Five holiday party tips: Getting high, being schwasted and other dos and don'ts
|I know where to find him. Do you?|
Nothing says bonding like discovering a family member or coworker also smokes weed. In the time-honored tradition at a wedding reception to step out and toke up while everyone else looks desperate on the dance floor trying to catch the bouquet or garter. Do the same at your holiday party. If you don't know who your fellow weed smokers are already, do the sniff test -- someone at your party has inevitably hot-boxed in the parking lot.
Or, do like I do and just hit up your coworker's husband -- you know, the cool white guy with dreads who just gives you trees on the spot. And if you're lucky, he'll also give you a full history lesson on the origin of this fine, stanky, sticky-icky Grand Daddy Purp Indica.
But you must also beware: If you smoke too much ganja at the holiday party and you're stuck there for a while, you may find yourself in uncomfortable, paranoid company. Last week, I had to talk a friend down from his too-high perch via telephone as he hid in the bathroom. Apparently, he got too stoned prior to the shindig to take the edge off, and ended up laughing at a stranger's inane comment about his Santa hat being "hella long," out loud, for a good thirty minutes. Everyone stared at him until he wanted to die -- and if you've ever been too stoned, you know what that feels like: EXACTLY LIKE YOU'RE GONNA DIE.
2. As tempting as it is, don't eat everything involved in the holiday spread
Dude, SLOW DOWN.
In other words, don't stress-eat the entire bowl of Gardetto's because that's what you ended up standing by at the party. Just because your aunt made an entire Crock Pot of Lil' Smokies (you know, those terrifyingly delicious, once-a-year-for-good-reason finger sausages) doesn't mean you should have fifty. Believe me, as someone who turns into a human garbage can at the sight of a fancy deli tray, I'm saying this from a place of concern. The food hangover you'll have in the morning will feel ten times worse, mentally, when you realize it's from eating 47 pieces of Oreo-gunk your molecular gastronomist cousin turned into a dessert she lovingly refers to as "Reindeer Poop."