Life is like one big High School

Every five years I get that same feeling that I got as a kid on Christmas eve, anxiously awaiting Santa's arrival, hoping to god that that splotchy white fuck left me some Heman men that I didn't already have. Only this time I'm an adult, I've outgrown all the action figures, but I still anxiously wait for a white man to penetrate my residence though, only this time the cookies and milk will be replaced with a million buck-shots waiting to greet him upon his arrival. I get excited after 5 years because my friends and I have a ritual of getting together and discussing old times over a lovely dinner, drinks, and the finest street horticulture this side of New York City. Good times are had by all, and I really think that I will enjoy the company of these fine individuals until the day my soul leaves this earth and all of my detractors politely take turns taking R-Kelly size pisses on my casket. But there is one thing that always interrupts my thought process in the middle of these dinners, besides the fact that Sherry's tits are so massive that I would routinely make love to them like I was on a time clock, is the fact that my friends either feel one of two ways about their time at High School.

There's my one set of friends who sees their High School tenure as the best time of their lives, you could actually smell the wet grass as they recall beautiful tales of last minute touchdown catches, many of them naming all the scholastic clubs that they were a part of, a few even channeling their thought process at the time and how they felt that the "whole world was in front of them". Then there's my other set of friends who feel that their High School years was nothing but a fiery inferno with books, a sentiment usually accompanied with their extreme hatred of both athletes and cheerleaders, listening to these bitter individuals I always get the feeling that they can still be found looking through their old yearbooks on any given night- staring at people they circled 16 years ago and saying out loud "I'm still going to get you one day, motherfucker!!"

As for me though I'm indifferent about my High School experience, the same way I'm indifferent about Ludacris or T.I. or daily bowel movements that I push out post meal. It wasn't that my time there was bad or anything, I had a lot of great experiences from 1988-91, I just remember thinking, even back then, that I didn't want to peak at 17. I don't particularly look back at High School with rose colored glasses because I don't particularly feel that much has changed, sure I look as if I've been on a steady diet of midgets, my beard is grayer, and I finally understand that foreplay is more than me unzipping my pants and saying "Come on girl, lets do this!!" But back then I was secretly a geek who was only popular because I was an athlete, so my entire existence back then was maneuvering between each of the social groups, hoping that I wasn't perceived as figuratively planting my flag in any one of them. The only difference now is that I don't care what people think, but I still maneuver between the same social groups like a chameleon with a thyroid problem. I guess I don't wax poetic about High School because I'm still living it, based on the various social groups that I still find myself being a part of.

The Geeks: Seeing the kids who were tormented with weekly beatings in High School, given horrific nicknames so popular that even certain teachers would mistakenly refer to them by it, not to mention the atomic wedgies so brutal that you could parallel park a Hummer between each of their butt-cheeks, its good to see them embrace their inner and outer geek now that they are in their 30's. Even though these particular friends cringe whenever I mention sports, and that one time I gave one of their kids a football for a gift they acted as if I handed their first born a used dildo or some shit, for the most part they are still a delight to hang with. I'm just glad that I was cool with them back in the day because these fuckers have long memories, I couldn't tell you how many times I had to talk one of my socially crippled pals out of assaulting some old classmate that made his life a living hell 16 years ago.(Me, of all people being the voice of reason. Go figure.) But this group serves purposes outside of friendship, who else can I call 3 in the morning when I want to inject some obscure Star Wars reference in my writing, openly talk about which female superhero would give the best head and which ones would melt your dick mid-coitus based on her radioactive make-up, and what sequence of buttons I have to press on my PlayStation controller in order to unlock some characters, or hidden level on a plethora of game titles I'm scared to mention because I already have failed to get any ass on this blog.

The Skateboard Crew: This by far is the most understanding group of the lot, when people questioned my blackness because I had a penchant for kick-flip Ollie's while I was in junior high, this rag tag bunch of lunatics was the best support system a fellow could have. Nothing erases the ignorance of a few uninformed black folks like grinding a curb, or stylish marathon length nose-wheelies. I can't be mad at the way that black folks on skateboards has been excepted over the past couple of years, but I'm as bitter as Little Richard thinking about all the musical acts who undeservedly get more credit than him, I remember a time when being a brother on a skateboard was a hell-worthy trespass akin to fucking farm animals or actually liking Common's "Electric Circus". Nowadays a few of us skate, terrorize local businesses while performing picture shattering wall rides, literally acting as if the past 16 years never happened. By the way, this is one of the only times where my political differences with someone don't get in the way of the task at hand.

The Rich Girls: These are the girls who only gave me the the time of day during High School because I tutored a few of them, romantically looking past the kid with a slight stutter for the football star who would have a rap sheet a mile long damn near two decades years later. I'm still friends with some of those same girls from High School, girls who wouldn't let me see their vagina's even if I had the cure for the disease that their father was dying of, only willing to fuck me now because they are running out of viable options.(All of the guys our age want girls who just became legally able to drink) There's a catch though, not only will these lovely ladies make it known in the most subtlest terms imaginable that by being with me that they are dating beneath their standards, those fleeting times that I am out with her friends I can just imagine that I'm the "thug" that she talks about to her girls during those late night phone conversations. I guess I should have some self respect, I'm no thug, I'm smarter than the combined I.Q of her and her cackling pack of chickens, but something about receiving sporadic gifts, spending their trust fund money, and pre-ejaculating on silk sheets just cripples my pride something fierce.

The Criminals: These are basically dudes who were either jocks or heavy metal enthusiasts in high school, who somehow wandered off the career path to professional athletics or being in a hair band, and chose a life of criminality instead. None of these dudes are rapists or murderers, just cats who have a record filled with assault charges and minor drug cases, based on my love for weed, violence, and my squeaky clean record, these dudes refer to me as the "Teflon Don". Based on said record(or lack-thereof) I shouldn't even be allowed to discuss the weather with these gentlemen, but because there is a story of me "allegedly" dragging a dude out of his house and beating him in front of his future in-laws(I was told that I interrupted a "I'd like to marry your daughter" dinner speech), I have a feeling that my membership is set in stone.