It kind of makes me feel dirty

I never hid the fact that I was leaving the house that evening with the sole intention of going to a friend's to make brownies whose main ingredient would be marijuana.
"Why don't you bring me home one?" my mother joked.
"I will be bringing some home," I told her, "but do you seriously want me to save you one?"
Since our conversation earlier in the year, in which (through my response) it became overwhelmingly apparent that I had partaken in recreational drug use on more than one occasion, I have been incredibly honest with my parents about the majority of my illicit activity.
I brought the brownies home later that evening, and while my mother has yet to partake, I have somehow become a supplier to my entire family. Last weekend I gave several to my aunt and today I gave one to my uncle's common-law wife. What is perhaps even more disturbing is that I did all of this in front of my Grandmother.
"Do not eat the whole thing in one sitting." I cautioned. "In fact, I am only going to give you half of one and I don't even want you to eat half of that in one sitting. And wait at least two hours before eating another one. It will take some time to kick in and you will regret the second brownie after the first one starts to work."
I never thought the day would come when I would be lecturing my aunts and uncles about proper safety precautions when it came to ingesting pot-laden brownies.


Plethora of Posts

Dear Internet,
I am higher than a fucking kite right now. That's a funny word - kite - I wonder who made that word up. But that is unimportant - what is important is that I am stoned.
Stoned. Stoned. Stoned.

"I would love to!" I exclaimed, and was more than a little surprised to hear myself say it. I have never emceed at a wedding before and generally find myself uncomfortable in situations that involve speaking in front of crowds. Also, I do not speak Swedish and that could prove to be a problem.

My father and I met with a real estate agent last week. He was a balding, elderly gentleman who had sunspots intermixed with patches of white hair on his shiny head.
I was not thrilled that my father had called in the real estate agent when he did - the house was a mess, and I did not have adequate time to change out of my "work clothes" (read: pajamas) and into something more appropriate. I had wanted the house to sparkle with cleanliness and general awesomeness before we presented it to a realtor, and I generally enjoy a chance to shower so that I am clean when I meet new people. However, my father insisted that none of these things mattered in the grand scheme of things

"What is this for?" I asked her, holding up a strange looking device.
"Mosquito bites. It produces a small electrostatic current that causes the bite to stop itching," she explained.
"Oh," I said. "Does it hurt?"
"No. You can't even feel it."
I was curious as to whether or not this was actually true. And so, in the sake of science, I put the device against my sister's arm and initiated an electrostatic current.
"Ouch!" She cried, "What the hell did you do that for?!"
"LIAR! You lied! You said it did not hurt!"

Our conversations are never boring, that is for sure.
"I do not know," I told her, "I do not think that I could do it. I mean, I am relatively sure I could receive, but fairly confident that I could not reciprocate."

You know it is going to be a good story because he begins it by saying "So I was banging your friend Ashley..."

This morning I burped for what seemed like an hour. In reality it lasted mere seconds, but it felt like much more time had elapsed.