Civil disobedience

darnold1975

Sentience, Scripture, and Southern Sass: Why Abortion Is Freedom

“If your righteousness requires my suffering, then your holiness is nothing but cruelty dressed in Sunday clothes.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Invoke the ancestors. Lord, this country has lost its mind. Let the smoke rise like a prayer and a warning. Call the ones who survived storms, men, laws, and the kind of sanctified hypocrisy that could curdle milk in August. Today we’re talking about abortion rights in this country. And I’m bringing every ounce of Southern sass, righteous fury, and generational truth you asked for.

When Roe v. Wade was overturned, it wasn’t just a political decision. It was a death sentence for mothers, daughters, nieces, cousins, and every woman who has ever had to decide about her own damn body. And the same Christians who holler “God’s will” like they’re auditioning for a revival tent, are the first ones who would sneak their daughters across state lines faster than a Pentecostal deacon running from a scandal.

Let’s tell the truth. They don’t want their daughters forced to carry a rapist’s baby. They want your daughters to. And they justify it with that tired line, “Well, if it’s in God’s will…” If God’s will was that clear, he’d send a notarized letter. But these folks cherry-pick scripture like they’re at a Golden Corral buffet. They’ll quote “Thou shalt not kill” while ignoring every verse where the Bible literally commands pregnancy termination under certain circumstances.

Bible Sources They Never Bring Up

  • Numbers 5:11–31-The “ordeal of bitter water,” where a priest gives a woman a potion to end a pregnancy if she conceived through adultery.
  • Hosea 9:14 -“Give them a miscarrying womb.”
  • Exodus 21:22–25 – A fetus is not treated as a person. Causing a miscarriage is a property crime, not murder.

If abortion is murder, then unplugging a brain-dead family member from life support should be prosecuted too. Because guess what? A fetus before sentience has no subjective experience. No awareness. No consciousness. No “personhood.” It is ethically equivalent to ending life support on someone who has already lost the ability to experience anything at all. But they don’t want to hear that. Because logic ain’t welcome in the Gospel of Ike Turner. Which is the version of Christianity where violence against women is excused, justified, and sanctified.

As someone who has been assaulted many times, I will say this with my whole chest. I would not carry my rapist’s baby. That child was not conceived in love. It was not wanted. It was not chosen. And it was not consensual.

And as an adopted child, I know the psychological toll of being rejected. My birth mother looked me in the eyes and said, “You were an inconvenience and you still are.” Had she chosen abortion, it would’ve spared me decades of emotional torment. Adoption is not the soft, rosy alternative they pretend it is. It is trauma wrapped in a bow.

Let’s talk about the 10-year-old girl in Ohio who was raped by a 27-year-old man. She became pregnant. Her state refused her an abortion. She had to flee to another state like a fugitive. A child. Not a woman. Not a mother. A baby forced to carry a baby.

The physical damage alone could have killed her. The psychological damage will echo for decades. And abortion isn’t covered by insurance. So, unless you’ve got $600–$2,000 lying around, you’re stuck. Cruelty disguised as morality.

Let me tell you something plain, loud, and with the kind of Southern truth that doesn’t need sweet tea to go down smooth. Legal abortions are safer than the desperate, back‑alley horrors women were forced into before Roe. A medical abortion performed by trained professionals is one of the safest procedures in modern healthcare. It’s safer than childbirth. Safer than dental surgery. And safer than pretending purity culture ever protected anybody. But when you take that option away, women don’t stop needing abortions. They just stop having safe ones. And history shows exactly what happens next with coat hangers, bleach, stairs, trauma, infection, and death. Women bleeding out alone in bathrooms because lawmakers wanted moral points instead of medical reality. Criminalizing abortion doesn’t save lives. It sends women back into the shadows where they die trying to save themselves.

WHY ABORTION MUST BE LEGAL 

1.  Rape and incest survivors deserve bodily autonomy. No child or adult should be forced to carry their trauma.

  1. Medical emergencies require immediate termination options. Ectopic pregnancies, sepsis, hemorrhaging where abortion saves lives.
  2. Fetuses without sentience are not persons.Neuroscience confirms this.
  3. People will always have sex. Morality does not override biology.
  4. Contraception fails. Even perfect use has failure rates.
  5. Forced birth increases poverty. The U.S. has the highest maternal mortality rate in the developed world.
  6. Adoption is not a cure-all. It is trauma for many children and mothers.
  7. Unwanted children suffer lifelong consequences. Emotional, financial, psychological.
  8. Criminalizing abortion criminalizes miscarriage. Women are already being investigated for spontaneous pregnancy loss.
  9. Healthcare decisions belong to patients, not politicians. Period.

And if you need credible references, try these:

  • Guttmacher Institute
  • CDC Maternal Mortality Reports
  • American Psychological Association
  • American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists
  • National Institute of Mental Health
  • Pew Research Center
  • The Lancet Medical Journal
  • WHO Reproductive Health Data

Light the charcoal again because this needs a second burn. Abortion is healthcare. Abortion is mercy. Abortion is autonomy. Abortion is survival. And anyone who claims it’s “God’s will” while secretly protecting their own daughters is not righteous. They’re cowardly. They’re hypocrites. They’re weaponizing religion to control women.

If Christians want to call abortion murder, then they better start arresting every family who ever unplugged a loved one from life support. But they won’t. Because deep down, they know the truth. Sentience is the line. Consciousness is the line. Human experience is the line. And forcing birth is not holiness. It is cruelty dressed in scripture.

I stand with every woman who has ever had to make this decision. I stand with every survivor who refuses to carry their trauma. I stand with every child who deserves a life chosen. Not forced. And I stand with you, Southern sass, survivor strength, and ancestral fire. May the ancestors walk with us as we fight for the right to our own bodies. May the smoke rise and carry our truth. May the next generation inherit freedom, not fear.

Affirmation: I honor my body, my story, and my right to choose. My autonomy is sacred. My voice is powerful. And my ancestors walk beside me.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Apparently Everything Is Communism Now

“When misinformation rises, let your ancestors steady your spirit and your sass sharpen your truth.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Let it crackle like your last nerve at Thanksgiving when Uncle Red-Hat started yelling about “Socialism Turning Us Into Communists!” Sprinkle the sage. Invoke the ancestors especially Big Mama, who survived segregation, three husbands, and that one church lady who kept stealing her potato salad recipe. Today, we are gather in the sacred, smoky glow of your living room m. To address the aggravation, frustration, and the spiritual constipation caused by folks who insist that socialism → democratic socialism → communism → gulags → the end of biscuits and freedom. The ancestors are already pacing. PawPaw whispered, “Lord give me strength.” And reached for his flask. And your great-aunt is clutching her pearls so hard they might turn into diamonds.

Let’s talk about the red-hat choir who believes any government program that doesn’t involve tax breaks for billionaires is “communism.” These are the same folks who cash Social Security checks. Use Medicare. Drive on publicly funded roads. Send their kids to public schools. And call the fire department when Earl deep-fries a turkey indoors. But the moment someone says, “Hey, maybe people shouldn’t die because they can’t afford insulin,” suddenly it’s, “Communism, Martha! Grab The Bible And The Bug-Out Bag!”

Pumpkin spice patriot, communism is not hiding behind your Kroger pharmacy waiting to jump out and seize your property. The ancestors are tired. Our spirit guides are tired. And even our pets are tired. It is emotionally exhausting watching people scream “Communism” at things that are literally not communism. It’s like watching someone confidently shout the wrong answers on Jeopardy. Or watching a toddler insist the moon is a cookie. Or watching your cat try to fight its own reflection. You want to help. You want to explain. But you also want to lay face-down on the floor and let the ancestors take you home.

Here’s the truth. Democratic socialism is not communism. Not historically. Not economically. Not ideologically. Not spiritually. Not even in the same group chat. Democratic socialism says, “Let’s keep democracy, elections, private businesses, and capitalism. But also make sure people don’t die because they can’t afford healthcare.” Communism says, “Let’s abolish private property. Centralize production. And run everything through the state.” These ideologies would not sit together at Thanksgiving. They wouldn’t even sit together at the DMV. Try telling that to someone who thinks “Karl Marx” is the name of a NASCAR driver.

11 Ways Socialism, Democratic Socialism, and Communism Are Not the Same Thing

1. Private property exists in socialism & democratic socialism. Not in communism. Your house? Yours. Your business? Yours. Your lawnmower? Still yours. Communism says, “The lawnmower belongs to the people.”

2. Democratic socialism requires elections. Communism does not. If you can vote for someone other than the ruling party, congratulations. That is not communism.

3. Socialism & democratic socialism use mixed economies. Communism uses central planning. One is capitalism with guardrails. The other is “the government decides how many shoes get made this year.”

4. Democratic socialism protects civil liberties. Communism historically restricts them. If you can complain about the government on Facebook without disappearing, that’s not communism.

5. Socialism & democratic socialism allow private businesses. Communism does not. Under socialism/democratic socialism, you can open a bakery. Under communism, the state owns the bakery, the flour, the ovens, and possibly the cats.

6. Democratic socialism focuses on social welfare. Communism focuses on class abolition. One says, “Let’s help people.” The other says, “Let’s restructure society from scratch.”

7. Socialism & democratic socialism keep markets. Communism eliminates them. If you can choose between Target and Walmart, you’re not in communism.

8. Democratic socialism works with capitalism. Communism replaces it. One is “Let’s fix the leaky roof.” The other is “Let’s burn the house down and rebuild it.”

9. Socialism & democratic socialism allow wealth differences. Communism seeks to eliminate them. Jeff Bezos still exists under socialism. Under communism, Jeff becomes “Citizen Jeff, warehouse worker.”

10. Democratic socialism preserves individual rights. Communism prioritizes collective control. One says, “You have rights.” The other says, “We’ll let you know what your rights are after the meeting.”

11. Socialism & democratic socialism operate within democratic frameworks. Communism does not. One keeps elections, courts, and civil liberties. The other historically centralizes power in the state.

So, the next time someone looks you dead in the eye usually while wearing a shirt with an eagle, a flag, and a Bible all photoshopped together and says, “Socialism leads to communism!” I want you to pause. Take a breath. Let the sage smoke swirl around your head like you’re summoning every ancestor who ever had to explain something obvious to someone determined to misunderstand it. Then smile. Not a regular smile. A Southern smile. The kind that says, “Bless your heart,” without ever using the words. And respond, gently but firmly by saying, “If socialism leads to communism, then your Social Security check is a gateway drug.”Watch their face do that little twitch. You know the one. The twitch that means their brain is trying to reboot like an old Dell computer from 1998.

Then continue. Because this is your moment. “If democratic socialism leads to communism, then your Medicare card is a communist passport. Your public school is a Marxist training camp. And the fire department that saved Earl’s house when he deep-fried that turkey indoors? That’s a taxpayer-funded socialist miracle.”

Let it sink in. Let the silence marinate like chicken in buttermilk. Because you are not arguing with facts. You are arguing with feelings dressed up as fear. Sprinkled with misinformation. Wrapped in Facebook memes. And deep-fried in cable news. 

And you have survived far worse. You have survived humidity so thick it feels like soup. You have survived hurricanes, power outages, and men who say, “I’ll fix it later.” You have survived PTA meetings, school fundraisers, and children who wait until 10 PM to tell you they need poster board for a project due tomorrow. You can survive this conversation.

So, walk away. Let the charcoal crackle behind you like applause. Let the ancestors cackle like they’re watching a soap opera. Let your spirit guides fan you with palm leaves and whisper, “You did good, baby.” Because trying to have a conversation with people who are willfully ignorant, are usually the very ones who ate boogers and glue during their childhood. And never outgrew those behaviors.

Because we, at This Puzzled Life, are armed with humor, truth, and the kind of ancestral backup that could move mountains. And when misinformation rises, you rise higher. Mic dropped. Mic shattered. Mic reincarnated as a wiser mic. Thanks for reading! What other political nonsense would you like for me to address?

Affirmation: I speak truth with humor, courage, and ancestral backup. I am unshaken. Unbothered. And fully hydrated.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

No Kings: We Rise Loud. We Rise Messy. We Rise Anyway.

“I don’t need a crown to know my worth. I’ve survived too much to bow now.”

-This Puzzled Life, Patron Saint of Showing Up Anyway

 Light the charcoal, because apparently the nation has decided we’re doing this again. Another No Kings Protest. Another day where half the country shows up with handmade signs. The other half shows up with folding chairs, and everyone collectively agrees that monarchy is for fairy tales, not for a country where we can’t even agree on how to pronounce “pecan.”

I woke up this morning to the sound of my neighbor yelling, “Who took my sharpie?!” Which is how you know democracy is alive and well in the Deep South. Nothing says civic engagement like a grown man in pajama pants sprinting across the yard holding a poster board that says, “No Crowns, Just Accountability.” Bless it. 

Every No Kings protest starts the same way. Someone burns the first batch of hot dogs. Someone else insists they “know a shortcut.” And a third person is already crying because they forgot sunscreen and emotional stability at home. Meanwhile, I’m in the kitchen trying to pack snacks like I’m preparing for a Category 5 hurricane instead of a march. Because if there’s one thing I know about Southern protests, it is that you will get hungry and sweaty. And someone will absolutely try to hand you a pamphlet you did not ask for.

We arrive at the protest. Immediately I’m hit with the smell of sunscreen and determination. And at least three people who definitely pregamed with boxed wine. There’s always one person with a megaphone who has no business having a megaphone. Today it’s a woman named Sheila who keeps yelling, “NO KINGS. NO CROWNS. NO NONSENSE.” Even though she’s wearing a Burger King paper crown she claims is “ironic.” Sure, Sheila. Sure.

Then there’s the guy who brought a drum. There is always a drum. And he always hits it off‑beat like he’s trying to summon democracy from the dead. But the signs. Oh, the signs. They’re the emotional core of the whole thing:

  • “NO KINGS. WE ALREADY HAVE ENOUGH FAMILY DRAMA.”
  • “DEMOCRACY: MESSY BUT MINE.”
  • “I’M JUST HERE BECAUSE MY THERAPIST SAID, ‘USE YOUR OUTSIDE VOICE.’”

I saw one that said, “NO KINGS. NO GODS. JUST VOTERS.” And I swear I felt my ancestors nod.

Somewhere between the chanting, sweating and the existential dread, it hits me. We’re not out here because it’s fun. We’re out here because we’re tired. Tired of being talked over. Tired of being dismissed. Tired of watching people in power act like the rest of us are NPCs in their personal video game.

We’re out here because we know what silence costs. We’re out here because someone has to be loud. We’re out here because our kids deserve better than whatever this political Jenga tower is.

At one point, a man tripped over a cooler and yelled, “This is why we can’t have a king. We can’t even have a cordless microphone.” A toddler held up a sign that said “NO” because that’s all they could write. And honestly it was the most accurate message of the day. When the wind blew everyone’s posters backward, we all looked like we were protesting ourselves. Which honestly felt spiritually correct. There is nothing quite as unintentionally hilarious as a conservative Christian explaining the world to you with the confidence of someone who has never once questioned their own Wi‑Fi password.

These are the same folks who will look you dead in the eye and say things like:

  • “We don’t believe in kings.” While simultaneously worshipping any man with a microphone and a Bible verse taped to his podium.
  • “We’re persecuted.” While standing in a Hobby Lobby the size of a small airport.
  • “We’re just defending traditional values.” Which apparently include casseroles, judgment, and pretending not to see their own family drama.

They say it all with the sincerity of a toddler handing you a drawing of a dinosaur that looks like a potato. They mean well. They just don’t land the plane.

My personal favorite is when they try to explain why they’re against something they’ve never actually experienced. “You know, I just don’t agree with that lifestyle.” Which lifestyle, Brenda? The one you saw on a Facebook meme posted by a woman named “Patriots4Jesus1776?” Or the one you’ve never actually talked to a real human about?

And then there’s the classic, “I’m not judging, I’m just saying.” If you have to announce you’re not judging, you’re already halfway to the potluck with a casserole dish full of judgment and shredded cheese.

But the funniest part that makes me laugh so hard I need to sit down is how they always think they’re delivering some profound truth. Like they’re dropping wisdom from Mount Sinai when really they’re just repeating something their cousin Earl said at Thanksgiving between bites of deviled eggs.

So, here’s the thing, y’all. We don’t need crowns. We don’t need thrones. And we sure don’t need anybody trying to cosplay as royalty in a country that can barely keep the Wi‑Fi stable during a thunderstorm. We’ve got our voices. We’ve got our people. We’ve got our stubborn, sweaty, snack‑powered determination. And if anybody’s still confused about where we stand? We stand right here loud. Unbothered. Unbowed. And reminding the nation that the only thing we kneel for is tying our shoes.

By the end of the day, my feet hurt. And my soul felt like it had been wrung out like a dish rag. But the charcoal was still warm. The people were still loud. And the message was still clear.  No kings. No crowns. No giving up.

We may be messy, sweaty, snack‑dependent chaos gremlins. But we show up. We show up for each other. We show up for the future. We show up because silence is a luxury we don’t have. And we’ll keep showing up with charcoal lit. Signs crooked. Hearts wide open until the message sticks.

We joke about protesting like it’s America’s new weekend sport. But the truth underneath isn’t funny at all. We’re living through corruption stacked sky‑high. Child‑abuse coverups that should’ve shattered entire systems. Foreign intelligence games happening in plain sight. ICE acting like a secret police force. Free speech under attack. Minority communities scapegoated on repeat. Billionaires treating democracy like a clearance sale. And someone out here fantasizing about the East Wing like it’s a tyrant starter kit.

And the loudest danger of all is White Nationalism. It’s cruelty dressed up as Christianity. Cheered on by conservative Christians who swear it’s holy because someone slapped Jesus’ name on it. We laugh to stay human. But we protest because the danger is real. Thanks for reading! There Are No Kings In America!

Affirmation: Today I stand loud, steady, and unshakeable. I honor my voice, my boundaries, and my fire. I refuse to shrink for anyone who benefits from my silence. I rise because I can, and I keep rising because I’m built for more than fear.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

A Life Too Bright for Silence: Honoring Alex Pretti

“Some people leave footprints. Alex left constellations.”

—This Puzzled Life

 Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Grab your protest sign and a cup of coffee. Because if you live in the Deep South like I do, grief doesn’t just arrive. It sweats through your clothes and fogs up your glasses before breakfast.

Before I knew his name. Before I knew the details that would punch me right in the chest, Alex Pretti reached me. All the way down here where I’m surrounded by red as far as the eye can see. And when a story travels that far and hits that hard, you know it’s not just news. It’s a wake‑up call. It’s a “Lord, give me strength” moment.

I didn’t know Alex personally. But the kind of man he was? You could feel it. He was one of those people whose light didn’t ask permission. It just showed up, loud and warm and human. The kind of man who loved deeply, laughed easily, and carried a softness this world doesn’t always know what to do with. A man who deserved to grow old, to be safe, to be held by a country he believed in.

However, an ICE agent took his life. Another name added to a list no one should ever be on. And here I am, a radical left lesbian mom in Mississippi, suddenly out in the streets protesting because a man I never met had his life taken by a system that keeps insisting it’s “protecting” us while leaving families shattered in its reality.

Alex was the kind of man who felt everything at full volume. He cared deeply. He believed people deserved second chances. Even when he rarely gave himself one. He was the friend who showed up with snacks, unsolicited advice, and a chaotic plan that somehow always worked out. He was the man who apologized to furniture when he bumped into it. The man who hugged like he meant it. Said everything with his full chest. And had a softness, that humanity, is exactly what makes his loss so difficult. When I learned that Alex had been shot by an ICE agent, something inside me cracked. Not because it was surprising. Even though it was. But because it was familiar. Too familiar.

Another life taken. Another family grieving. Another official statement full of phrases like “self-defense” and “ongoing investigation.” Another community left holding the weight of a story that should never have happened.

Alex wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t a danger. He wasn’t a headline. He was a man. A son. A friend. A human being who deserved dignity, safety, and a future. And here’s the part that keeps making tears well up in my eyes. We never met. Our lives never crossed. But somehow his light still reached me. Where people like me are used to feeling outnumbered, unheard, and underestimated. Your story landed right in the middle of my heart like a truth I didn’t know I needed. Your life touched a stranger hundreds of miles away. Your death shook a community you never met. Your name pulled me into the streets to protest because what happened to you was wrong, and silence would’ve been its own kind of violence.

We had the only thing we ever needed in common. We were both Americans who still loved this country. All the colors of the rainbow. Who believed in equality for all. And who loves and respects our constitution. Not blindly, but bravely. Not the sanitized version. Not the version politicians slip out when they want applause.

We loved the real country. The one made of people, not power. The one made of communities, not cruelty. The one that’s worth fighting for because it’s ours, even when it breaks our hearts. You loved this place enough to believe in its promise. And I love it enough to protest the systems that stole you from it.

When I speak Alex’s name, I think of the way he lived. I think of his light and his laugh. The kind that made strangers smile. I think of his hope for our neighbors and country. The kind that refused to dim. I think of his softness. The kind that made people feel safe.

Alex taught me that love doesn’t have to be perfect to be real. He taught me that vulnerability is an act of courage. He taught me that showing up messy, flawed,  and human is enough. You and me strangers on paper. Yet connected in purpose. Your life touched mine, and now your name lives in my throat every time I show up with a sign, a voice, and a righteous amount of Southern gay attitude.

I wish your story ended differently. I wish this country loved you back the way you loved it. Your light didn’t go out. It spread. It reached a queer mom in Mississippi who refuses to be quiet. It reached a community that refuses to forget. It reached people who are tired of watching the same system break the same bodies and call it “order.”

And if ICE, the state, or anyone else wants to know why I’m out here protesting, yelling, writing, and refusing to sit down, the answer is simple. Because Alex Pretti and Renee Good deserved to grow old.Because loving this country means fighting the parts of it that keep killing people. Because silence is not patriotism. Accountability is. And because The United States of America’s Constitution specifically states, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that ALL men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” BECAUSE IN THIS COUNTRY, THERE ARE NO KINGS!

And yes, I’ll still make jokes, because grief and humor are cousins in my family. But don’t get it twisted. The fire is real.

Your story changed me. Your name will not fade. And if this country ever gets better, it’ll be because of people like you. And the people who refuse to stop saying your name. Thanks for reading! And never stay quiet.

Affirmation: I honor the fallen by fighting like hell for the living. And by keeping my sense of humor, because the revolution needs snacks and sarcasm.

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

The Legend Of 420

“As a part of a balanced breakfast on 4/20, don’t forget to eat your Weedies!”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! Hello, everyone and Happy 420! It’s National Smokeout Day! I’m blazing this fine morning. What about you? This is the second best day of the year for me. Today, I want to tell you about the legend of 4/20.

In 1971, five students in San Rafael, California who went to San Rafael High School coined the term as part of the search for an abandoned cannabis crop. It was based on a treasure map made by the grower. And They called themselves the Waldos because their designated hang-out spot was a wall outside of the school. And 4:20 pm was the meeting time. There were several failed attempts to find the crop. But the phrase evolved into a code word that the teens referred to for smoking cannabis.

In 1991 High Times Magazine reported that the term “420” referred to a police code which supposedly identified that they had spotted an individual or individuals smoking marijuana. However, this was an incorrect version of where the legend originated. In 1998, there was another story that stated that “Waldo” Reddis became a roadie for the Grateful Dead, in which, 4:20 pm was yet also designated time for smoking marijuana.

4/20 has become an international cannabis culture holiday. It is actually considered half celebration and half call to action. And global movements like this cannot be stopped. Users protest in civil disobedience by gathering in public to smoke at 4:20 pm. As cannabis continues to be decriminalized and legalized worldwide, a cannabis activist Steve DeAngelo states “even if our activists work were complete, 420 morphs from a statement of conscience to a celebration of victory, a celebration of our amazing connection with this plant” which “will always be worthy of celebration.”

In North America major observances have been held at locations that include:

  • New York City: Washington Square Park (Manhattan)
  • Boston: Boston Common
  • San Francisco: “Hippie Hill” in Golden Gate Park
  • Santa Cruz: Porter College at University of California, Santa Cruz
  • Washington, D.C.: National Mall, United States Capitol
  • Vancouver: The Vancouver Art Gallery and Sunset Beach
  • Montréal: Le Mont Royal George-Étienne Cartier Monument
  • Denver: Civic Center Park
  • Ottawa: Parliament Hill and Major’s Hill Park
  • Edmonton: The Alberta Legislature Building
  • Boulder: Campus of the University of Colorado Boulder
  • Toronto: Nathan Phillips Square and Yonge-Dundas Square
  • Berkeley: Campus of University of California, Berkeley on the Memorial Glade
  • Mexico City: Mexican Senate under the slogan Platon 420.
  • Ann Arbor: Hash Bash
  • St. Louis, Missouri: Loop 420 Fest at Delmar Loop
  • And many other locations.

I was lucky to be able to attend the Cannabis Cup in Denver one year. They gave out free dabs in several places. Cannabis culture businesses had booths about their products. The ongoing Cannabis Cup competition for best grown strains. Lectures about current legislation and oh so many other things. There were lines a mile long just to get into the event. But unlike events that consist of drunk rednecks who want to fight about everything, there were no fights among the very large gathering of 60,000 people. We were all high and had the munchies and dry mouth by the time we walked through the gates. The atmosphere was like heaven for me. It was amazing! Afterwards, Mel and I went to local dispensaries to gather more goodies. Who did I run into? Snoop Dogg. He was going to be performing at the Cannabis Cup later that day. I was completely starstruck. Such an easy going, chill guy. I love him and his music!

No matter where you may be located, 420 is a day where the liberation of enjoying such a beautiful plant can occur. If you are like me, I will start planning my own celebration for this wonderful event in my own casa. I have my music picked out. My different strains of weed and grinder are readily available. Movies about marijuana and cannabis culture are listed to watch. Pipes freshly cleaned. Concentrates close at hand. Blunts and cones (not boobies) prepared. And plenty of junk food and grills warming up for the munchies. God Bless the plant and the United States of 420!

“Happy 420, enjoy prison when they do a Happy 4/21 National Drug Test Day!”

-Unknown

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife 

darnold1975

It’s 420 Eve!

“Happy 420 Eve to those who celebrate. Don’t forget to leave your grinders out before bed so that Snoop Dogg can come down your chimney and roll you a joint.”

-Morganwizard

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Happy 420 Eve! Today is all about wrapping up preparations for 420. I hope you’ve got all your products bought and ready. I know that I’m ready and waiting for my own visit from Snoop Dogg. And I’ll definitely have some of his songs on my playlist waiting in tow.

If you haven’t already bought your cannabis for 420, you have a few more hours for some last minute shopping adventures. Most dispensaries have already been in full swing with sales for the last couple of weeks. And by now their products have been picked over. But someone will always have cannabis products readily available.

I have my concentrates ready for my hourly hard hitting dabs. I’m loving my song selections. Food and friends are lined up. Movies have been selected. Pipes are cleaned. Strains have been selected. Grinders are cleaned and ready for action. And so are my silicone dabbing set resembling a nectar collector. And there is always a copy of High Times Magazine to enjoy some much needed reading on product and strain reviews. Even if they are from several years back. I am beyond excited! If you cannot attend a cannabis smoke out event, creating your own 420 at home can be just as enjoyable. And I am lit already!

Some of my personal favorite strains are Mike Tyson’s Knockout, Apple Tart and Comatose. They are fire! Don’t let these names fool you. These strains are very strong. And are topping out in the 25-30% THC. For my concentration, Ole Bliss budder is a favorite as well as some unhinged shatter. There is only one more celebration that takes precedence over this day for me. Gay Pride! I’ll also be celebrating Pride with some pride worthy strain names. That will be revealed later. A close third place is 710 which is the day that we as concentrate users (“oil heads”) dab all day long.

As I prepare for Santa Snoop, I lay out a blunt wrap, rolling papers or a cone. Some concentrate to be mixed in with flowers or to smear on a blunt wrap. And it will all be rolled into one luxurious and very strong blunt that will have you forgetting where to find the cheetos and how to get there. This year 420 falls on Easter. I will eat one boiled egg. And then hide my painted red potatoes for the easter potato hunt. The reason I’m using potatoes is because I can’t afford an entire dozen eggs anymore. And I will thank Jesus once again for this beautiful plant and the bounty before me.

Whatever you choose to do for 420, make it a special event where everyone who’s invited is able to chill and be happy along with you. If you are alone, “Do you boo-boo!” Because I will certainly be doing me. I will be posting pictures on both my This Puzzled Life Facebook, Instagram, Bluesky, and Tumblr accounts. If you want, subscribe to this blog and follow me on those accounts so that you never miss a blog that I post. Now I am going to spend a little time with Snoop Dogg and Willie Nelson. Happy 420 Eve Everyone!

 “If you ever miss 4:20, just wait until 4:22. Because 4:22 is 4:20, too.”

-Ricky Williams

***Don’t forget to watch the video!***

#Thispuzzledlife 

darnold1975

Cannabis Smoking Etiquette

“A friend with weed is a friend indeed. A friend who shares is a friend who cares.”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Okie dokie! I’ve provided some information on basic things that need to be considered before using cannabis products. As time keeps creeping closer to 420, I thought that I would explain one more thing, smoking etiquette.

Some people have no idea that there is a certain way to conduct your smoking sesh with friends. If you are by yourself, then do what you want. The last thing you want, though, is to be smoking at someone else’s house because of an invite and be the only one in the sesh who doesn’t know what they’re doing. The invite is ruined and you probably won’t get another one. You don’t have to be perfect. Just know the basics and you’ll pick up on the rest.

The main thing to remember is that the sesh is about respect, consideration, and ensuring that everyone has a good time. 

  1. Be warm and welcoming. Respect people’s boundaries. Do NOT pressure anyone who does not want to participate. Do NOT blow smoke in someone’s face or on pets. That is being an asshole. And I would kick you out of my circle.
  2. Make sure your equipment is clean and so are your surroundings. No one wants to smoke out of a crusty bong with stale water. If using glass mix some 90% alcohol with salt. The salt will act as a scrubber to get the crusties and resin off. If you are using a pipe or silicone, leave it in the alcohol for about 10 minutes. Then use a toothbrush to get off the remaining residue. You might have to do this again during the sesh depending on how thick the resin gets while smoking.
  3. Always contribute to the mix. Take cannabis with you and give it to the person who’s running the circle. You don’t have to bring a bunch. Just bring something. Or ask to help provide drinks and snacks. Those munchies are angry little beasts that demand to be fed.
  4. Inform other participants the name of the strain you brought. It’s just a common courtesy to let someone know what they’re consuming.
  5. Respect the roller or packer. Do NOT criticize what the results of their rolling looks like. You were invited and can be uninvited really quickly.
  6. Do Not smoke or allow someone to smoke when they are sick. No one wants germs.
  7. Do Not stick the joint or blunt far in your mouth. You are there to smoke it, not make out with it.
  8. The term “Puff, Puff, Pass” actually has meaning. Take two puffs and pass in the direction of the circle. No one in the circle likes a smoker who bogarts. Plus, the circle moves harmoniously.

“Being misunderstood doesn’t mean you’re the issue…sometimes it’s the societal lens that needs cleaning.”

-Bob Marley

  1. If you are passing a bowl, DO NOT light the entire bowl like when you are at home. Everyone enjoys tasting the fresh green. Light only small corners or areas.
  2. Regardless of what friend’s house you might go to, respect their property and other family members. You are the guest, not the warden or at a frat party. If they ask you not to smoke in certain areas, respect their wishes. If they have small children or a spouse that is sleeping, be mindful of noise levels.
  3. If you are a new smoker, know your limit. If you tell them that you want to take a break. Anyone who knows etiquette, will respect your decisions without badgering you. Plus, no one wants a slobbering idiot who overindulges.
  4. And last but not least, always pass to the left. It’s just a stoner’s tradition.

I hope that you now feel a little more prepared for the glorious day of 4/20. Cannabis is about being chill. It’s not about creating unnecessary, alcohol induced “redneck drama”. Laugh and have fun. But don’t get ridiculous. Some of these very simple reminders can make the smoke sesh so much more enjoyable. And they’ll want to invite you back. The countdown to 4/20 is on! Thanks for reading! 

“Society has unfairly labeled stoners without understanding the depth behind the smoke.”

-Carl Sagan

#Thispuzzledlife