It's not supposed to hurt. Part 4: Choosing to be single, waiting for wounds to heal

 

...I close my eyes and drift away

over the fear that I will never find a way to heal my soul

and I will wander till the end of time

torn away from you...

 Lyrics quote from "My Heart is Broken"
by Evanescence
from the album "Evanescence" (2011)

The story I'm about to tell you lies about 16 years in the past. Back then I led a hollywood life that you couldn't imagine. I was frontman of a quite respected metal band, went to art school to train myself in jewellery, painting and arts history and once in a blue moon popped girls I had met at my concerts. Bruce Wayne couldn't have performed any better. Best days of my life, cuz I hadn't really fallen in love yet and my experience with women so far made clear that drowning in pussy would be my prefered way of committing suicide. [later engraved on the tomb stone "Died doin' what he loved. Peace mothafuckas]". But I was busy being a rockstar and didn't perceive much of other people's problems and realities. My ego was driven by the people who supported all my creative work--and back in the day I had plenty who supported me. Don't ask me why.

In that years I thought I had climbed the Maslow pyramid with ease, cuz literally everything appeared to work out for me personally. The problem later was that I thought I could get everything I wanted if I just wanted it bad enough; and that didn't work out when I fell in love with this refreshing Viennese sensation of a woman...

... some just want everything

but everything means nothing

if I ain't got you...

Lyrics quote from "If I ain't got you"

by Alicia Keys

from the album "The Diary of Alicia Keys" (2003)

... She was about one year younger than me, had dark brown eyes, wore her dark hair long, painted her face like Masuimi Max (just cuter and younger), and was easy to chat with on a platform named MySpace. (MySpace was pretty much a playful predecessor of Facebook, just so much cooler to play with for kids in my age. Anyway;) the two of us eventually met personally for the first time when I came back from a trip to Helsinki,  Finnland. The evening I flew back to Vienna a US metalcore band performed twenty minutes from the airport... and that, in my view, was an ideal prolonged vacation. Cuz metal concerts were my home area back then.

So the atmosphere was fantastic. Nothing says more "Let's get laid" than a metalhead like me who meets a Viennese chic at a concert. If weddings in Las Vegas were as awesome as rock concerts in Vienna, I would have married already. But they aren't, and so a mix of melodic death metal and hardcore in my ear held my head high when we hugged each other to say hello. She asked me if I was exhausted from the flight, I nodded and she promptly ran for two big cups of white whine spritzer. And I was exhausted, and a big cup of white wine spritzer was exactly what I needed in that moment. But she turned out to be a catch for many other reasons...

As in our MySpace chats, she was easy to talk with that night. But the first thing she wanted to discuss, while we were sitting two-some on the floor next to the bar, was her approach to relationships. In that moment I didn't feel like listening, cuz I wanted to start something planless from scratch; and so I interrupted her monologue about relationships by kissing her as passionately as possible--in order to make my intensions clear. She went with it and we would most of the time just sit somewhere and kiss ...and every time I wanted to tell her something, she would interrupt me with another long-lasting kiss. But that was our first night together: an evening to celebrate life as it is.

The next  month or so we would talk a lot via phone and discuss everything in detail that young souls like ourselves had on our minds: deep conversations and lots of stuff to laugh about. It was the only period of my life where I'd actually enjoy long conversations on the phone before going to bed. Sometimes I even fell asleep during the calls, so comfy and cherished I felt when talking to that girl.

 

...Now as I lay me down to sleep, this I pray, that you will hold me dear

Though I'm far away, I'll whisper your name into the sky

and I will wake up happy...

 

Lyrics quote from "As I lay me down"
by Sophie B. Hawkins
from the album "Whaler" (1994)

 

But meetings were far too scarce. Unfortunately, one of the two of us would always have to invest a few hours drive to reach the other person's city and so we would only meet two times in my studio, once at one of my own concerts in Vienna, and once at another concert. With time she for herself then figured out that a relationship with me wouldn't make sense. I, hopeful as I used to be, had to figure that out the hard way since she just tempered out our calls instead of "breaking-up": Less and less she would call me and eventually she wouldn't respond to my calls either.  That's why I one day panically canceled arts classes kinda illegally and drove my Audi to Vienna in order to surprise-visit her at work. When I stood at the reception desk of her working place, the receptionist ushered me out of the facility immediately and minutes later my assumed love interest texted me "STALKER". I felt missunderstood... and like shit, but afterwards accepted that future endeavors would be useless. She obviously never really felt the way I wanted her to feel about me. Anyway, I would never see her or hear from her ever again.

You'd imagine that if you never fuck someone and if that fuckable person never tells you that she loves you, you'd get over her with ease since nothing actually happened. But me, I reached a level where I'd fantasize to spend the rest of our young lives together and every plan B would be worth- and useless in comparison to the millions of A plans I had in mind with her (or rather with her in my mind).

This entire experience made me change completely. I suddenly felt as if I needed to be as self-sufficient as possible and therefore tore down everything I religiously had built up around me: I stopped meeting with friends (especially pot smokers by the way) and kept distance from mother and family by constantly performing as an angry, frustrated and hateful child, I assume. A year later my beloved metal band split--certainly cuz of quarrels I had with the other guys of the band. Eventually I got in a fight with our bass player, my best friend with whom I shared a studio. We soon stopped living together and departed with many things left unspoken. I was suddenly all alone; and however hard it felt, in that situation I thought everything I did was right...

...and I'd walk desperately to find a better life without anyone else in this world.

The sad part of the story is that this girl was a pot chic. There were many signs that I ignored and that I eventually perceived as such when I'd spend the months after the stalker-accusation pondering in solitude about what went awry and what I may have done wrong or something...

I then remembered situations when she was in a bad mood, for instance, when she visited me and complained that I didn't have weed at home. Also, in one of our last calls she would explain in between that she likes hashish though it pushes, though it puts some pressure on you, and stuff. I ignored such stories at the time. Whenever she wanted to tell me about her wisdom about drugs, like in that case, I would divert to another topic. It seems as if I simply wasn't open for drugs back then since I rather orientated on an ascetic life. The only thing I did excessively those years was playing basketball, so drugs wouldn't come in handy. 

In sum, maybe that girl that I thought I'd love so much was on a different path... and drugs would be part of her life during a time in which I simply wasn't compatible with her, due to my contrary view. And maybe my reaction to her pro-drug views was something she couldn't handle. I understand it today but couldn't make sense of it back then. I changed into the person she could have had discussions with, even about drugs, but ages later. To become the accessible man she would have loved, I had to ruin my life first.

After this long-distance pseudo-relationship with who I thought would be the woman of my life (not counting my mom) I would never be the same person again. In the summer to come, I dated another awesome, hot chic (pot chic on occasion, by the way) with whom I really enjoyed sex. She knew me from my concerts of course. When I first saw her I thought I was out of her league, but fortunately she had a thing for ugly metal musicians, so I got lucky. However, in an honest conversation, I had to tell her that I wasn't over that Viennese chic. She appeared a bit puzzled then but made clear that she'd get over me by cheating on me with another metalhead. Our affair (she wasn't quite single yet) ended with a fight; from then on she hated me. In retrospective, I get her.

Months later I would try dating again and dated a hot 18-year-old virgin I met in arts school. I introduced her to certain things in life; shouldn't have done that. but we adultly agreed on a serious relationship where I'd get to know her family and the like. She also baked me a cake for birthday and we even participated in her grandparents gold wedding anniversary. But after about three weeks I'd realize that she couldn't fill the void I had created mentally; and so I turned into a power asshole until she broke up with me.

But then I gave in. After finishing art school I stopped dating. I thought, as long as my heart is not open, as long as I am unable to love again, I shouldn't confront the rest of womenhood with my heartache. Too embarassing anyway.

And that's when I decided to live alone for quite some time.

Thanks for reading.

Kulla

Chapters in this series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Borrowed plumes in this writing:

Mean Tweets – Movie Edition (Jimmy Kimmel Live): @Tann_Matt on Twitter about George Clooney

Click here for Part 5:
When you have a crush on your English teacher (1/2)

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--cuz 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--cuz 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 💔. 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...

Chapters in this series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]  

Quintessentially speaking

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 cuz 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 cuz 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; cuz, 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 ceremonial occasions several times-- you then

4. Light the joint and hand it to her

If she doesn't run away, 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 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 👹

Click here for part 4:
Choosing to be single, waiting for wounds to heal

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, cuz 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, cuz 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...😴

 

Chapters in this series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

King's Day and the day after
in Amsterdam

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 cuz I started to get used to the environment but cuz 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, cuz 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 👹

 

Click here for part 3:
Quintessentially speaking

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 cuz 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-decrimininalization. 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 the way I act. As I never made it a secret, except always when I talk to the underaged (-then I usually preach asceticism),... 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 coffee shop 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 mix of THC, CBD and the dominant terps in your weed decide what effect you have when you consume it. There are about 420 cannabinoids and over 500 terps about which we know too little to call us wisely informed. 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 as ADHS or depression. That's your doctor's business; he or she sometimes knows better and once medical marijuana is legal in your country there soon will be resources to get you a helpful preparation that's best for your individual needs.

 

 

Chapters in this series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

 King's Night in Amsterdam

Lately, I spent my vacations in Málaga, Spain. Málaga is not necessarily a hotspot for cannabis social clubs (the Spanish quasi-equivalent to coffee shops); 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, Morrocan hash on the beach from the dealers. However, there, in this CSC you used to get a cozy 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 Morrocan 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 gambled on the PlayStation, but most of the time no client was in there. In other words, not a place to meet kind pot-smoking chicks.

Why is that important, you ask; well, for me, pot is a social drug. I enjoy it so much more in company and am always eager to find a tender soul I can share my time and drug with. The pot-smoking chicks I got to know throughout my journey were always extraordinarily nice girls, open-minded and warm-hearted to a certain extent...and those chicks clearly differ from this great deal of arrogant hotties on Mediterranean beaches that would treat you like an old perv when you ask them  help you cream your back. Pot chicks 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 Málaga, it took me over a week until finally two German girls crossed my way 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 Morrocan 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 every time I mistake friendliness for sexual interest. In a nutshell: nice girl, delightful smile, awesome boobs. But what I missed were deep conversations that would bring me closer to her. On top of that, I didn't do her a single time. Briefly, nothing happened, so it was 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 the hurts, free from the pain, 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. Of all the museums in Amsterdam, I had only scheduled the Van Gogh museum and the street art museum STRAAT. I kept the rest of my time 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 coffee shop 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 crystals sparkling fiery on 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 to the city center and tried a few coffee shops, still focusing on sativa strains 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. 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, cuz 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 granny porn. The little bit of unconditional love I 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 coffee shops from the Green House chain. One of them I found by chance. 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 fifteen bucks 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 my age, the skin on her face 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 cuz of that. I started the conversation by apologizing for sitting at her table, told her that I simply didn't want to sit alone. So she kinda took pity on me and we chatted a bit. Unfortunately, that didn't make her less attractive. After she rolled her second joint, she put on her coat, handed 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 to have an extensive power nap there. Cuz next day would be King's Day--the biggest Dutch holiday all year...

 

Click here for Part 2:
King's Night in Amsterdam