Stoga Party: Moms Get High With A Little Help From Their Friends
Every Monday night, I get together with my girlfriends â€“ all moms with demanding careersÂ â€“ and get stoned. Then we do yoga. Thatâ€™s right, stoned yoga. Or stoga, as we call it. It happened quite by accident, really. The initial premise was sunset yoga â€“ outdoor yoga in a friendâ€™s backyard â€“ which sounded very earthy and cool despite the fact that I hate yoga (itâ€™s the whole forced relaxation aspect that throws me off). And so I signed on.
The yoga itself was pretty good â€“ I mastered downward dog and learned to breathe â€“ but the best part was the post-yoga hang, replete with barbecue chips and red wine and hilarious banter about husbands, kids, life. Inevitably, weâ€™d smoke a joint. More food. More laughter.
Pretty soon we were getting high pre-yoga (why wait?). And so began stoga: a weekly ritual of high achievers (and former stoners) sparking up a doobie just in time for shavasana. Four years in, I am addicted to Monday nights. Itâ€™s not about the yoga, or even the getting high, but more the therapeutic effects of taking time out from my busy life and hanging out with friends, old-school. And thereâ€™s nothing obligatory about it. Unlike three-times-a-week cardio or even, say, self-imposed â€˜date nights,â€™ thereâ€™s zero guilt if I flake out on stoges (which I never do, excluding the lonely few months after kid number two was born).
Our fearless organizer, Sasha â€“ she’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place â€“ has been practicing yoga for 15 years. But the Monday-night routine has given a whole new meaning to her practice:
“Yoga is an individual journey. With stoga, there’s a deeper level of bonding… It’s become a group journey. And you also get a night of partying with the girls!”
Like many moms out there, I sometimes get nostalgic for my former life. Sure, I feel blessed to have two healthy, vibrant children, but somewhere along the way Iâ€™ve lost my identity. And so a simple act like smoking a joint, followed by 60 minutes of relative silence, brings me back to a simpler, more carefree time when I could eat cereal for dinner and watch trashy TV in real time (never mind spur-of-the-moment road trips or all-night benders).
And, sometimes (most times), a glass of wine after a busy day just doesnâ€™t do the trick. Stoga does. Itâ€™s the working momâ€™s best-kept secret.