Why go low when you can get high?
Did you guys notice how I kind of buried the real story last week when I was talking about E$ and men vacuuming and how it’s hot even though it shouldn’t be? Men doing housework shouldn’t be noteworthy. It should just be.
Just as men do not babysit their own children, they don’t “help” with the housework any more than women “help” with the housework. It’s just something we all do as part of a civilized society and civilized households.
So buried in last week’s post – did you even notice or did it sneak past you? – was a reference to E$’s new business.
The grow operation.
Which – yeah.
Totally typical of Women of a Certain Age, right? Kids leave home, sudden void, hard to maybe restart that legal career that was set aside when babies were born.
It’s the next logical move.
Only – it’s legal.
OH E$ I HEART YOU YOU ARE THE COOLEST.
Little did I know when we met in college.
We didn’t hang out as undergrads. My strongest memory of E$ is from when I took her photo for the 1980s version of facebook, which was a black and white photo of every freshman or transfer taped to the window of the commons.
Very old school.
Literally, I guess.
And as in, to quote a former co-worker who spoke English (and Spanish and Italian and French as second, third, fourth, and fifth languages), “the school that is old.”
E$ posed, leaning against the wall, casually holding an apple in both hands and between her breasts. She was wearing a loose turtleneck sweater and 1980s jeans, which – were they loose then? Or tight? I think we were still in the tight years.
Anyhow, she had this slight smile and she was very Eve in the Garden of Eden and she was gorgeous.
Maybe I still have it somewhere. I have a box of old college photos in the attic. I should look.
But like I said, we didn’t hang out much and then I didn’t hear from her again until recently, when we connected on facebook. Our college classmates have a pretty strong group and we suck in anyone that we can in our online vortex.
We were chatting online and she wrote, “I’ve got a cannabis company here with a couple of partners. It’s fascinating and fun and the wild west. We have two retail stores and an indoor farm. We cut our first harvest tomorrow, which, with luck, will help us be operating in the black.”
I knew she went to Rice.
I knew she went to law school.
I knew she lived in – well, I won’t be more specific. But it’s a state where this is legal.
But I’m cool.
Me: That’s AWESOME!
Me: My former company had bought a software company from this guy in Montana. He stuck around for a year or two, but then left to start a grow operation. His software was all about managing maintenance and processes for institutions and factories, so he is all about process. He weighs the dirt and has all the processes down. The regulators love him.
E$: It’s scientific. Everyone thinks it’s going to be easy. Only the super scientific, business oriented people who have the processes down are successful.
Me: How did you even get into that?
[Thinking – I need a job. Is this something I could do? I can grow tulips. I can grow tomatoes. Or I can when it doesn’t snow in May. OH WAIT IT’S NOT LEGAL IN WISCONSIN.]
And she tells me how she got into the grow business.
Which is just as you would expect.
She used to deal a little on the side when the kids were younger and decided to integrate vertically.
NO THAT’S NOT IT!
No, it’s the OBVIOUS path, which is her manicurist recruited her.
E$: The woman who does my nails. Her son went to cannabis college, “oaksterdam,” in Oakland California. She asked if maybe I knew someone who could back him.
Because this is the kind of conversation I have ALL THE TIME with the guy who does my pedicures.
I don’t even remember pedicures. I had one last year. Then I thought, Why am I even doing this when my feet are covered all the time? This is just dumb.
Even when I had pedicures at the beauty school and talked to the students, we talked about boring stuff
My. Life. Is. Boring.
E$: I thought it sounded interesting, and my friend K thought it was a good idea. K backed out of it, but I started looking at warehouse space to retrofit for an indoor grow.
I don’t even know how I would start to look for warehouse space.
My. Life. Is. Boring.
And that, my friends, was that.
E$ was in business.
My. Life. Is. Boring.
Me: Had you ever run a business before?
E$: Nope. Never run a business. Honestly, I’m still not running it. I have a partner who came along with the warehouse owner guy.
Me: Are you having fun?
E$: I’m having a blast. It’s crazy. I am selling weed!
Me: I thought Hotel California was about caliche but it’s about marijuana – something that sounds like caliche but means bud in Spanish.
E$: Wait, what? Calichie means bud or something? What the hell? I’ve been singing that song to my kids at bedtime for years now.
Me: Not caliche.
E$: The smell of colitas rising up through the air. Right? Except Siri wants to call it colitis.
Me: Yes. “Colitas” means “little buds” which is slang for pot,
E$: I have no idea. Now it makes perfect sense. The buds are called colas. DUH!!!
Me: But it also means little tail/ass, which is not proper. COLITAS!!!!! COLA is tail in Spanish but it’s literal tail and also – ass – tail. I just learned this two months ago when I discovered that Mr T, who is from Pittsburgh, had no idea what caliche was and I felt all superior. I told him it was in an Eagles song and then I was wrong about it.
E$: As in chinga me arriba in mi cola.
E$: Your mind is going to be exploding about this for the next 24 hours.
Me [super cas]: Nah. I’m cool.
EXCEPT I AM LYING.
MY MIND IS EXPLODING.
I am absolutely fascinated and impressed and in complete awe.
This might be one of the coolest things I have ever heard.
So I am impressed.
And here it is, days later, and I am still thinking about it.
So she was wrong.
My mind was not exploding about it for 24 hours.
It’s been exploding about it for days. And days.
I know the coolest people.