#16. Weed Witching Season Mega Blue Moon Samhain Self-Care Spectacular
Plus: The Weed Witch Pen Pal Club Kicks Off With International Weed Witch Day on Friday, Nov. 13
(Pictured: Anjelica Huston + a rare Blue Moon)
Vol. 16
Astromotional Update: Anjelica Huston is a hot witch babe for every witch holiday
The Fool Card x New Beginnings
Throw Your Money at Good Stuff
EVENT: The Weed Witch Pen Pal Club Kicks Off With International Weed Witch Day on Friday, Nov. 13
AMDPC: A Historic Weed Witch Collective Grows In The Wild
Dear weed witches,
I am eating pizza in bed and drinking a glass of wine as I write this newsletter, coming to terms with the fact that between Mercury Retrograde and the election, I just couldn’t get it together to celebrate Weed Witching Season. Man, depression, anxiety, COVID and the repercussions of this horrifying political landscape are such a bitch!
October came and went in the blink of an eye. I am straight up emotionally spent and pissed off that my whole month that should have been magically festive was exhausted by the forces that be as we approach the pre-election Blue Moon clusterfuck.
At present, I am window shopping for an Anjelica Huston-inspired witch dress to pay homage to her timeless style in The Witches. Fittingly, Huston has played a witch numerous times, including Morticia Adams, Trollhunters, and This Is Spinal Tap. The last two are kind of a stretch, but good enough for me.
Admittedly, I am extremely jealous of these beautiful women all over America who found their perfect other while working at the local furniture store, buying up these dresses to be one-half of a couples costume at their Halloween holiday parties between 2017 to June 2020.
Did you know that Anne Hathaway just did a remake of that movie with Octavia Spencer? I don’t want to be a hater because I appreciate a witch movie and they all look great, but part of the charm of the 1990 movie was that it was lo-fi and kind of fucked up in a Jim Henson-meets-the comedown of everyone doing coke in the ‘80s sort of vibe. Or, as we used to say back in the day: “a film with real character.”
Also, Anjelica and Jack Nicholson used to make a very sexy couple back in the day. Such style! Sign me up for all of those looks. Please enjoy this ode to US Weekly style “Witches Are Just Like US” segment:
This Saturday is the best day of the year: Halloween, Samhain and the rare Blue Moon, followed by Dia De Los Muertos and All Saints Day. This is the witchiest day of the year, and I hope you’ll leave a comment letting me know what you’re up to.
Fittingly, the is the symbolic season of death, harvest, and the need to slow down for the long winter ahead. There has been far too much death this year. In grief we able to let go, recoup, heal, and prepare for rebirth in spring. This is also an amazing time to dig into mindful meditation and finding a therapist, if you do not have one. Seasonal affective disorder can ravage the soul, which is why it is important to find something that grounds you. As the full moon approaches, this is the time to review your intentions, try a protection or attraction ritual, and take action.
Grief has been an important topic, particularly coping with depression, anxiety, PTSD and other mental health issues that have become quite prevalent this year as a result of the relentless issues impacting every person in every city around the world with so many forces we can’t control. Some of these issues were underlying and exacerbated as a result of COVID-19 that rapidy destroyed entire communities. Others were a touch harder to distinguish, such as when I survived a non-collision car accident in the middle of Pennsylvania while driving to Chicago, followed by two planes during COVID and a double hurricane, a complicated move, and then a cancer scare. What a nightmare.
After just getting my fifth phone banking call reminder with this very gentle and empathetic person on the other line, I realized that while I love volunteering and showing up, I had to make a firm decision that I have officially entered the firm boundaries of my emotional bandwidth phase of grief, time, and what I can individually control as a human being. I decided I am pulling back on my New York “I am a proud asshole” tough shell exterior because frankly, there’s just too many people and it takes a village.
Do not count on that village being the West Village. Man, no one here is as generous as they are out Brooklyn. Trying to get people to do anything over there is like pulling teeth. Their community free piles aren’t as epic as the Downtown Brooklyn/Clinton Hill/Fort Greene/Kensington community groups. Just saying. I’m inclined to believe it’s because they all work on boards at non-profits or interior designers, but I could be wrong. It’s not like I ever see anyone, given that I don’t have many places to go these days and all since we're still living in a pandemic.
By the way, remember that cute moment back in March when everyone started Love in the Time of Coronavirus blogs? Look at how far we've come since then!
Let me tell you: it is better to control your emotions than let them control you. I have done the latter, and it is not healthy in any respect. It takes tremendous courage to feel everything, cry and scream until you’ve released your last drop, run a bath, put on some gentle music, swaddle yourself, and then prepare for another day.
There is power in routine and self-care. To pick oneself up, every day, acutely aware of what you carry, greet it, place it on a shelf. It will always live there, along with all of your other memories. You don’t have to look at it every day. Creating emotional space is essential to evolve and grow.
The loss of Walter Wallace, Jr., a mentally ill black man who was shot seven times by the police this week was such a travesty because there is no reason that a depressed person—even with a knife—deserves to be murdered by the police.
Pinning it on his depression conveniently absolves the police officer, who somehow thinks that to diffuse a situation is to recklessly fire off that many shots, indicating that he is not in control as a trained marksman or someone who is supposed to serve and protect citizens, including the mentally ill.
Meanwhile, the rioting and looting continues to stall progress for rebuilding safe communities for everyone, but shooting citizens doesn’t really restore faith, either, so it continues. An eye for an eye until the world goes blind.
America is entrenched in civil war. I am lighting my candles for peace, healing and more compassion for everyone. I hope that I can continue to offer you resources for healing, laughter and levity, beauty, inspiration, and different ways of thinking and living towards a more optimistic and beautiful future.
Speaking of, have to re-share this amazing CBD infused coquito recipe that I snagged from BreadxButta last year for Merry Jane and quick note that it like New York will finally have legal weed by 4/21. Better late than never, but could be sooner.
The Fool Card x New Beginnings
I’ve been thinking about fools lately. Maybe because I heard a guy blasting The Doobie Brothers’ “What A Fool Believes,” because I was a love fool, or just the election. God. That fucking thing. Get it over with. I can’t stand the drama anymore.
The other day, I was just trying to go to The Met to have one goddamn day of peace. It was a hallmark day: the first time I ever had a cronut at Dominique Ansel (I know, I can’t believe it either), catching up with an old friend after my first sleepover at another human’s place in months.
Then, out of nowhere, this caravan of MAGA Proud Boys, Jews For Trump and hodgepodge of angry Americans just descended onto Fifth Avenue, decked out in 4x4s brandishing American flags and MAGA shit, just revving their engines and blasting, “The Final Countdown,” “YMCA” and “Born In The USA” at full volume outside the Prada store.
It was terrifying, but also, completely confusing? Which really started to shake up a bit. Not because I like conservatives, but for people who so vehemently oppose liberals, that was the gayest shit I have ever seen in my life. Like, John Waters would be cackling at this uptight suburban bullshit of it all. Serial Mom meets Pink Flamingoes level audacity.
At first, I was really triggered, which made me just start impulsively screaming at top of my lungs, “WELCOME TO NEW YORK. GO FUCK YOURSELF YOU FUCKS.” Just two middle fingers straight up in the air like I was Real Housewife of New York, completely out of control. So gauche and trashy—but also, kind of ironic and fitting…?
It had been eight months and I was desperate to scream. I just wanted to go to The Met and I couldn’t even just walk to the museum without this being shoved in my face. Having the rest of the country isn’t enough, they just had to roll through New York City.
I was so embarrassed for myself and them because we both looked like assholes. Still, I had also been wanting to scream for a very, very, long time and it was kind of the most appropriate moment ever.
I mean, what are they actually trying to say, really? I am genuinely confused when the message is to say you love the shit out of America while blasting liberal songs about gayness, community service centers, a time-honored rock ‘n roll testament to how Republicans failed Vietnam vets when they returned from war, and a song by the band, Europe, which is the gayest continent of all time. Have you ever noticed how obsessed these people are with heteronormativity?
It’s so trashy, however, it was also on Fifth Avenue by Trump Plaza which is Trump’s trashy little concrete archipelago in the Upper East Side that is accurately a literal/figurative “ghost town.” And yet: it is also simultaneously kind of the biggest troll of all time against wealthy New Yorkers.
I kind of didn’t know how to feel about it, to be honest! What do you do when you hate everyone involved? Scream. It’s not like I can go mosh it out at Lollapalooza or whatever, given that the whole music industry is fucked this year.
Then I read later on that everyone got into an enormous fight with anti-fascists in Times Square and I was like, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
In tarot, The Fool is represented by this fancy looking Bohemian vagabond dude with a sack from the 1920s. This card represents new beginnings, faith in the future, naivety, beginner’s luck, thinking your toes and placing faith in the universe that pendulum always swings back the other way.
Also, I am having a hard time believing any could live off whatever they could throw in a sack that small, because frankly, even when I was living out of my suitcase for several months on the brink of desperation for the second time in my life, I still needed packing cubes!
I’m going to take The Fool card as a sign from the universe that things will eventually smooth out, with many, many years of ancestral trauma to sort out, but hopefully putting the whole Amy Comey Barrett getting on a permanent seat on the Supreme Court thing will also get dealt with. JFC. Between phone banking to Georgia and the round-the-block lines I keep seeing, I am hoping this means everyone is fucking fed up with this nightmare. So, small victories with a long of recovery ahead.
I feel like The Fool image is more of a “digital nomad” midlife crisis in your ‘30s type. Re: to my original query: any word that is actually minimizing and making light of people displaced by systematic poverty is probably a piece of shit. No one should ever have to go through that and yet, it is happening to so many as we speak.
Throw Your Money At Good Stuff!
As we are on the topic of displaced populations: I figured I would create a fundraiser page for New York Cares Coat Fundraiser. I ended up changing the name to “Coats From Carly + Friends.” While I’m pretty crass, I’d rather be, “Carly is the cool auntie that we can pay to talk to our kids about sex and drugs” type rather than the “I can’t believe you corrupted my child with your pot smoking sex witch ways.” When did our country allow the ghost of Nancy Reagan to rise from the dead to start shaming us all with D.A.R.E. shirts to have ‘candid conversations about marijuana’ again?" I digress.
Still, I figured I would put together a modest $200 fundraiser that could hopefully get some of our at-risk populations some coats to stay warm this winter while the city has to sort out where to house so many in need. Feel free to exceed that number exponentially as 100% of profits go directly to New York Cares. I honestly just don’t know who has money anymore these days!
Here are some other places I like, in case you’re feeling generous:
Also, I want to give a shout out to Project Glimmer, who I just participated in their fundraiser this week. Their program is designed to provide support, confidence, mentorship, and tools to foster youth. It’s been tough for journalists this year, as so many lost their jobs, too, so this is a really nice gesture.
EVENT: The Weed Witch Pen Pal Club Kicks Off With International Weed Witch Day on Friday, Nov. 13
(Pictured: Some art that I made, a bandana from Flying Tiger, a “Break chain” botanica candle, Cascara Beauty coffeeberry face oil, papers from Canndescent, organic hemp wick from Summerland, a Chromium Crusher gold grinder, chamomile face mask from Nature Republic, a sample of Clinique, Pachamama CBD cream, a face mask from Four Sigmatic’s new natural beauty line, a sachet of lavender, and a sample of some Givenchy lipstick).
Been feeling unlucky lately? Tired, stressed out, hopeless, angry, scared, numb, lonely? Could you use a friend? It’s your lucky day!
In honor of Sadie Hawkins Day, World Kindness Day, my grandma's birthday and saying “FUCK YOU” to bad 2020 vibes on Friday the 13th, I have decided to reclaim that day as International Weed Witch Day, an inaugural celebration of outliers from across the country or around the world.
This is for anyone who wants to connect with another misfit to send them a gift of solidarity, strength and love as a gesture of good will. By signing up here, you are joining The Weed Witch Pen Pal Club, where you can sign up to connect with another weed witch to send a gift of up to $25 to brighten someone’s day.
I recently made a personalized gift for my Turkish weed witch sister, Sinem, who needed to break a spell. I compiled a list to give away things that I no longer needed, including a surplus of really nice beauty, self-care, cannabis and lifestyle products that were sent to me by so many brands that helped me when I was going through a really hard time.
Admittedly, I am a self-care addict. Actually, it was more than a little bit of a problem. Two years ago when I started writing my book, I was living above this 4 a.m. bar in Bushwick where I developed a really unhealthy obsession with editorial beauty influencers, New York sample sales, and Sephora. I had a ROUGE MEMBERSHIP. That is a rough deal, my friends, and let me tell you: Chase Bank does not mess around.
Yes, I am suffering for my vanity, but at least I look fabulous! Honestly, I blame Drag Race. I was watching so much of it and that is such an expensive hobby—be cautious! I really miss New York City drag shows.
Last year, I interviewed Miss Cissy Walken on an infused pasta for Merry Jane. She does the best Sophia Loren and Amy Winehouse. I interviewed her after she had just won Miss Stonewall 2019 and Mizz Q-Train 2019, and ended up being a contestant on Dishmantled S1 E4. You know that bitch is going to be on Drag Race someday and you’ll have found her here first! (Or I guess through her other accomplishments if you already knew her about her). I cannot wait for the drama, tears, and false eyelashes to hang by a thread just like JuJuBee. Simply iconic. I digress.
So, on that note: sign up if you want to connect with a beautiful new friend and a socially distanced toker for a united weed witches event. Sign up by Nov. 3 (the day you should absolutely have a hex going for the election) and get those gifts out in time for Nov. 13 using USPS to help support the mail service. Yes, I recognize the irony of using a site called Elfster for this initiative, but whatever. Spread the good word!
By the way, if you’re looking for a cool curated gift set that does some good, I am a huge fan of Gifted by freeform. Their revenue model gives 70% of the cost directly to the survivor entrepreneurs who handmade the products inside. 15% of the cost is used to employ survivors of domestic violence for a living wage of $20/hr to do all the packaging and shipping. 10% supports more survivor entrepreneurs in building financial security and long-term safety through FreeFrom's entrepreneurship program. LOVE it. The Money Magic roll-on is the most empowering smell ever, made with orange, ginger and patchouli essential oils.
AMDPC: A Historic Weed Witch Collective Grows In The Wild
I would like to thank AMDPC and Rachel Syme of The New Yorker for both inspiring this initiative for The Weed Witch Pen Pal Club. I dedicate this to them, as AMDPC helped me find myself again, and Syme gave me the smart idea to start a club that could connect more likeminded people.
It was during the evening of the last full moon that I stumbled upon AMDPC, an incredible artivist muti-dimensional performance dance company (hence, acronym) at Le Petit Versailles garden in Alphabet City, while in the midst of a very long, heavy and emotional conversation with my publicist, Jeffrey Ward, about grief, uncertainty and doubt. He just lost one of his oldest friends, and I wanted to cheer him up with some of the beauty in the world by describing what he was missing in New York City until he could see it again some day.
He loves the East Village and I love describing it to him. Just so he can remember what it’s like to dance around whichever AirBnB he would stay at with his most prized possession in tow: an authentic Alexander McQueen skull scarf that he drapes over the lamp, while putting on Stevie Nicks and dancing around the apartment with a bottle of champagne and delivery from a local Chinese restaurant.
It had been a minute since I had strolled through the East Village because New York City has been under a state of trauma and reopening slowly, but surely, over the past several months, as we had all went from a highly-connected world of bodies nestled within one of the most densely populated cities in the world to a socially-distanced digital experiment.
At times, the loneliness can be too much, on top of the fear, anger, sadness, confusion, frustration, emptiness. Normalizing all of it, somehow bravely stepping into the world alone, where returning to an old neighborhood feels flipped upside down. Creating new memories in familiar spaces turned unfamiliar.
Making sense of this new world, which has endured so much pain that I have been documenting over the past eight months has been so hard some days. Trying to create a sense of normalcy that picks up the pieces of the beautiful people, places and feelings of what makes this city so special: the artists, the unusual thinkers, the intellectuals, the colorful weirdos, the actors and dancers, the massage therapists, the chefs and bartenders, the museum workers, the bodega owners, the people who never neatly fit anywhere and that’s why they were always so special to me.
For that reason, summer was the best because I would get lost in Central Park and walking around the city.
(Pictured: An amazing impromptu photoshoot in Central Park with an amazing array of Medieval fashion witches. Shot as part of Nikon’s Z-50 Content Creator series).
The season changing reminds us that we have to retreat again. I could feel the air changing, the sun disappearing and the palpable sense of quiet and grief catching up from months of optimism in the sunshine. I worried about winter coming, but welcomed the solitude.
Still, I missed people so much. I missed strangers, saying hello and making new friends everywhere I went—which is what I had been fighting tooth and nail to return to over the past year until this March and April happened, with everything that followed. Some people seemed to be so comfortable with nestling into this new life they found for themselves, and I was still struggling to find myself as someone whose profession required constant motion and suddenly being forced to sit still.
As a result, I hadn’t been into a botanica for some time and had burned through my candles. So, you could say that this was a bit of a *witch shop expedition emergency* trying to get a bodega candle in time for the new moon. I saw the garden from the other side, locked behind a gate where I could just make out the faintest twinkle of this magically little scrap of a set-up.
“What is that?”
I tried to describe it to Jeffrey. I assumed it was a private party and was instantly jealous. Who were all of these people getting together with their friends?
I didn’t want to see anyone because I was a giant mess, just trying to keep it together. After awhile, it all just started to feel like this long journey and a daze. This weird state of New York City, absorbing the collective energy, trying to make sense of it all through the chaos and pain.
I didn’t understand how everything was so normal for some of the people I’d see picking up sandwiches for the game, or whatever they were watching, knowing it wasn’t normal for any of us. But a lot of people weren’t here, or turned up the volume to drown it out.
It’s not normal to see hundreds of police officers in riot gear from time to time. But it is now.
It’s not normal to see the impact that this damage left on so many people who stayed behind or just showed up. But it is now.
It’s not normal to see so many displaced people begging for money or worried about their rent. But it is now.
That’s the question of this year when you meet someone: “Were you here in March and April?”
By the time I found the botanica, it was closed, so I went home and tried to put together the newsletter, which was hard because I couldn’t think that far ahead. So much was happening in our city, state, country and world, that I just couldn’t find any centeredness no matter how hard I tried. Everywhere I called felt like dealing with a robot and I was never able to get in touch with a human being in a reasonable amount of time, as my inbox overflowed and the brick-and-mortar storefronts quietly opened their doors to create some semblance of normalcy.
I was an anxious, rattled mess. My candles and astrology provided a better sense of psychic connectedness to making sense of the natural world than my anti-anxiety meds, weed or wine (though, I still love all of those things, too, not going to front).
I just didn’t know where I fit or where I was supposed to be, looking to the candles, moon and stars, because I knew they would help me find myself back on my path. The one I was on, driving on a long, dark and winding road, where my windshield had became so clustered with bugs that I couldn’t see. When I pulled off, I cleaned my windshield, knowing that I had to keep driving. Because that’s what The Green Fairy told me when I was lost the first time, when we connected over the moon and maple trees when I started writing about the weed witches last September.
The next evening, I made it just in time to the botanica before closing to pick up a couple candles before a stop into Dual Specialty, where I picked up another candle, some spices, teas, ayurvedic herbs, dried mushrooms, spirulina, and bee pollen. The guy at the counter gave me a discount for paying in cash and complimented me on my jean jacket from The Met emblazoned with the replica of St. Michael that I always receive receive compliments on.
(Pro-tip: Museum shops have the best swag ever. I am obsessed with the Heavenly Skies Ruana celestial shawl currently in the shop. Very on-trend, Met! You know your audience: tarot reading art school witch bitches who will spend all of their money on the stars and moons. I guess I should probably start doing some of those guides at some point. Let’s just get through this election).
I had been really worried because I had an irregular PAP come back from a clinic a few days prior. Getting proper medical care has taken considerably longer as a result of COVID and the reduction of service providers and front line workers. If you don’t have insurance or are on a state-supported plan, the options can be slim with overcrowded offices.
Between my initial visit to Planned Parenthood, my colposcopy, and follow-up visit, it had been about a month of being concerned that I was going to deal with a cervical cancer scare on top of everything else. I just couldn’t find the focus. But I knew I had to prepare my body with as many nutrients as possible, just in case, because whether or not it was cancer or COVID or leaving the house, I was just scared. I know everyone else was scared, too, because there were so many things to be afraid of.
As I left the botanica, I walked towards the West Village and that where I saw them: the dancers in the garden, all wearing costumes and they had one seat left. A magical invitation to see the jellicle cats dance under the jellicle moon.
I hadn’t been around a live performance in so long that my heart hurt, as I watched my friends who had worked in dance, theater, museums, Broadway, restaurants, hotels, everywhere have to figure out how to “pivot to video” where they couldn’t afford the marketing budgets to build their own clientele and take care of their own. I wasn’t alone: the handful of others who shared the space felt spiritually embedded in that one DIY moment in the courtyard.
My old friend, Tess Dworman, an incredibly talented subversive choreographer and performer, for example, is now hosting meditation classes online and doing voiceover work while helping to fundraise for safe housing and school her friend Merci Chrisette, a black trans woman who wants to go back to school.
So, when I came across ADPC in this beautiful little garden, hosting this incredible event where I was finally able to witness an immersive dance performance of music and bodies and voices that were able to magically weave a narrative of this horrible feeling of being online, not feeling seen or heard into this magical offline moment, to touch people emotionally and spiritually at a time without touch, brought tears to my eyes because it was exactly what I needed.
{a multi-dimensional performance company} is a collective of artivists, founded on holistic wellness, mutual aid, and postmodern dance. {amdpc} operates under an athleticism of emotion and physical being. Through a process of multidisciplinary research, our art making and community partnerships promote healing justice and collective care. This process functions as a “by us, for us” approach towards the movement of liberation and sovereignty for disabled, 2STGNC, Black and/or Indigenous people; focusing first on immediate achievable goals, such as how we relate to ourselves and those around us. Our extensive and constant research of Complex PTSD serves as the foundation for our social practice and performative processing.
The project is fronted by x, a “first-generation, Afro, Taíno + Chinese-Jamaican, two-Spirit, genderless, human bean raised on the Seminole land claimed and known as Miami-Dade County. Their nomadic life of displacement and insecurity has led them to residing on unseated Canarsie+Munsee Lenape land, working across the Lenapehoking regions known today as NYC. An unabashedly, proud multi-hyphenate, x does it all-from choreography, curation, community organizing, counseling and beyond. their socialized identities and lived experiences of adversity has influenced their social practice through art-making and birthed {amdpc}, an art making entity that empowers Black, Native, and Afro-Indigenous, Two-Spirit+Trans youth to realize their dreams into tangible goals and eventual realities.”
The cast is an ensemble of BIPOC+ dancers, including a social psychology researcher, actors and dancers, touching on a range of topics including mental health, trauma, racism, sexism, and the yearning for human connectivity. It was restorative to my heart, like chicken soup for the soul.
On the way out, they gave me a gift bag, which really brightened my day. It included sexual health resources and a really nice handmade soap and rose face oil from Sweetwater Labs--a brand that I actually didn't know about previously, but they're quite lovely!
While the magic of AMDPC's current season is currently over, I invite you to check out their work rooted in protest. I look forward to their growth in 2021, and hopefully many more magical evenings in secret gardens. Mostly, I am grateful that I was able to find love again in a hopeless place through the shared power and encouragement of self-love, community and raw vulnerability. 💚
ASK A WEED WITCH
Have a question about cannabis, witch life, existentialism or nihilism, bathtubs, or whether reality is a construct? Have a cool story to share? Want to tell me about your favorite products, real life adventure, conspiracy theory, or psychic connection with ghosts manifested from your third eye? Send all your need-to-know questions to itstheweedwitch@gmail.com.