My Colorado Come-Up with Trippy Terps Farm My girl Tasha put me on to this plug she knew — a marijuana farm up in the Colorado mountains called Trippy Terps Farm. First deal scared me half to death. I pulled up alone, hands shakin’, but everything went smooth — too smooth. That’s what spooked me. I wasn’t used to people bein’ straight up.

Tasha dragged me out to the farmhouse next. And y’all… that place changed everything. Rustic mountain farmhouse, greenhouses full of healthy plants, a co-owner named Maya who talked about every strain like it was her child. Lab results on the wall. Real care. Real integrity. I walked in nervous and walked out a partner. But here’s the real part — while my business was growin’, my boyfriend was stealin’ from me. Takin’ money, swipein’ product, flippin’ it on me when I confronted him. Classic. I let it ride too long cause fear will keep you in places bravery should’ve pulled you out of.

One night it hit me: if I was brave enough to drive up a mountain and shake hands with strangers, I was brave enough to protect what was mine. Changed the locks. Moved my money. Cut him off. Never looked back. Two years later, Trippy Terps Farm is still my main supplier and my peace is priceless. Bravery ain’t the absence of fear — it’s showin’ up with your knees shakin’ and your voice steady anyway. Check 'em out at trippyterpsfarm.com.

Gee, I wonder how many of said employers weren’t really all that concerned with weed anyway. Among them is a nonzero number of those that’d prefer to be too baked to GAF. 😏💁🏼‍♂️

… Nothing about how fucked up workers being tested is?

In all the jobs I’ve ever had, I’ve never been tested, and I’m in my late 40s

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“I mean, they seem happier. Let ‘em smoke.”