u/Ecstatic_Army1306

I was a very rare pot user (smoker) until legal weed. I started with gummies to relieve chronic pain. Now smoke nightly — a little pre-roll lasts 5-7 days. It’s eased my physical pain immensely and made me so much chiller post-head injury. Face-to-face I have yet to find women who acknowledge that they’re using it for whatever purpose — e. g., a cream for aching joints, Rx for cancer pain, gummies for anxiety, smoking for fast highs. I’m willing to talk to almost anyone about it. But no one ever asks! No one ever casually says, “That’s my dispensary!” Is it uncool to talk about weed? Are we feeling shame or stigma? Are we some kind of secret club and if so, can I have the passcode?

Edit: typos

1. Until 12 or so, no calls unless I asked for permission from control freak mother. (If mother not home, father couldn’t have cared less and finally said, “Look, you don’t have to ask us to use the phone.”

2. Must identify and pay for nonlocal calls, with each kid initialling and submitting cash, only to be told: “Not so much on the phone this month.”

3. Subject to cries of, “That’s enough on the phone!”, which meant I had to hang up immediately.

4. Friends who called during dinner or after 8 p.m. were subject to The Lecture. Thus, typically brief friendships.

5. If a friend called too often, that friend got The Lecture.

6. Let me know whether you want more. I have PLENTY.

Minor thing. In high school, college and beyond, it was always “have.” Where did this switch come from?

My team was laid off three years ago. It was high-profile, high-paying at a prestigious organization. I spent 2.5 years part-timing until I landed a dream job. But my division will be laid off soon. My field is almost extinct.

Those who had to switch careers as your industry declined: Are you better off? Worse? How big a change was it?

Where in the Princeton area can I buy? Trying to skip home delivery. Google searches and the PS website aren’t accurate. I know the former PQM/McCaffreys has, though not always in stock. Thank you.

One bathroom has a 1,000-year-old shower head with several blocked pinhead holes. (Vinegar, unscrew, wire brush, dental tools, CLR. I know. All ineffective.) As a result, it’s the one fixture with impressive water pressure. Impressive as in every shower is a full-on assault on the nip nops and elsewhere. Showering in that bathroom is actually painful. You have to set your mind to it prior and check for puncture wounds after.

Absolutely deadly — and I’m not a sugar fan. They’re all I want to eat for the rest of my life. Please discontinue them, for the love of God.

On phone. Sorry. … A few nights ago it took me about 20 minutes to open a liter of Blueberry Lavender. The water was acting as though the bottle had been plucked from a black SUV parked in the long-term lot at Miami in July, and then shaken violently. I assure you: No black SUV; no Miami travel; it’s May, not July; in this house we believe shaking seltzer is abusive. Finally, I felt confident enough to remove the cap after what must have been 200 micro-turns, clockwise and counter. (You know the process; we really must come up with a name for this maneuver and somehow monetize. I’m thinking the Snip-Snap, as in the dinner party episode of “The Office.”)

Friends, this thing bubbled rapidly — just-before-the-water-boils rapid —for about an hour with the cap off. I took some swigs. (I feared major gas pain later, but no gas.) I replaced the cap. And then I thought: Could this explode? So I loosened the cap completely. Ten hours later I took off the cap to drink flat seltzer … and it wasn’t flat. It was like a freshly opened typical bottle. … And now, tonight. Another bottle. Same thing so far.

I described to a smartypants friend, who came up with potential reasons. I just have to ask: Anyone else? Ever?