Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
My children did not indulge in a great deal of drinking and drugging when they were in high school. There was the time Favorite Young Man came home from "camping at the lake" and barfed up everything including his toenails and then passed out, and I'm sure that wasn't the only time he was inebriated. But then he got into being straight edge. What a loser. Hahahahahaha. I love him.
I feel quite certain that Someone I Love didn't learn to enjoy pot and drinking until she went to college because her fancy-schmancy high school had a zero tolerance policy and there was no way the valedictorian was going to risk getting kicked out. And her school really did send kids home the minute they got caught. Those critters were whisked away so fast they didn't even get to say goodbye to their friends.
Of course, she smoked plenty of weed and did her share of drinking in college to make up for lost time. I know because she told me lots of stories about it and I laughed my ass off at her shenanigans.
However, when she called after her first few days at college, she said, The entire North campus smells like pot. I asked, How do you know what pot smells like? She said, Well, you're the one who took me to a Beck concert.
So she wasn't totally naive, thanks to Mommy.
Not too long ago I wrote a post about walking at my neighborhood park with Franklin and encountering some nice kids who were smoking a doobie, but they didn't offer to share.
One tale always leads to another so I was thinking about the time I got uninvited to the Homecoming dance because I smoked pot.
When I was a sophomore in high school, I had a little crush for a while on this guy named G. He was pretty good looking and intelligent and was rapidly killing his brain cells with all the pot he smoked. The next year when I was a junior, and he was a senior, he suddenly returned my interest, which I had lost but regained when he gave me this look that I now know didn't mean Oh wow, you are so hot and so intelligent. It meant: Do I have a chance of getting laid?
And no, he didn't.
So we were at a party and G. asked if I wanted to go with him to get some beer, so I said sure. I wonder if he was 18. I know I was too young to buy it, although I did all the time. Then when we returned to the party, before I could get out of the car, he leaned over and kissed me. Imagine the little girlish squeal that was going off inside my brain because this cool senior kissed me.
Instead of going back into the party, we stayed outside by the front door, making out, so everyone entering or leaving kinda got the feeling we were together. G. drove me home from the party and on the way he asked if I would go to the Homecoming dance with him. It was coming up in about three or four weeks. I said, Aieeeeeeeee! YES YES YES I WILL GO WITH YOU. Actually that was internal monologue because I just said something intelligent like O.K.
So all of a sudden G. and I were a couple. He came over to my house to make out and we walked around school with our arms around each other. I don't remember why I was dressed in what kind of looks like an army uniform in this photo of us, but girls will be girls.
Then G. and I went to another party. We were playing pool and I really didn't know how, so every time G. turned around to talk to somebody this guy named J.T. would help me get the ball in the pocket.
We finished our game and I sat down at a table to drink a beer. I was sitting next to T., who now went to college and was on my favorites list. Oi! Such blue eyes he had and he wore nice shirts with his initials embroidered on them and he didn't wear a watch. He had a pocket watch. He was sooooo cool.
So I was sitting there talking to T. and all of a sudden I realized G. had disappeared. Where's G? Nobody knew. Some of his friends were gone too. So T. said to me, You wanna go smoke a joint with D. and me?
I said, Sure.
So we walked to a nearby park and smoked a joint.
We got back and G. was there and he looked kinda pissed. What could be wrong?
He said he was ready to leave so we got in the car and drove to my house and on the way he said something I don't exactly remember, but the gist of it was that he uninvited me to the Homecoming dance. Again, I said O.K.
And that was the end of us. Apparently he didn't like it that when he went off to smoke a joint, which was what he was doing, I went off to smoke a joint.
Ah, the never ending double standard.
I guess if I hadn't gone to pot, maybe I would have married G., and I probably would have gotten divorced a lot sooner because he turned into a rabid Republican. I certainly couldn't have tolerated that.
Anyway, G., in the words of the great Lesley Gore: You don't own me. Don't say I can't go with other boys . . . to smoke dope.
Infinities of love,
P.S. I'm convinced G. turned into a Republican because of pot-induced brain cell loss.