Ever since our lovely editor told me a couple of weeks ago that I wasn’t allowed to go to her party unless I wrote an article for the magazine, I knew I wanted to be a journalist. So, I did the only thing you can do in a situation that requires profound thinking. I rolled a doobie. By the time it had puff-puff-passed its way back around to me, I had an idea. I would boldly go where no stoner had dared to have gone before. My metamorphosis from blazer to trailblazer had begun.
The pitch was simple, “Basically, we ask people on our socials to send in an activity they’ve always wanted to try while high but never have. I'll just get cooked af and do the things… and idk… maybe rate them?” and that is exactly what I did.
. . .
“I’ve always wanted to go to the doctors or the dentist. Don’t judge.”
Now this submission really put the THC in ‘Healthcare’, and I was all for it. Conveniently, I had an appointment at Family Planning to have the contraceptive rod in my arm removed and replaced. What could go wrong?
Baked level: My eyes looked like lips and I thought ducks were trying to sneak up on me.
An hour before my appointment I smoked a joint that was in truth, probably bigger than necessary. So, when I found myself playing an unspoken game of ‘Sly fox’ with a bunch of ducks, that confirmed it. Not that I was fazed, I would just ride this wave out and do my best to maintain the mellow I was rocking. Well I’ll tell you something, nothing harshes your mellow faster than catching a glimpse of your ever-reddening, high-eyes in the reflection of a plastic social-distancing screen as you walk up to the reception desk. It became apparent to me that it probably wasn’t just me and the ducks who knew I was high, and from that point on whenever I interacted with someone new, I would repeatedly think to myself ‘Do they know? They must know.’
The procedure itself was an absolute ‘mare. I needed three times as much local anaesthetic than normal, which we only discovered after she made the first incision. Even after the third dose was administered, I could still feel everything. After 20 minutes of extremely forceful tugging without dislodging the rod, the nurse took a hold of my arm, braced down against it and pulled with all her might. I felt a burning sensation and could’ve sworn I heard a tearing sound. “One down, one to go.” Fuck my life. The nurse thought it would be helpful to explain while fishing around in what I imagine was a gaping hole in my arm, that my tissue had grown around the rods so the ‘sensation’ I was probably feeling was “the tissue ripping loose.” Needless to say it wasn’t helpful. The harder I tried not to think about it, the more I would.
In the end, what was supposed to be a 20 minute painless procedure turned into 45 minutes of torture. But here’s the thing... I loved the entire experience. Torture aside, I had a great time with the nurse. Even if she knew I was as high as a kite, she didn’t let on. She happily answered all my obscure questions, asked some of her own, and talked openly about her own experiences with contraception, surgeries, life ambitions, and even recreational drugs… but that's between me and her.
Rating: 7/10. Probably won’t do it again, but I’ll look back on the experience fondly.
. . .
“Do a horror maze or haunted house.”
A sesh and a scare? It sounded like a bit of me.
Baked level: I finished my iskender only to look back at my plate a few seconds later and wonder ‘Who in the fuck ate my iskender?’
The fact that we had to sign a legal waiver before we started got me thinking that maybe I should be taking this activity a bit more seriously. Then I remembered that the guy who had signed us in had his face painted like a skeleton, so I didn’t feel the need to worry about it much longer.
Skeleton-face’s spiel made me really appreciate for the first time that there were people in the world who were paid to scare people. Like, really think about that for a second and you’ll realise how funny it is. Ok maybe it’s not that funny, but you would have found it funny if you were as high as I was. The thought became funnier with the realisation that I was the one paying them. I literally paid $35 for someone dressed as a dead pirate to jump out and scare me. I mean c’mon, that’s just stupid. My mind went on a tangent as I started to wonder why people got into this line of work. Now, I’m not proud to admit this but I began to think that maybe the reason was, that the scarers got-off on scaring people. As we were leaving, I couldn’t help but look at Skeleton-face with suspicion... That dirty bastard.
Kinks and fetishes aside, the haunted house experience was pretty good. I do have to give it to the team at Fear Factory… even though they weren’t able to touch us due to level 2 restrictions, they still managed to make me pee a little. Unfortunately, there’s only so many times you can jump out of the dark and make loud noises before the novelty wears off.
Rating: 5/10 - If you’re into fear play, you’ll love this - especially at Level 1.
. . .
“Ooooh body painting.”
I had the body, all that was left to do was find some paint and artistic ability.
Baked level: I started referring to myself in third person which was odd enough before factoring in that I was alone.
I’m not sure what was higher, me or my expectations for this activity. My salt lamp was on, some relaxing lo-fi hip-hop beats were playing; this was going to be bliss. I laid down one of the flatmate’s old sheets (sorry bud) and stripped down to my unmentionables, only to realise the brushes and paints were still in the car. I made a mad dash through the rain to my car and back to get onto the task at hand, only to realise I’d left the brushes in the car. After a final run in the rain, I was finally ready to create a masterpiece.
Once that paintbrush touched my skin, I ceased to care what the painting turned out like. The feeling was euphoric. I sat there painting myself until the early hours of the morning. I can genuinely say I have never felt more beautiful than in that moment; I felt like I was glowing. When I took myself to the mirror to see the finished product, I wished I hadn’t. I could’ve been a child’s art piece from 7 Days’ ‘My Kid Could Draw That’ because I looked like a confusing mess.
It took three quarters of an hour to wash all the paint off… or so I thought. The next day someone pointed out that I had some blue paint behind my ear. I pretended to have no idea how it got there.
Rating: 9/10 – Lost a point for the admin of cleaning, but will definitely be doing it again.
. . .
“Meditation would be zen af I reckon”
The last time I meditated I felt myself die and my soul leave my body. I was sober. This was going to be interesting.
Baked level: I spent a concerning long time trying to decide what the colours of a sunrise would taste like
I had already experienced death and soul ascension by meditation once and I wasn’t looking to do it a second time. I decided to opt for a different form of meditation to limit the chances that I would. After doing some research, I decided to try some vocal toning. Vocal toning is the ancient practice of making sustained vowel sounds with your voice to vibrationally activate and heal the cells of your body and clear the body’s energy pathways. I found a 12-minute audio to follow along with and let the energy flow. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say it was the most enlightening 12 minutes of my life.
When the sound of my voice matched perfectly with that of the video, I swear I could see colours in my pitch-black room. Each vowel sound produced a different colour and taste in my mouth, but they all generated the same vibrating sensation deep within my chest. I couldn’t liken it to anything except having a vibrator embedded between your lungs and against your spine. It doesn’t sound pleasant, but I can assure you it was. When the 12-minutes were up my body felt completely rejuvenated, despite having gone through that ordeal at Family Planning earlier the same day. All I can say is thank you to the submitter, the experience was, as you put it, zen af.
Rating: 10/10 - I could do this every day for the rest of my life.
I sat outside and reflected on the days events as I smoked my fifth and final joint of the day.
My weed jar may have been empty but my heart was full because I had done what I set out to do.
I got high and did the things for those that couldn’t. I was The Trailblazer, the hero that literally no one asked for.