I was watching the classic Sex and The City series the other night and wondered, what would it be like if Carrie Bradshaw was a full-time marijuana user? Carrie Bradshaw, who is played by Sarah Jessica Parker on the popular HBO series Sex and The City, has captured many women’s attention over the years, including mine. I named my Barbies Janey Glenn and Lynn Stone from the characters in Girls Just Want to Have Fun, where SJP played the character of a forlorn-Catholic school girl who is suppressed by her strict father, yet sneaks out of her house to dance on live TV. This and other tantrums of Sarah’s, as displayed on my television over the decades, had a direct influence on my own mannerisms, so much so that we now have many more similarities.

I have not, however, had a similar love life to that of SJP’s character in Sex and The City. Nope, not glamorous in the least. I’m also a little more on the beggerly side and much more neurotic. My love life is more akin to that of Elaine Benice, actually. Also extremely unlike Carrie, I smoke the ganja. I have chosen marijauana over a lover many times. I know it sounds crazy, but you have to hear me out. I mean, here I am typing this piece, looking pensively out at my mother’s swimming pool, writing about my love life as it exists with both men and cannabis. You might as well consider me the delinquent version of Carrie Bradshaw, and that makes me a valid source on the topic of why one might choose cannabis over a man.

I didn’t always share weed with boyfriends because I only became an avid user later in life. I was at a low point when I started to partake. I knew I didn’t want to drink alcohol because the migraine it brings is atrocious. So, I smoked a blunt with a work-guy and it was exactly the respite my nerves needed. I was dealing with mourning, loss, shame and, yet again, loneliness. Weed resolved all my body-pain, and so I decided to ask the work-guy if he wanted to partake again. This time he wasn’t so generous. I didn’t like that feeling, depending on a guy to get me weed. So instead, I asked my cool neighbor where she gets hers, ensuring me safety from shady dudes.

I once was in a heated argument with a boyfriend of the past. Insult after insult was being thrown at me. One night I ran away from his whining and grabbed my beloved bong to take the edge off. Ex-boyfriend grabbed it out of my hand. I was in disbelief by how upset I was. I could handle the insults, but I felt truly offended by his taking my bong from me, as if I were his teenage daughter. By this point I had successfully tapered off any anti-anxiety and depression prescriptions. THC was the only aid I used to heal all my symptoms. So it’s easy to negatively view it as a dependence on weed, but are people not dependent on their prescribed pharmaceuticals? I told him to put my medicine down. He never tried it again, and we didn’t last. 

If there could be an episode where we find out Cannabis-Carrie Bradshaw's flaws, it would be the time I threw a bong at a door out of anger. The last time I ever did such a juvenile thing was when I was thirteen and my sister and I fought over Pearl Jam’s SNL performance that we had recorded on a VHS tape. The VCR had then been set up to record Weekend At Bernie’s on HBO. Pearl Jam was gone. We threw items at each other down the hallway and I smashed her favorite cobalt-blue medieval wine glass against her Anne Rice book collection. I learned a very important lesson that day. That bong is insane - it did not break! It bounced back at me completely intact! The universe was with me and forgave me. 

In that previous scenario with my ex, however, I was an adult - not a pre-teen - and was insulted in a way I had never experienced before. The ex-boyfriend stated that he couldn’t be with me any longer due to how I looked. I had never been called ugly before. I mean, by my siblings, yes, but, by someone I actually liked? This was a prime Carrie Bradshaw moment. What would she do in such a moment of angry pain? What if Mr. Big said she was ugly and slammed the door behind him? She would have thrown her shoes at the door and fallen to the ground, sobbing, just like I did with my bong in my pre-teen years. 

Most recently, in these weird cougar single days I’m living, I tend to entertain potential partners with residual conversations of memes. This digital-artist guy I was meme-ing with online attempted to impress me with luxuries he may or may not actually be connected to, like celebrities and such. I said, “That’s nice,” and sent him another dog meme. It wasn’t until he mentioned his buddy owning a cannabis farm that my ears perked up. He proceeded to say his friend was looking for people to include in their cannabis business. My heart started to race. I started typing, “Would he hire me? I would totally fly out to you for this.” I stopped myself due to how ridiculous that sounded. I figured I learned something new about myself with this reaction; the only thing that would excite me enough to meet anyone new would have to be their involvement with cannabis. I ended our conversation with, “Are you being for real?” Then he texted, “FR”! (Spoiler alert: he wasn’t being for real).

Carrie never really smoked weed on Sex and The City, but Samantha did, and we all liked watching her. Perhaps the show would have been cooler if Carrie had, in fact, smoked weed. The writing would be different, for sure. Mr. Big would not be a rich guy. I don’t even have a version of Mr. Big in my life, because, in reality, I don’t run into ex-lovers when spending my time online. Instead, I get mysterious messages from “throwaway” accounts on Reddit. Also, my fashion sense is the same as it was at age sixteen. I am less of a Carrie Bradshaw and more of a Little-Edith Beale in Grey Gardens, respectfully. I live with Mom, for now, and I do choose the “best costume for the day” because, well, I don’t have a boyfriend. It’s amazing. My weed stays intact. It’s all here. No arguments. No jealousy. No tears. I mean, I am like a Cannabis-Carrie Bradsahw, just a little more inclined to depend on Mary Jane for insight instead of a silly limousine ride to the Empire State building. I don’t even think you can smoke up there…pass.