I'm over the word "infused." I am over reading about cannabis-infused cocktails, bread, baking soda, bath salts, olive oil, etc. I get why these products are potentially useful but can we be done? Can we be done fetishizing the brand value of cannabis and trying to shoehorn it into every aspect of our lives? It's. So. Boring. Granted, I have something of a confirmation bias about this as I use Google Alerts to keep me up to date on cannabis/marijuana news, so every day there's a new edible/beauty product/exercise routine that involves cannabis as click-hungry headline artists in desperate lifestyle sections elbow for the attention of a declining readership. No, I am not above said behavior. But that's my professional life. When it comes to my personal life, I am not going to let the phrase "cannabis-infused wedding" pass across my news feed (looking at you San Luis Obispo Tribune) without making something abundantly clear to my soon-to-be-married friends:
No. I love you, but no. Well, OK. If cannabis is how you make your income and start your day, or it's part of your meet-cute story, then I'm going to support your decision to wear an ugly-ass wreath made of buds and flowers around your head because it kind of makes sense in that case. That doesn't mean it's not a freaking bore. Only the tackiest among us subject family and friends to product placement on our special day, and I speak as someone who comes from a culture of Mossy Oak tuxedos and hay bale seating. Be better. Do better.
Bud Bouquet: No.
Edibles in gift bags: No.
Pre-rolled joints on the tables: No.
His and her "stoner rings" with bowls and lighters: No.
"Bud-tender" next to the bar and a pre-designated smoking lounge for adults to hang out and get mellow: Classy AF. Stansberry approved.
The thing is, weddings are freaking stressful. They're stressful for you, they're stressful for us. If you and your mother-in-law need to take a hit to stay out of Bridezilla mode, I SUPPORT YOU. And it's your special day, so you do you. But I don't want to put on my nicest sundress and do my hair just to get hit with a cloud of smoke. It's just as freaking annoying as cigarettes and just as pungent. And I don't want to haul my ass to Shelter Cove on a blazing hot summer weekend just to spend an entire afternoon making sure the toddlers aren't getting into the edibles you decided to hand out like, well, candy. And honestly? Though I get the homely agrarian earnestness of appreciating a perfect tapered bud with its tiny hairs and tight leaves, from a distance they have all the aesthetic resonance of pine cones. Really, they're just little green lumps. If you're color blind they look like rabbit pellets.
Rant done. You know I love you, cannabis-loving friends. I'll be there for you when the crop fails or the baby starts teething. But if we're tight enough that you're inviting me to your special day, we're tight enough for me to try to talk you out of some tacky decisions. And stoned people can be boring as shit. So if you plan on inviting everyone in attendance to blaze before you've even wheeled out the cake, let me know. I will buy you something mid-pricey off the registry, send my regrets and make plans to hang out once you're back from the honeymoon.