My Boyfriend Ran Out Of Weed And I Found Out That I Hate Him

Ever since I’ve known Eric, he’s been stoned. I can’t picture Eric without a joint in his hand, a bong in his lap, or a bowl in his mouth. That’s my loving boyfriend, the stoner! Things were going great in the relationship–we lived together, his marijuana blog was really blowing up, and an engagement was pending. But then, it happened. They called it “the worst snowstorm to hit New York City since that last really bad one that we called the worst.” The streets were closed. We were trapped in our apartment. And Eric ran out of weed.

There I was, stuck inside, with a completely different Eric. It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. High. (Except the reverse. Whatever, it isn’t the BEST analogy, but you get the point.) I’d only known Mr. High: He was goofy, sleepy, forgetful and lazy. Most of our days began with a breakfast-at-noon pizza followed by a delivery of burgers and fries soon after. Eric logs into his Seamless app and a parade of delivery men ensue. I rolled into the living room at noon, expecting a meat lovers pizza to greet me, but instead, Eric was there, eating some eggs he’d scrambled. “Oh, I was up and hungry. Figured you could find your own food.” I was shocked he knew where the frying pan even was. Or the stove. Or knew how to scramble eggs. Yes, I could find my own food, but I was dating him, so I didn’t have to!

I learned a lot about Eric that day. I had no idea that his interests spanned beyond weed. And let me tell you, I wish I never had to find that out. Apparently, Eric has a lot of environmental concerns, as well as some strong feelings on women’s rights. Eric without weed is like a normal person on cocaine. SUPER CHATTY. I tried to take my usual nap and yet his rambling made it impossible. He not only talked about recycling, he actually started picking up all our empty bottles to recycle them. I was pissed when I realized all my empty Poland Spring bottles were gone. What was I supposed to do then? I’d saved those for years. His suggestion to buy a reusable water bottle that I’d have to WASH was the most insane thing I’d ever heard him say. Yeah, like I’m ever going to make an effort to clean a water bottle. Maybe I’ll even get real dishes and wash those too. What an idiot.

My patience was getting real thin as the day wore on. I’d never had to take Eric, fully conscious, for more than about an hour. He spent most of his days sleeping and now that I think about it, most of his nights too. I literally couldn’t take his awakeness. I texted every weed dealer I knew and no one would trudge through the snow to save me. So, I tried turning on the television to distract him. I put on our favorite movie: Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle. He asked if we could instead watch An Inconvenient Truth. “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “You love Harold & Kumar! What about the scene where those two hot girls play Battleshits?! That makes us laugh our asses off.” And you know what Eric said? “Farting isn’t that funny, it’s kind of gross.” Gross!? Who was this nightmare?!

The snow kept coming, Eric kept talking, and I was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Every time he spoke, I felt like spiders were biting me: a slow torture. He wouldn’t sit still. He grabbed the vacuum and started aggressively pushing it back and forth across the floor. I was about to explode. I finally understood all those women on “Snapped.” I full-on hated Eric. But then, something amazing happened.

You may even call it a miracle. Something got stuck in his vacuum. What? You guessed it: A dimebag of the most beautiful nug I’ve ever seen. That weed saved our relationship. Eric got high and yes, we are still together to this day, now living in Los Angeles, where weed is legal and snowstorms never happen.

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