mental health

darnold1975

International Overdose Awareness Day: The Day We Stop Pretending Willpower Is Medicine

“Shame has never saved a life. Compassion has. And still can.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Today, we’re not just cleansing the house. We’re cleansing the collective delusion that addiction is a moral failing. The sage is smoking like it’s trying to file a worker’s comp claim. The charcoal is popping like it’s gossiping about the neighbors. And I’m standing in the kitchen with the kind of determination usually reserved for Southern women who’ve had enough.

Piper struts in first.Tail high. Eyes narrowed. And a clipboard already out like she’s conducting a federal audit.

Piper: “Before we begin. I need to know if this is a cleansing ritual, a public dragging, or a memorial service. My paperwork differs.”

Me: “All three. It’s International Overdose Awareness Day. And I’m about to educate the masses.”

Coco barrels in next. She’s breathing heavily like she just ran a marathon but actually just walked from the living room.

Coco: “Is this about the humans who say addiction is willpower? And overdose is a moral collapse? I once ate an entire rotisserie chicken while sleepwalking. Explain that with willpower.”

Tinkerbell descends from the top of the fridge like a Victorian ghost who died of judgment.

Tinkerbell: “If willpower cured anything, half this household would stop doomscrolling at 2 AM. And the other half would stop emotionally eating Cheez-Its.”

Me: “Exactly. We’re dragging ignorance today.”

Piper adjusts her glasses. The glasses she does not need and sighs.

Piper: “I’ll prepare the minutes. This meeting is already chaotic.”

International Overdose Awareness Day started in 2001 as a remembrance event at a Salvation Army needle exchange in Melbourne, Australia. It was created to honor those lost. Reduce stigma around overdose. And to push the world to stop treating overdose like a shameful secret instead of a public health crisis. And let me say this plainly, with all the Southern sweetness of a peach cobbler baked in righteous fury, “Addiction and overdose are not moral issues.” And it’s not about willpower.

The next time you have diarrhea, keep in mind that it’s just willpower. Sit there with a Bible verse and see if the situation resolves itself. Let me know how that works out. That’s how ludicrous that argument is.

People don’t become addicts because they’re weak, sinful, lazy, or lacking character. Many addicts die wanting anything in life other than to be an addict. They die fighting. They die trying. They die hoping. But some folks, including people in my own family, love to say, “Addiction is about willpower.” It never has been. It never will be.

I’ve been an addict. I’ve been a professional treating addicts. I’ve buried friends. I’ve buried family. Not once have I judged them for their struggle. But the hypocrites in my life? The ones who claim moral superiority while ingesting alcohol at a rate that Pete Hegseth and Kash Patel struggle to keep up with? Hypocrite, please.

Overdose is an unfortunate part of addiction. Whether it’s chemicals, behaviors, or the slow-motion self-destruction people pretend “doesn’t count.” Because it’s socially acceptable. So how about we stop demonizing people who overdose while absolving ourselves of our own harmful, numbing, escapist overdoses?

If we’re being honest, some folks overdose on alcohol, self-righteousness, denial, Amazon Prime, gossip, rage, food, religion, and control. But somehow that doesn’t get labeled as a moral failure. Funny how selective morality works.

And here’s the truth that makes some folks squirm like they sat on a church pew with a splinter. Overdose doesn’t happen because someone is weak. It happens because someone is human. Humans who loved. Humans who tried. Humans who fought battles most people couldn’t survive for five minutes. Humans who deserved compassion instead of commentary.

But every year, we lose more people. Not because they were broken. But because the world still treats addiction and overdose like a character flaw instead of a medical condition. We lose them because shame is louder than science. Because judgment is easier than empathy. Because some folks would rather cling to their superiority complex than admit they don’t know a damn thing about what they’re talking about.

So on International Overdose Awareness Day, I’m lighting this charcoal. Sprinkling this sage. And saying this with my whole chest, “Stop demonizing the people who are drowning while you’re out here drinking from your own poison well. Stop pretending your socially acceptable overdoses are any less destructive just because they come with a cute, monogrammed tumbler or a Bible verse slapped on top. Stop acting like overdose is a choice when half the people judging can’t even choose to drink water or go to bed on time. And most importantly, start honoring the people we’ve lost by refusing to let stigma bury the living.

The dead deserve dignity. The living deserve compassion. And the ignorant deserve education. Loud, unapologetic, Southern‑fried education. Today, I’m choosing truth over tradition. Compassion over comfort. And humanity over hypocrisy. If that makes some folks uncomfortable? Good. Growth never happens in comfort. And comfort has never saved a single life. But truth might. Compassion might. You might. Thanks for reading! Share this with others.

 Affirmation: I honor the lives lost. Uplift the living. And refuse to let stigma speak louder than truth.

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

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Budtender Moment: Melon Bar Strain Review

“I don’t rise and shine. I spark and vibe.”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, we’re talking about a strain so unserious, so fruity, so spiritually chaotic that it walked into my house, looked around, and said, “Oh, y’all don’t have snacks? Tragic.”

Melon Bar didn’t just enter my life. It burst in like a Southern auntie wearing a sundress, hoop earrings, and a personal vendetta against humidity. The moment I cracked the jar, the aroma hit me with the exact energy of a church lady saying, “I brought a little something,” and then unveiling a dessert that could end generational curses.

This strain smells like someone blended cantaloupe, honeydew, and the kind of optimism I only feel after paying a bill early. It’s fruity, creamy, and suspiciously cheerful like a popsicle that knows too much.

Melon Bar is a cross between Watermelon Zkittlez × Ice Cream Cake, which explains why it tastes like a fruit salad that went to private school. Watermelon Zkittlez brings the tropical sweetness, Ice Cream Cake brings the creamy calm, and together they create a hybrid that feels like a beach vacation you didn’t have to plan. The flavor? Imagine a melon smoothie that got its tax return. Imagine a fruit bar that discovered therapy. Imagine a Jolly Rancher that learned boundaries. That’s Melon Bar.

The effects hit like a warm breeze telling you to unclench your jaw, drink some water, and stop arguing with people who don’t even recycle. It’s uplifting without being chaotic, relaxing without turning you into a couch fossil. Perfect for cleaning your house, reorganizing your life, or staring at your cat like they’re the reincarnation of a wise forest spirit.

Top terpenes in this strain include Limonene, Myrcene, and Caryophyllene, which is basically the Holy Trinity of “I’m chill, but I still have things to do.” Patients report relief from stress, mood swings, tension, and that specific kind of irritability that comes from dealing with humans.

Melon Bar is the strain you smoke when you want to feel like a fruity cloud drifting through your responsibilities with grace, humor, and a snack in your hand. It’s sweet, it’s silly, and it hits like a popsicle that believes in your potential.

Please keep in mind that each grow will be different and the flower’s effects will differ depending on which region of the country that the plant is grown. Thanks for reading! Keep blazin.’

Affirmation:  “I am calm, collected, and spiritually lifted, floating through life like a gummy that kicked in early.”

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

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Badass Affirmations For Today’s Gen X Legends

“I am one minor inconvenience away from becoming a cryptid who lives in the woods and only appears to steal Wi-Fi.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. If we Gen Xers are gonna summon our inner Badass Affirmations, we need fire, smoke, and at least one neighbor peeking over the fence wondering if we’re starting a cookout or an exorcism. (Honestly, could be both. Depends on the day and the humidity.)

Listen, Gen Xers. We are the generation that survived lead paint, lawn darts, and riding in the back of pickup trucks at 70 mph. And parents who thought “therapy” was a sign of demonic possession. We are the middle children of America. The duct tape holding this country together. While Boomers argue on Facebook. Ok, I do argue on Facebook too. And Millennials cry into their oat milk. And now? Now we’re supposed to “affirm” ourselves like we’re soft, gentle beings who believe the universe is listening. Well, the universe is listening. But she’s got AirPods in. And she’s halfway through a true crime podcast.

So, today’s affirmations are not soft. They’re not gentle. They’re not written in pastel fonts with butterflies. No ma’am. These are Badass Affirmations for Today’s Gen Xers. They are forged in sarcasm. Raised on MTV. And baptized in the holy waters of “I don’t have time for this mess.” And yes, we’re doing it with Southern sass. Queer sparkle. And a healthy side-eye toward the conservative Christians. Who, ironically, swear Jesus hates everything except casseroles and Hobby Lobby.

Let us begin with the First Commandment of Gen X Badassery.

1. Thou shalt not let anyone born after 1995 tell you how to live.

If a 22-year-old tries to explain “self-care” to you, simply nod. Smile. And remember you once moisturized with St. Ives Apricot Scrub and survived.

2. Thou shalt embrace the chaos.

We are the generation that watched our parents scream about Satanic Panic while we listened to Madonna and played Dungeons & Dragons. Chaos is our birthright. We don’t run from it. We season it. Fry it. And serve it with sweet tea.

3. Thou shalt not be guilt-tripped by hypocrites.

If someone clutching a Bible tries to shame you for existing, remind them Jesus hung out with prostitutes, tax collectors, and fishermen. Not HOA presidents. And if they still don’t get it, bless their heart and move on. (Bless their heart = Southern for “I hope your casserole burns.”)

4. Thou shalt affirm thyself with the confidence of a drag queen at a Baptist potluck.

You are not too old. You are not too tired. You are not too anything. You are a Gen Xer. We were forged in sarcasm. Fueled by caffeine. And held together by ibuprofen and spite.

5. Thou shalt remember that Gen X invented minding your business.

We walked home alone after school. We raised ourselves on microwaved pizza rolls. We learned to fix emotional trauma with sarcasm and a mixtape. We do not need Karen from church telling us how to parent, pray, or process our trauma.

6. Thou shalt embrace your gay sass, even if your mee-maw still calls it “your little personality.”

Honey, shine. Shimmer. Sparkle like a disco ball at a revival tent. If they don’t like it, they can go read Leviticus and leave you alone.

7. Thou shalt affirm your worth even when your back pops like bubble wrap every time you stand up.

You are still hot. You are still powerful. You are still the generation that survived dial-up internet. You can survive anything.

So, light the charcoal. Gen X is not just for ambiance. But as a spiritual act of rebellion. Let that smoke rise like our collective patience leaving our bodies every time someone under 30 says, “OK boomer.” And we have to remind them we are the generation that invented eye‑rolling, sarcasm, and emotional detachment as a coping mechanism.

Stand tall in your Crocs. Your orthopedic inserts. Your “I swear I used to be fun” hoodie. Lift your chin with the confidence of someone who survived dial‑up, Reaganomics, and parents who thought seatbelts were “optional suggestions.” Declare your affirmations with the boldness of a queer Southerner walking into a conservative church potluck carrying a rainbow Jell‑O mold and a smile that says, “Yes, Brenda, I am the agenda.”

Let your voice boom like a Baptist preacher who just found out the choir director is gay (again). Let your spirit shine like Aqua Net on prom night. Let your boundaries be firmer than your lower back when it locks up at 6 a.m. for no reason.

Because you, my darling Gen X legend, are a walking contradiction of grit, glitter, trauma, triumph, sarcasm, and survival. You are the generation that raised yourself. Therapized yourself. Caffeinated yourself. And resurrected yourself more times than Jesus’ PR team could keep up with.

You are the duct tape holding this country together. You are the middle child of America who learned to thrive in chaos. You are the badass who can say “bless your heart” with 47 different meanings. And all of them legally binding.

And if anyone tries to dim your shine or question your worth or tell you you’re “too old” for something, smile sweetly. Take a deep breath. Channel your ancestors. Your inner drag queen. Your inner grunge‑era rage. And your inner Southern auntie who keeps a flask in her purse. Then say, with holy conviction, “I survived the 80s, the 90s, and three decades of other people’s nonsense. I am not the one.”

Now go forth, Gen X. Be bold. Be loud. Be unbothered. Be the badass affirmation the world needs. And may your charcoal always light on the first try. Thanks for reading! Does this blog feel “right on the money” for our generation?

Affirmation: I am a Gen X masterpiece. I’m sarcastically blessed. Spiritually moisturized. And too seasoned to be shaken by amateurs.

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

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Budtender Moment: Donutz Strain Review

“Some strains hit like a freight train. Donutz hits like a bakery door opening at 6 a.m. It is warm, sweet, and full of promise.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Today we’re stepping into the pastry case of the cannabis gods. And Donutz is the strain that shows up glazed. Iced. And ready to testify.

Donutz is a balanced hybrid. It’s a cross between Gelato × Zkittlez. Gelato is a cross between  Sunset Sherbet × Thin Mint GSC. Zkittlez is a cross between Grape Ape × Grapefruit. This strain is not too couch‑locking. And not too sky‑rocketing. It’s just the right kind of “I can still function but also don’t ask me to do math” middle ground. It’s the strain you reach for when you want sweetness without chaos. Calm without sedation. And vibes without the existential spiral. This is basically the cannabis version of a family reunion where everyone brought a casserole and not a single one disappointed.

Donutz tastes like somebody melted a box of fruit‑glazed pastries in the backseat of a warm car in the best possible way. It has the flavors of sweet berry icing, vanilla dough, light citrus drizzle, and a warm, creamy finish that feels like a hug from a Southern auntie who calls everyone “baby.” It’s dessert-forward without being sticky. Loud without being obnoxious. And smooth enough to make you close your eyes on the exhale.

Major terpenes are Limonene, Caryophyllene, and Linalool. Together they create a terpene trio that says, “You’re safe. You’re held. And also, you deserve a treat.” Medical Benefits include stress relief, anxiety reduction, mild to moderate pain relief, mood elevation, and creative focus. It’s a strain that smooths the edges without erasing the day.

Please keep in mind that depending on differences in grows depends on what area of the country it is grown in. Ther will also be slight differences depending on when, where the plant was grown. Thanks for reading! And keep blazin.’ Have you tried this strain?

Affirmation: I allow sweetness into my life without apology. I deserve softness, joy, and moments that taste like peace.

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

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

The 80s Living Room: A Museum of Heavy Furniture and Electrical Hazards

“Lord, protect me from the furniture my mama bought in 1987.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Today we’re stepping into the 80s living room. A sacred Southern space where décor went to die. Electrical hazards thrived. And Jesus watched over everything from a crocheted wall hanging. If you grew up in a conservative Christian household in the Deep South, you already know. The living room wasn’t just a room. It was a museum, a memorial, and occasionally a crime scene when the TV remote went missing.

This was the era when furniture weighed more than a Dodge Ram. Lamps hummed like they were praying in tongues. And every outlet was so overloaded it crackled like it was speaking in Morse code. And yet? We survived. Barefoot. Unsurprised. And unmonitored.

Let’s take a guided tour through the 80s living room. The place where we learned faith, fear, and fire safety all at once.

10 Exhibits From the 80s Living Room Museum

1. The Wood Paneling That Absorbed All Light

Dark. Heavy. Oppressive. It looked like the inside of Noah’s Ark. But it smelled like a bowling alley. 

Comment: If depression had a texture, it was 80s wood paneling.

2. The Giant Console TV That Could Crush a Buick

This thing wasn’t a TV. It was a piece of furniture. You didn’t move it. You built your life around it. 

Comment: If it fell on you, the obituary would simply say “natural causes.”

3. Lamps That Hummed Like They Were Summoning Angels

Every lamp buzzed. Flickered. And radiated heat like it was powered by prayer alone.

Comment: You didn’t turn these lamps on. You activated them.

4. The Plastic Couch Covers That Tried to Kill Us

Your thighs stuck. Your soul stuck. Standing up required strength, courage, and a running start. 

Comment: Southern sanctification through suffocation.

5. The Coffee Table With Razor‑Sharp Corners

Made of glass, metal, and vengeance. 

Comment: Every Southern child has a scar shaped like this table.

6. The Ashtray That Weighed 14 Pounds

Even if nobody smoked, there was an ashtray big enough to bury a hamster in.

Comment: It doubled as a weapon during family arguments.

7. The Doily Army

Every surface had a doily. Every doily had another doily under it. 

Comment: Southern moms believed lace prevented demons.

8. The Encyclopedia Set No One Ever Used

Twenty‑six volumes of pure, untouched knowledge. 

Comment: We used them as booster seats and spiritual coasters.

9. The Overloaded Power Strip of Doom

TV, VCR, lamp, fan, Christmas lights, and the Holy Spirit all plugged into one outlet. 

Comment: Fire hazard? Yes. Blessed? Also, yes.

10. The Velvet Jesus Portrait

Hung slightly crooked. Eyes followed you. Judged you. Loved you. 

Comment: The original Ring camera.

And that, is why the 80s living room deserves its own wing in the Smithsonian. It was a place of danger, devotion, and décor choices that can only be explained by tax season stress and the JC Penney catalog. We grew up dodging sharp corners. Humming lamps. TVs that could flatten livestock. And now we’re out here raising kids who think danger is a gluten‑free snack. If you survived an 80s living room, you can survive anything. Including adulthood, church potlucks, and whatever the HOA is mad about this week. Thanks for reading! Are there other things that you remember?

Affirmation: I walk boldly through life with the confidence of a child who survived an 80s living room.

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

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Budtender Moment: Ice Cream Lights Strain Review

“Some strains quiet the room. Ice Cream Lights quiets the soul.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Today we’re calling in a strain that feels like somebody took a summer carnival, a neon-lit ice cream truck, and a cosmic daydream and churned them all together until they glowed. The strain is Ice Cream Lights.

Ice Cream Lights is an indica-dominant hybrid. The kind that doesn’t knock you out. But absolutely tells you to sit down somewhere and hush. This strain is a cross between Ice Cream Cake × Northern Lights. Ice Cream Cake is a cross between Gelato #33 × Wedding Cake. Northern Lights is a cross of Afghani Landrace × Thai Landrace. This is dessert-meets-ancestral-medicine-cabinet energy. Sweetness from the Gelato line, grounding from the Afghani roots, and that unmistakable Northern Lights hush-your-spirit glow.

Ice Cream Lights tastes like someone froze a vanilla bean cloud. Dipped it in sugar crystals. And then waved it over a pine forest at dusk. Expect the tastes of vanilla cream, sweet dough, light pine, and a cool, almost minty exhale. It’s dessert-forward without being sticky, and the finish is clean enough to make you go back for a second hit just to confirm you didn’t imagine it.

The terpene profile for this strain is Limonene, Caryophyllene, and Linalool. Together they create that “I’m not high. I’m just vibing in 4K resolution” effect. Ice Cream Lights is a comfort strain. It’s the kind you reach for when your nervous system is acting like it’s late for church. Patients report getting relief from stress, anxiety, mild-to-moderate pain, muscle tension, mood, and sleep support without immediate sedation. Perfect for the end of a long day when you want to feel like a human again. Not a frantic tumbleweed rolling through life.

Please keep in mind that depending on differences in grows depends on what area of the country it is grown in. Ther will also be slight differences depending on when, where the plant was grown. Thanks for reading! And keep blazin.’ Have you tried this strain?

Affirmation: I soften. I settle. I glow from the inside out. My peace is non-negotiable.

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

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Fentanyl Awareness: Denial Isn’t a Life-Saving Strategy

“Awareness isn’t comfortable, but neither is grief. Choose the discomfort that saves lives.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Today, we’re talking about Fentanyl Awareness. And Lord knows some folks need more than sage. They need a whole spiritual intervention. A PowerPoint and maybe a smack from an ancestor with a wooden spoon.

We’re still living in a world where people think fentanyl is something that happens to “other families,” “other communities,” or “those people over there.” Fentanyl doesn’t care about your zip code. Your Bible study attendance record. Or how many casseroles you’ve delivered to the church potluck. It is an equal-opportunity destroyer. And yet, some folks still clutch their pearls and say, “Well, if people didn’t do drugs.” Sweetheart, if ignorance burned calories, half this country would be runway-ready.

Fentanyl isn’t a moral issue. It’s a public health crisis. A grief generator. And a silent killer that slips into communities like humidity in Mississippi. It comes uninvited. Suffocating. And everywhere. But sure, let’s keep pretending it’s just a “bad choice” problem. And just for shits and giggles, I’ll say that bombing people in fishing boats that are clearly are not transporting this substance is not an answer to the problem.

Fentanyl doesn’t knock. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t wait until you’re ready to have your life rearranged. It shows up like a tornado in the middle of a sunny day. It’s fast. Violent. And leaves you standing in the wreckage while wondering how the hell everything changed in seconds.

People aren’t overdosing because they’re weak. They’re overdosing because fentanyl is 50 times stronger than heroin. And 100 times stronger than morphine. They’re overdosing because it’s being mixed into substances without their knowledge. They’re overdosing because the world is heavy. Trauma is real. And coping mechanisms don’t magically appear with a bow on top.

But try telling that to the folks who think addiction is a “willpower issue.” These are the same people who can’t resist a clearance sale at Hobby Lobby. But somehow believe others should resist a chemically engineered substance designed to hijack the brain.

Addiction is not a character flaw. It’s not a spiritual failure. It’s not a lack of discipline. It’s a medical condition. A trauma response. And sometimes a desperate attempt to feel anything other than pain.

And fentanyl? It’s the predator waiting in the shadows. Families are burying children. Parents are burying parents. Communities are burying potential futures and dreams. And still some folks would rather cling to judgment than compassion. Because compassion requires effort. Judgment is free and easy like drive-thru theology.

So, here’s the truth that’s wrapped in Southern sass and tied with a bow of reality. Fentanyl doesn’t care about your opinions. It doesn’t care about your politics. It doesn’t care about your moral superiority complex. But we should care. We should care enough to talk about it. We should care enough to educate ourselves. We should care enough to stop pretending this crisis is happening in some faraway land to people we’ll never meet.

Fentanyl is already here. It’s in our towns, our schools, families, and our communities. And pretending otherwise won’t save a single life. And for the love of all things holy, open your eyes. Denial has never saved anyone. Awareness does. Compassion does. Action does. Try not to trip over it on your way back to reality. Thanks for reading! What are your thoughts?

Affirmation: I choose compassion over judgment. Truth over denial. And awareness over silence. My voice matters. And so does every life touched by this crisis.

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

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Budtender Moment: Frozen Lemonade Strain Review

“Sometimes the medicine tastes like lemons. Because the universe knows you need waking up.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Today we’re stepping into the frosty, citrus‑blessed kingdom of Frozen Lemonade. It’s the strain that tastes like somebody froze summertime just to keep you from losing your mind in this economy.

Frozen Lemonade is a sativa-dominant hybrid. It’s a cross between  Lemon Tree × Gelato #41. Lemon Tree is a cross between  Lemon Skunk × Sour Diesel. Gelato #41 is a cross between  Sunset Sherbet × Thin Mint GSC. It’s the strain that behaves like the friend who shows up uninvited but brings snacks. Emotional support. And a Bluetooth speaker. She’s bright. She’s uplifting. And she’s got just enough body relaxation to keep you from pacing the kitchen like a raccoon with bills. Frozen Lemonade didn’t just appear. he was engineered by the ancestors. This lineage is basically the Beyoncé family tree of cannabis. It’s excellence is stacked on excellence.

The flavor profile of this strain is one of Icy lemon zest, Sugared citrus peel, A faint creamy finish, and a sparkle of sour brightness. It’s the strain equivalent of sticking your head in the freezer during a Southern summer and whispering, “Lord, take the heat from me.”

The terpene profile for this strain is Limonene, Myrcene, Caryophyllene, and Pinene. Together they create a bright, sparkling, lemon-ice vibe that wakes up the spirit without sending you into orbit. Frozen Lemonade is a blessing for stress, mood, mild pain, focus, clarity, and energy. It’s the strain you reach for when you need to get your life together but also want to enjoy the process.

Please keep in mind that depending on differences in grows depends on what area of the country it is grown in. Ther will also be slight differences depending on when, where the plant was grown. Thanks for reading! And keep blazin.’ Have you tried this strain?

Affirmation: I rise refreshed. Renewed. And rooted. It’s bright as citrus. Steady as ice. And fully in my power.

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

#ThisPuzzledLife

darnold1975

Budtender Moment: Rick James Strain Review

“I’m not high. I’m just on airplane mode.”

-Unknown

Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to tell you about a strain that will instantly take you back to the 80s. And the name is Rick James.

Rick James is a 70/30 indica-dominant hybrid. It is a cross between Runtz x Jealousy. Runtz is a cross between Zkittlez x Gelato. Jealousy is a cross between Gelato 41 x Sherbet Bx1. This strain was named this because 710 Labs notes are named after the legendary. The flavor profile is creamy, sugary, fresh fruity berries, rich red fruits, and dank herbs. The whole experience was a pleasant surprise. And though it didn’t make me a “Super Freak”, I still enjoyed the ride.

Top terpenes in this strain are Myrcene, Limonene, Caryophyllene, Linalool, and Pinene. Patients report relief from chronic pain, anxiety, stress, and insomnia. This strain has some hard-core munchies to go with it. And beware of “couch lock. “Please keep in mind that each grow will be different and the flower’s effects will differ depending on which region of the country that the plant is grown. Thanks for reading! Keep blazin.’

Affirmation:  I release tension, fear, and the stories that weigh me down.

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

#Thispuzzledlife

darnold1975

Why 80s Snacks Were Delicious, Toxic, and Probably Illegal Now

“Childhood in the 80s wasn’t safe. But it was flavorful.”

-This Puzzled Life

Light the charcoal. Today we’re grilling up the radioactive, neon‑dust‑covered, FDA‑defying buffet that raised us. The 1980s didn’t just feed us snacks. They fed us character development. They fed us resilience. They fed us enough artificial dyes to glow like a Chernobyl nightlight. And we ate it up with our bare hands. Because nobody in that decade had ever uttered the phrase “Is that safe for children?”

Back then, snacks weren’t “organic,” “non‑GMO,” or “ethically sourced.” They were chaos in a foil pouch. They were chemical warfare disguised as lunchbox joy. They were delicious, toxic, and probably illegal now. And I miss them every day like a long‑lost cousin who stole my bike but taught me how to cuss. Let’s take a stroll down memory lane. But wear protective gear. The 80s snack aisle was basically a Superfund site with better branding.

  1. Planters Cheez Balls-The neon‑orange dust that stained your fingers for three to five business days. If you touched a white wall afterward, it looked like a crime scene at a clown convention.
  2. Fruit Roll‑Ups (Original Formula)-Essentially edible plastic wrap with a whisper of fruit. If you left it in the sun, it melted into a sheet of stained glass that could double as a weapon.
  3. Jolt Cola-Two cups of coffee, a Red Bull, and a dare from Satan all mixed into one can. This drink raised your heart rate and your GPA.
  4. Pop Rocks-Carbonated gravel. The snack that convinced an entire generation we might explode at any moment. And we still ate it by the fistful.
  5. Dunkaroos-Cookies you dipped into frosting so sweet it could sandblast your enamel. A dentist’s retirement plan in a single pack.
  6. Hubba Bubba Bubble Tape-Six feet of gum. Which was exactly five feet and eleven inches more than any child needed. We chewed it until our jaws locked like a rusty hinge.
  7. Slush Puppie-A cup of shaved ice drowned in syrup so bright it could guide ships through fog. One sip and your tongue changed colors like a mood ring.
  8. Hostess Pudding Pies-A pastry filled with custard that tasted like it had been stored in a bunker since the Cold War. We didn’t care. We inhaled them.
  9. Tato Skins-Potato chips that were basically salt slabs. One bag could dehydrate a camel.
  10. Hi‑C Ecto Cooler-A citrus drink so green it looked radioactive. Probably was. Delicious though.

And that’s it. The snacks that built our immune systems, our personalities, and possibly our future medical bills. We were raised on sugar, dye, caffeine, and vibes. No one checked labels. No one asked questions. If it glowed, fizzed, popped, or came in a pouch that looked like it was designed by a hyperactive raccoon, we ate it. Meanwhile, today’s kids are out here with gluten‑free, dye‑free, sugar‑free, joy‑free snacks shaped like clouds and promises. Bless their hearts.

We survived lawn darts, metal slides, and snacks that could strip paint. And now we’re out here trying to survive our own children. Who melt down if their organic fruit snack is the wrong shade of mauve. While helicopter moms hover with SPF 9000 and BPA‑free water bottles shaped like emotional support gourds. The 80s made us fireproof. Thanks for reading! What are more snacks that you can remember from this time period?

Affirmation: “I honor my inner 80s kid by embracing chaos. Choosing joy. And refusing to read ingredient labels.”

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

#ThisPuzzledLife