On a recent evening at the Cannabis Feminist Circle in Marina del Rey, a group of about 15 women, mostly in their late 20s and early 30s, get stoned. Several are impossibly beautiful without makeup, four of us have recently moved to LA from New York City, and quite a few appear to be Jewish. It’s my second circle, and this time I don’t light up, determined to remember the meeting’s details and to take notes. My memory has been failing me for a while now, though appropriately, I can’t remember if it was ever that good to begin with. Read More Here