come to a better ending I often had to ask for clarification, but if I got her right then only the aliens that are watching us can save us from a near nuclear catastrophe. I would definitely read her book, because while explaining her theories she never blamed the Jews for anything bad in the world. Too loving was her soul and too kind her thoughts... but she was about 20 years older than me and wore so many clothes, I couldn't imagine her performing well in a granny porn. The little bit of love I actually had left for her I invested in the joint I rolled for her: I put in a small butt of Lemon Haze, a bit of tobacco she asked for, and a few flakes of Strawberry Banana Kush Hash that I think I bought at the Get Down Coffeeshop hours ago. Since she coughed a lot, I added a Jilter on top of the filter. I thought she enjoyed the creation and so I left with a smile, also knowing that three days are not enough time to find a love interest. Wasn't the plan anyway.

I would then go further north, closer to the Red Light District of Amsterdam to find one of the highly recommended coffeeshops from the Green House chain. One of them I found by chance [won't tell you which for a reason...]. The selection there was very wide and their menu had plenty of strains I had never heard of. So I went with the safe award-winning Super Lemon Haze, short SLH, and it was worth the about fifteen bugs per gram. The shop was quite busy, but you'll find an empty seat if you get lucky.

And so it happened. I sat next to an awesome looking, blonde curly-haired girl in my age. The skin on her face was shiny from the sweat she carried with her and she was visibly marked from a hard day's work. But hell, totally my type, maybe just because of that. I started the conversation by apologizing for sitting to her table; told her that I simply didn't want to sit alone, and that seemed to have aroused sympathy in her and so we chatted a bit. Unfortunately, that didn't make her less attractive. After she rolled her second joint, she put on her clothes, gave me her card, told me that she would be free the next day at nine pm, then vanished. I rolled myself a primavera for the go and left for the hostel, in order to get a long-lasting power nap there, because next day would be King'sDay--the biggest Dutch holiday all year...