I have some advice for you. This doesn’t happen often, so pay attention. It is important.
My advice, based on my review of Orange Apricot Pie from The Green House in Durango, is this: Don’t underestimate the power of the strain based on the size of the buds. Apparently it is not the girth of the weed, but the motion of the … 31% THC.
That’s the lesson I learned from this strain anyway. I was asked to review this strain, a hybrid containing about 31.11% THC, and I was game. I hadn’t smoked this strain before, but was intrigued based on the overly long fruity name and the THC content alone.
Given my lack of knowledge about this strain, I had an idea in my head of what a strain like this should look like. I expected this thing to flop out the big bud balls. You know, lay it all out there or whatever. I mean, wouldn’t any strain go that route if it had that much punch to pack?
But when I got home and opened the lid, I was really taken aback. What I had expected to be thick, fluffy nugs were actually tiny little dense buds, unassuming in both size and color. Not at all what I was expecting.
Still, I tried to keep an open mind about it, despite my disappointment. And let me tell you — I should not have been as quick to judge. I learned very quickly that I should not judge this weed book by its cover — and I was knocked straight on my ass as a lesson.
The first sign that this strain had more to offer than what I credited it with was when I ground it up to throw in the dry herb vape. I tossed a few of those tiny little weed balls into the grinder, half expecting it to crumble up and disappear into dust. As you may have guessed, though, that was not the case. It ground up finely and evenly — the perfect consistency to combust in the vape’s chamber.
The second sign? Well, that was when the words started popping straight the hell off my phone screen. I’ve been trying to occupy myself by doing more reading, but I hate waiting for books to be delivered, so I’ve been downloading them on the Kindle app instead. Well, after a few hits of this Orange Apricot Pie, I sat back and flipped open my digital book to the right page.
And, as soon as I did it, there they were, friends. The psychedelic effects I was not expecting. I went from sober to higher than Elon Musk when he dreamed up his mission to Mars.
I was so stoned that I kept thinking my eyes were crossing and causing the optical illusion of the words popping off the page like they were being projected into thin air.
That was not the case, though. No amount of blinking resolved the issue.
And then, I noticed it. They weren’t just projecting — they were freaking DANCING, you guys. Dancing in thin air above my phone, making it hard as hell to read about the lawyer who represented Casey Anthony in my book. (Side note: 10/10 do not recommend any book on this subject. They suck.)
I couldn’t focus well enough to even pretend to read, so I gave in and just put the phone down instead.
Those psychedelic effects didn’t go away, though. They just migrated to my brain instead, which was suddenly filled with all of the words my introverted, weird ass never wants to say. I was asking all the questions to anyone in my house who would listen. And those questions eventually morphed from inquiries to nonstop nonsense, in which I tried to tell everything to everyone. No more questions, I guess. Just answers.
I couldn’t really tell you what I was talking about if I tried. My notes do help, stating that I went on a 20-minute rant about the Wall Street Journal and Rupert Freaking Murdoch, but other than that, I truly have no recollection of what I was rambling on about. All I remember is that I wanted to talk about it all. Life, food, who the hell knows. All of it.
This went on for way, way, waaaaaaaay too long. I don’t know if it’s the social isolation fatigue or the strain, but whatever it was, I wanted to run my mouth like I have never run it. It was weird as hell — especially since it’s usually Blaze, our other pot writer, acting a fool like that. (Hi Blaze!)
At some point I must have passed out, but I don’t remember it happening. I do remember waking up and feeling hella refreshed, though. My brain felt clear and awake, so I must have gotten some really good sleep.
All that from a few tiny weed nugs, you ask? Yessir. All that from a few tiny weed nugs.
All in all, Orange Apricot Pie was a good lesson on a couple of things: 1.) Don’t assume you know a strain by looking at it, and 2.) Rupert Murdoch is the bane of my stoned existence.
Oh, and 3.) This is a very good strain. Get some before it’s gone.