I really love my life, I have great friends, great kids, and a great boyfriend. I have a stable home, I eat healthy foods, even my pet is well cared for. I am able to be playful and creative in the workplace. And then I get the icing on the cake: playing laser tag with my co-workers.

We’ve been working on an upcoming show for pot.tv called Toking Tuesdays. It’s based on doing fun things but with a healthy mix of protest. A pretty great gig if that’s your deal — and it’s mine.

This particular episode was being filmed at Planet Lazer in New Westminster. We had a gang of six with various levels of physical fitness and skill. I knew I wouldn’t be fantastic, but that never stopped me from doing anything before, why would it now?

After smoking ourselves into oblivion in the parking lot, we optimistically booked ourselves in for a three game stint. I, being the crazy kitten that I am, wore black and white stripes to a very blacklight-oriented space. Let it be known that I will die quickly in the wild without assistance. Or be found quickly, it’s tough to say.

First round was individual scoring — already points against me, and the six of us had not even started playing.

We got ready for our 4:20 start time (you can’t make this stuff up). Then the music started, the lights went down, and that weird vest they insist you wear started making a lot of noise and blinking assorted colours.

I ran upstairs and looked for a good place to hide, which are few and far between. I had not yet planned tactics, but of course I was totally stoned and was thinking incredibly slowly; I decided my tactic was no tactic.

I heard yelling and laughter below me, but the silence in my general vicinity was eerie. I was wondering how long it would be before someone would come upstairs and shoot me a million times with their noisy fake gun. It’s hot as hell in there, too, so I was starting to sweat.

I decided that being fake shot was more appealing than being alone in the disorientating maze of walls that all looked the same so I ran downstairs…

…Only to see everyone head upstairs. Because of course.

The round went on and I ended up annihilated by a few people. I’ll admit I can be a bit of a sore loser at times, but when I walk into a situation knowing damn well it’s not included in my skill set, well, I was able to have a tonne of fun with it. The round ended and we took a breather. As expected, I was in last place.

I was relieved to hear that my coworkers were also really hot and tired; it made me feel a bit better about how out of shape I felt. We had some snacks from the vending machine, went outside for another blaze session, and then we were ready for our second match.

We were in teams this time; I was put with the two best players. (Sorry guys, I didn’t make the teams!) I felt I had learned quite a bit more about the game and I don’t know if I had smoked a different strain the second time around, but I felt sharper, and at the very least, more clever than before if not stealthier.

We lost. My bad. Still had fun.

We are old and grumpy, so we bailed on that third game. Instead we shared a final joint, said our goodbyes, and went home to hydrate.

I don’t know if I learned anything special that afternoon except black lights are scary when you get older, wearing fleece is bad when running around a warehouse, and I have a terrible scream.

Oh, and I like doing ridiculous things with my friends and coworkers when I am stoned.