After much chagrin and frustration, I have finally convinced Domestic Despot Osama bin KAREN to let me put together a mid-week trip up in the High Sierras of California and then over to the coast for a stop at my big brother Ed’s in Ventura for a few days. I have fond memories of Ventura, but only lived there for one school year, my final senior year. I loved it because through Advanced Placement and Accelerated Learning Platforms I had completed all but 3 elective classes, so my school schedule was 8am to 11am M-Th. My load was so hard. American Lit through Film. Music Appreciation. The 70’s Drug Culture.
Every day of the week I could be out at The Point with my 10-footer catching the first good swells of the day after the marine layer fog burned off.
Whenever we make the trip to the west coast we always stop in to see where we first laid eyes on each other, The Harbor Restaurant on Stearns’s Wharf in Santa Barbara. Next we go up De la Vina Street to see the tiny apartment we rented on Mission Street. It is still amazing how small it was, but I grew some of the best weed ever on our little lanai. The weed I grew was a Blue Hawaiian strain that was the bomb. I got an aged oaken bucket from a Santa Barbara winery and then I stole the rich soil from the Rose Garden at the Santa Barbara Mission to grow it in.
I have apologized several times to The Man or Woman upstairs for that burglary, so I think I’m good on that one thing.
So they know.
That brings up ONE OF THE STUPIDEST MOVES I EVER MADE.
If you have read a few of my blogposts you know that I can be a real dumbass.
Like when after a month of desperate dating and courting my future wife, I go over to her apartment and she says “Here.”
She gives me about a four-finger sack of this dark blue sweet-smelling Hawaiian weed.
“Where’d you get this?” I asked.
“Oh I get a bag sent to me whenever I run out. I have a friend in Hawaii who sends it.”
This immediately caught my attention.
I always smoked good weed, but this was really special, and soon it was all I smoked.
After 2 months (and two more sacks of Maui Wowie), I made the dumbass move of asking about the “friend” who was her supplier.
It turned out it was her ex-boss from when she was a cocktail waitress in Honolulu.
Now here comes Mr. I-want-your exclusive commitment, blah blah blah I was pulling that macho Mexican horseshit and I told her to break it off with the guy.
The following month I regretted that decision (briefly) and then what did I do?
I used the very few seeds I was able to find on hand, headed to the winery, and the rest is history.