Superbad v. Superbard

(WARNING: A long story containing even longer drawn out drug references)

Myself, 4x4, and his woman-type friend, who I will let Mr. Bucket call Yoshimi (because of her hatred of robots) went to see Superbad this past week. Now while, yes, this is yet another movie about High School kids trying to get laid before they head off to college, they actually had an original take. Like that drawing dicks CAN be innocent. And that plutonic man to man love CAN be verbalized. And not every time is the woman the victim…Oh, how I can relate. Anyway, go see it. I give it the Bard’s Official “Shrug of The Shoulders” which demonstrates that nothing is very good, but this was at least tolerable.

The crazy adventures (which I will save for your own discovery) the crew of misfits embarks upon got the old Bard to thinking about the past. And since the present isn’t worth a pile of piss buckets in a pool room, I figured why not let my mind drift back to the good old days…..

My real high school life totally smokes those fools in Superbad. The movie can’t compete with me on the virginity front. I cashed that voucher at the ripe age of 14. Upon discovering this saunter into manhood, my mom said, “Sex! You had sex?! Why didn’t you just try drugs like a normal teenager?!”

You may be asking how my mom found out? Well, aren’t you the curious cat! She had been secretly taping all my phone conversations with my hot Latin Lady Lover. She said, “I was told by my therapist to do it because you didn’t seem to be upset about the fact that your Dad and I just got divorced”. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that at time I was more than grateful for the split, as I would no longer be the emotional and physical dishrag for their mutual angst.

I considered my Mom’s suggestion to try drugs an instruction rather than shocked reactionary statement. Thanks for the suggestion Mother, don’t mind if I do. Which brings us to the point where I wipe Superbad off the face of the map. All of it, a true story:

One morning, before school, my friends and I, we went on what you call a “country cruise”. Which if you are from the planet earth or Indiana, you know this is driving around in the country smoking pot while coming up with great ideas and theories on any and everything and then totally forgetting them ten minutes later when you arrive at school. Oh, and I remember laughing a lot. I miss the laughing the most. So far nothing too shocking, we smoked a lot of pot. A lot. Not Topanga Canyon quantities, but……

So on lunch, we decided to go to a friend’s house to “partake in the festivities” yet again. I have to mention, we had all just tried acid the weekend before. We had some left over from the previous weekend, and thought, hey, since we are already completely stoned, why not take a little ACID to get through the rest of the day! It amazes me that at one point in my life that I thought taking acid on lunch was a good idea. So drop we did. And went back to school. ----Good lord, why?------

Around 2:30pm, I thought to myself, you know this might just work out. Things were going fine. As long as I didn’t have to talk to anyone, or move very much, I was going to make it. At 2:31pm, in walked a messenger from the Office. He had a yellow pass in his hands. A yellow pass meant somebody was in trouble deep cause they had to go talk to the Principle or Counselor. Guess who that somebody was?

So I get out of my seat, drop my books, hit the desk in front of me, rub my face and hands, grab the pass with my name on it and head down to talk to my Counselor. On acid. Stoned. Ready to shit my pants. Why didn’t I just leave right then, skip school and join the circus? Who knows. Anyway, I get there and she asks me to sit down and close the door. SHIT. She said, “Your Mother called. She thinks you are taking drugs, and is concerned. Are you taking drugs?” FUCK NO! I AM FINE. CAN I GO NOW? “Why are you yelling and why are you shaking? You can’t sit still. And what are you drawing? Are you on drugs now??” she asked. NO, NOT REALLY. JUST NERVOUS. AND TIRED. Everyone buys tired. You can’t argue with tired. Guess cause everyone has been tired at some point. She continued to tell me that she had a specialist she wanted me to see, and that he knew all about drugs and the taking of them. That he could help me see the light and that Jesus would see me through. By graces of my britches, I got out of there alive. No idea how.

I went to my next class and the teacher wanted to see me. What? WHY? She had a note from my girlfriend and a set of keys. Seems she couldn’t find me between classes since The Lord’s Coffee Breath Counselor of Death was interrogating me.

Somehow I had “forgotten” that my girlfriend had her HUGE cross-town rival tennis match that day after school. The set of keys was to a stick shift Civic that I didn’t know how to drive sober. My “automatic” car was dead and she wanted me to drive and meet her. On any other day it would have been a great idea. Not on this day. I HAD NEVER DRIVEN STICK. EVER. It was like working wet spaghetti through a cheese grater. I was already wigged out from before but now I was close to hysterical. I needed help. But my only help was my stoner friends who were tripping across town, locked up in a house. I had to get there……………….Maybe they knew how to drive stick.

THEY WERE FUCK NUT CRAZY. No joke. One was in the corner, mumbling. One was hitting a pot with a spatula. The other was in the tub. I could see without too much investigation none of these boys were going to be too keen to drive for me or were interested in accompanying me to the tennis match. But I had to go. My girl was the world to me and to this day we are still great friends. I gave no consideration to this-this madhouse and left forthwith!

Got to the match. I was wide-eyed and geeked. That car trip was insanity. I kept thinking the cops had a way to tell I was driving stick for the first time and that they would surely pull me over for this violation.

Again I forgot some key things about our social world. Families come to support kids in high school. And everyone wants to know how the boyfriend of the star tennis player is handling the fact that she is getting her ass handed to her out there on the courts. “Are you ok? You look really upset! She is doing her best out there….You are so nice to support her! Why are you shaking? Are you hungry? Want a snack? I brought a cooler full of crap over here!” There is no polite way to kindly ask these folks to leave you alone. Their whole life is dedicated to making sure you are full. Kind of like a sweet grandmother. So I went into complete lock down. I said, “I can’t bear to watch her lose”. I remember no detail of ever looking up to see her play. Not even for a second.

After the match, I suavely convinced my exhausted, defeated girl to do the driving. I thought I was going to FINALLY get back to my friends, who would understand me by default. But no such luck. She had secretly made dinner reservations for us. Which was a big deal cause we never had any money and this was a fancy place. My god, I couldn’t even think about food. But I went, cause she was such a sweetheart. I just sat there, staring at soup. Miso soup to be exact. For what seemed like hours. She just didn’t understand what was wrong. And I couldn’t tell her. (Years later I did tell her, and she was SUPER PISSED. But then she laughed. She’s great.)

So I got home. My mom was waiting on me. Shit, I had forgot that she was the one that started the Counselor visit ordeal. She was standing in the driveway with my newly purchased water bong. She thought it was a crack pipe. Seriously. She is also a nurse. Who also had access to drug tests. She marched me straight to the bathroom where I was to piss in a cup immediately. “My son, a crackhead!” Yeah, no….but I had been through it all that day and this was just icing. The seal from that piss test is still planted firmly on one of my guitars.  I didn't have my wits about me , but if I did I would have said, "I was just trying drugs, like a normal teenager!".

So, while I escaped pretty much A-OK, acid never was quite the same for me. No moral to this tale. Just bad timing. I got the girl, and learned no valuable lesson. Other than to never, never, never take acid on lunch in High School.

This still was not the worst Mother-Involvement-With-School tale that I own.
No, that precious honor belongs to a single day in the 8^th grade. When I got to my first class of the day, there was my Mom, in the front row. She didn’t even tell me she was going to be there. I took the bus, she drove in. She followed me around all day went to all of my classes. Even ate lunch there. Most Embarrassing Day Ever. To this day I do not understand or respond to subtle suggestion or passive aggressive behavior. No, if you want my attention, you got get up pretty early in the morning. And beat me to school.

FOOTNOTE:

Since the release of American Pie, it is now totally unbelievable, even in Hollywood Land, that the “Cool Crew” would still be virgins by the time they are seniors. So you will notice in Superbad the continuance of the mutually agreed upon theory proposed by Mr. Bucket that the geek/fat/dork/nerd/fat/fat/fat dudes get the hot chicks in media these days. Maybe it is because 75% of the male viewing audience look more like Jimmie Dean (of sausage fame) and make these very actors look like James Dean by comparison. Or maybe a woman can deal with a visually less appealing leading man, while men will spend a metric shit ton of money just to see Jessica Alba in her panties in her new movie, which is out.. like.. soon. Yes!