Friday, April 9, 2010

The thievery of ambition, and other things like that

(This entry has fuck-all to do with movies and is more of some regular life shit, so you can stop reading at this point. Thank you.)

I don't know what the ratio of Bullshit-to-Genuine is when it comes to people who get Medical Marijuana recommendations, and I really don't care. I just know I wish I was one of the Bullshit patients, but as a recent unplanned doctor's visit turned out, I happen to have one of the ailments that is legally recognized in this great state of California when it comes to the MM. It's something I figured I was dealing with as far back as high school (what a surprise), but never really did anything about it until now. So I decided to turn lemons into a refreshing citrus drink (the name of which escapes me) and figured I should try getting a bona fide Medical Marijuana recommendation.

For the record, my weed intake is pretty low and not at all resembles anything routine or consecutive. I still rank as an amateur in this sport. It is merely one of many weapons in my arsenal in the on-going War Against Sobriety I've been fighting half of my life. I just like the idea of having the ability to acquire this shit in a far more legal manner. To know that you *can*, is sometimes enough for you to go on.

So I did the research and looked up the places, settling on one that I will not name for reasons I'm not entirely sure of, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I called, made my appointment for the following Saturday and then Saturday came and I went. The location was inside a bank building in a nice business section of town; I went to the office and was greeted by an attractive blonde in her mid-to-late 20's with a Midwest-Gone-California feel about her. She gave me some forms to fill out and told me there were more seats further down the office. I passed by a lady in her 40's and a young dude who looked early 20's and very much from the Bullshit echelon, but then again, this is me judging a book by its cover like some kind of asshole who judges books by their covers. I sat down at a table and answered the questions such as what ailment do you suffer from, who is your health care provider, are you taking any medication, have you taken marijuana before as a substitute/avoidance of said medication before, and some other shit I can't remember because I smoke da reefa. There's also a bunch of shit to initial, making sure that you're aware of both the possible benefits and drawbacks of Doctorological Mary Jane.

Directly across from me was the entrance to the physician's office, and I knew that because a deep booming voice could be heard from behind the door, saying things deliberately slow and overly enunciated like "But you have to tell me if it's pain that you believe can...". During this, another gentleman entered the room and was welcomed by the receptionist. This guy was either hard core Genuine or really trying super-fuckin-hard to sell the Bullshit, because the entire time he was filling out his forms a few feet away from me, he kept muttering to himself, and it there's such a thing as violent muttering, that's what THAT motherfucker was doing.

The door to the physician's office opened and out came two men of the Asian persuasion, escorted to the receptionist/secretary/important papers lady to cross some T's and dot some lower-case J's (one acted as a translator for the other, hence the slow/deliberate talk from the doc). His next patient was the Shoulda-Been-A-Cougar-But-Isn't, and they both walked in and the door was closed. It really did no good, this door; you can hear everything. This made me nervous. The young stoner in his early 20's then made a comment to the blonde, something like "I bet you don't get people like that much in here, huh?", referring to the two men from Southeast Asia. "I'm from Oklahoma and I've heard every kind of accent, but I never heard something like *that* before!" she responded. They giggled the kind of giggle that had nothing in common with each other; her giggle was coming from a "Those wacky Chinamen!" vibe and his was more "It would be so awesome if we fucked."

He then asked her if in addition to her office duties was she also a patient, which to me seemed a little too personal a question, I don't know. But she didn't miss a beat, she told him she was and he then asked her what the difference was between certain kinds of plants and she straight out demonstrated her expertise in that shit. It might as well have been math equations this chick was talking about, otherwise I'd kinda remember it enough to write it down. Me, I just know the difference between an indica and a sativa. These two were becoming fast friends, whereas I was sitting a few feet away from a man I was hoping to God was actually having a Bluetooth conversation rather than an imaginary one with God himself.

Meanwhile, it wasn't sounding so good in the office; in an even-tempered but booming voice, the doc was telling Cougar Town that he needed ANY kind of medical record from a doctor or chiropractor that said she had what she claimed to have. Shortly after dismissing her ("She's *mad*", remarked the blonde after the lady's departure), the doc told Blondie what had happened. Turns out that Stiffler's Mom was trying to get a rec. for her back pain with only a bottle of Ibuprofen from Costco to back her up. Oh, what laughs the doc and Blondie had (along with Skater Dude who was trying to bang this broad)! I was next.

So we go into his office, and in addition to his large desk and two large comfortable leather office chairs, there was an examination table to the side as well. Up until my arrival, I kept expecting someone like Dr. Lexus from Idiocracy or Jack Elam from Cannonball Run, but instead I got a man who looked to be in his late 60's and looking as doctorly as a doctor could look. He looks at my form, and I tell him my story. As I do this, he would occasionally go over and scribble notes and make comments on how it sounds like a clear case of >>CONDITION REDACTED<< and that these >>SYMPTOMS REDACTED<< I've recently been having are obvious >>DETAILED SYMPTOMS REDACTED<<. I had a copy of my medical record and a prescription bottle, which he looked at, and told me that in his opinion, I could benefit from Medical Marijuana. The doctor then went on to tell me the potential risks and benefits of medicating with dank; he spoke loud and clear and carefully, like he wanted to not only make sure that you understood everything he was telling you, but make sure that in case you were recording any of this, he would be legally free and clear and that there was no shenanigans involved with my diagnosis.

He escorted me out and gave the forms back to Blondie, then went back in with Skater Dude. Blondie asked me for the $150 fee (you pay only if you get the recommendation, which is only fair) and had me sign a few things with her pen that had a weird bubbly kooshball at the end of it. Among the documents I received was my official Medical Marijuana recommendation/Physician's Statement (doctors can not actually prescribe it to you), a wallet-sized version of said Statement, and a glovebox version of the statement -- all signed by the doc. I also received a Patient Handbook with all the info one would need about this whole thing, in case you didn't know any of it; laws, effects of marijuana use, web addresses to relevant sites, methods of use and medicinal effects of particular kinds of bud. There was also an application for a Medical Marijuana State ID, which I'm not yet sure about signing up for. On the one hand, it renders you practically bulletproof with John Q. Law. On the other, you're officially noted with the State of smoking pot and even though I'm legit, I still feel uneasy about those motherfuckers knowing that shit. All this is good for a year, then I'm supposed to come back in about a year for a renewal (and I'm guessing another sitdown with the doc to catch up).

You should already know where the dispensaries are, and legally, the people at this joint (see what I did there?) can't tell you anyway. I had already looked around online and was surprised by the sheer number of them in my hood. It was interesting to be able to price compare items with names like OG Master Kush and G13 and Buddah Kush and AK-47 online, you couldn't do that on the street unless you really felt like giving the guy and yourself a hard time. Half of these places cleverly(?) give themselves names that spell out THC in acronym form or have the word Green in there; if there's a place that manages to spell out WEED, that's like, well that's like Wow as far as I'm concerned.

An hour ago I was sitting in a pot doctor's office, filling out forms. Now I was walking to one of my many local pot dispensaries. A security dude kept watch behind a desk in the large lobby (about 2/3 of the entire space, of which 1/4 was being used) and there was a bank teller style window to walk up to. The guy behind the glass showed up with a shaved head, goatee and basketball jersey; he asked if it was my first time and then had me fill out a form while he checked out my Physician's Statement and driver's license. I sat down on a couch in front of an HDTV and a table with free cookies to fill out the form. After giving the form back, the guy buzzed me in and I walked inside to the room of weed.

The room is as big as someone's bedroom; glass display counters with different kinds of bud in jars. On top of one of the counters was one of those magnifying glass/light deals you can check the weed with, should you so desire. The guy behind the counter was nice and looked to be in his late 40's/early 50's, and looked like someone who probably knew Cheech and/or Chong personally. The basketball jersey dude told him that it was my first time here, so the counter guy gave me a free pot cookie with my purchase. The corner of the room had one of those multi-screen security monitors, because you just never know, I guess. He invited me to smell the buds and check them under the lamp. And even though I just wanted to get this shit, get outta there and just fuckin' blaze -- schwag or dank, be damned --  I took him on his offer. Every once in a while, Basketball Jersey Dude would suddenly exclaim "Ice Cream and Cake! Ice Cream and Cake!" like that Baskin Robbins commercial, for reasons known only to him.

I ended up getting a gram of an indica and a gram of a sativa; Buddah Kush and Maui Wowie. It was still early in the day, and I figured I would take advantage and catch a movie while enjoying my free pot cookie. In the end, I went with Clash of the Titans in 3D. Even though I heard horrible things about the last-minute post-production 3D, I didn't care. It's not like I really wanted to see this goddamn movie in the first place, shit, I'm gonna commit some motherfuckin' sacrilege and confess that I admired the original more than I actually liked it. I mean, I love me some Ray Harryhausen, but that's pretty much all the love that flick gets and I don't jizz all over that movie the same way I geek-bukkake over something like say, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. I just wanted to trip out on something after ingesting some cannabis Mrs. Fields. It must have been some good shit too, because not only did I really dig this fuckin' movie, I don't get the hate over Jake Sully's acting either. Again, that cookie was some good shit.

Come November, there is a possibility that this shit will get even more legal in the state of Caulyfoneeya (Schwarzenegger pronunciation, please) for those over 21, that is if the proposition passes. I'm betting that it will; in the same way that Obama did his Health Care Reform thing right around the time that I FINALLY got health insurance after a two-year period without it, now every fuckin' adult is going to be able to walk into a joint for a joint now that I scored a MM rec. Just my luck -- and everyone else's for that matter.