I Love Lucy and the Pothead Neighbors

The other day I answered the door to the mail lady, who needed a signature. She leaned in and took a wiff of me and grinned widely with an approving nod. I took a step back and thought HOLY COW SHE SMELLS LIKE POT! My mail lady's been smoking! IN HER MAIL TRUCK! But I realized my mistake when I shut the door. That smell was ME. What the ...? I wandered the house trying to figure out what was going on. And then took a lap outside the house. And as it turns out, our neighbors are growing pot. There've been a lot of clues to this over the years. The fact that their entire house is always surrounded by a pot-scented cloud, how they haul a lot of hydroponic trays the size of my car into their house, all the gardening tools they have stacked against the house while at the same time doing absolutely nothing with their yard... the list goes on.

And they were burning their discards from their cultivation; the stems, the seeds, the unsmokable leaves... And since there was an ever so helpful northern wind, all of that burning pot went directly into my bedroom window without passing Go!

I got a contact high in two seconds, but anyone who has ever drank with me knows I'm a lightweight. It took Alpha Man a little longer. Okay, a lot longer. But soon enough we were raiding the kitchen and laughing like loons over absolutely nothing.

Shortly there after we saw the flashing lights of a cop car on the street.

And that's when the paranoia set in.


But as it turns out, our neighbors had gotten all the other neighbors high too. But it also turns out the pot growers have their marijuana cards and were within their rights.

Just as I was within my rights of eating an entire box of double stuffed lemon Oreos. But what's not within my neighbor's right? Making it so my yoga pants are too tight. Which they are.

And I don't even do yoga! And now my mail lady thinks I'm a pothead!

Life's a bitch.

Signed Hungover Author in Tahoe...