Tupperware and weed go way back—probably even as far as the 1950s, when some bohemian housewives must have immediately seen the burping seal as a great way to keep their weed fresh. As the legalization and normalization of cannabis opened a new world of business opportunities, it was probably only a matter of time until someone in Portland brought the direct sales party model to weed. That's just what HAPPY Parties LLC did.

"We had to change the name," says co-creator Terri Nopp. "Banks wouldn't give us a loan if we called ourselves Host a Pot Party, so it turned into HAPP and we added the Y."

HAPPY Parties are like Tupperware parties, except with strain samples and toking implements.

They were created by Nopp and business partner Amber Tippets, who pass the dutchie as they educate partiers about terpenes and the history of cannabis prohibition.

It's equal parts middle-school science fair presentation, cocktail party and Costco sampling extravaganza.

You'd never know it from looking at the house on Northeast Klickitat Street, but inside a dozen bongs are lined up on the mantel, a full-size pot plant stands where the coffee table should be, and a display of 4Play Lube sits in front of the fireplace.

"Welcome to the Klickishack" reads a sign by the waivers in the foyer.

Nopp and Tippets take turns explaining the basics, backed by a batik wall hanging and posters titled "Terpenoid Education" and "Indica or Sativa" while attendees pass around jars of flower to sniff. Attendees circled on couches around the room range from an older man who is curious about how bongs work to young women who found HAPPY Parties on Facebook, and local cannabis writer and Potlander contributor Tyler Hurst.

An aspiring HAPPY Party consultant sits in for training purposes, and a home grower has brought her partner along. In the kitchen, lemonade and a respectable charcuterie spread keep everyone fed and hydrated.

(Enid Spitz)
(Enid Spitz)

First, the worst: HAPPY Parties, like all party plan marketing schemes, feel a little exploitative. They rely on guilting friends into spending money on potentially useful products so the host can get a cut. Adding weed to the equation is either the best thing ever or the worst, depending on your tolerance.

After sampling the products, all social guilt and responsibility might conveniently leave your brain. On the other hand, you may be blissed out enough to drop $30 on a rubber-lipped ash tray, $75 on the Monsoon Water Pipe, and $175 on the Magical Butter Machine, which makes cannabis butter in an hour and cleans itself. The Pax II is $40 cheaper than retail, but still $240.

Nopp and Tippets are banking on the latter scenario. Now soliciting consultants, doing TV spots and pitching edible companies, they're also expanding to offer add-ons like lip balm-making parties, meditation or yoga. Next week's party includes a Chakra-inspired art project.

"It's legal, because we don't charge," says Nopp. Free is a cheap price for testing top-shelf bud from the industry's best vapes. And while you might have to sit through a spiel about linalool versus limonene, if you answer Nopp's trivia questions—like which organization financed the scare film Reefer Madness—you get a prize to stash in your Tupperware.

Go: HAPPY Party with Chakra crafts is at 10380 SW Washington St., happyparties.com. 7 pm Friday, June 24. Free, RSVP required.