One day, while I was buried chin-high in textbooks, studying for my Physics exam, my best friend came over and asked me if I wanted to hang out Friday night. I figured sure, I could use a break after all of this studying. Little did I know, my life was soon to be changed forever.

ME: You want me to do what?!
FRIEND: Oh, come on, it’ll be fun.
ME: But it’s illegal.
FRIEND: So? It’s not like anybody cares.
ME: Eh… I don’t know.
FRIEND: Don’t be a loner shut up in your room, perusing the novels of Shakespeare, on a Friday night. Everybody’s going to be there.

What was my deal, right? Better yet, what exactly did my best friend have planned?

Well, she, or someone she knew (she refused to say) had gotten their hands on the infamous cannabis sativa, better known as – weed. My mind swarmed with thoughts of its legal status, thick streams of smoke curling out of my nostrils, disrupting the function of my villi, sinking into my lungs, snaking through my bronchial tubes, and infesting my alveoli.

But I couldn’t say no. Why? Because rule #1 of high school: Give into peer pressure. If you don’t, you will endure a pitiful four years learning how to build a tolerance for toilet water, stick to lockers, and scream at a pitch satisfactory to the fists imprinting themselves along your small and large intestine. As unique these experiences are to the whole high school experience, they’re not the ones you should be seeking out. What you want to be experiencing is the slow deterioration of your lungs, pancreas, ear canals, and err other areas of your body. You know, the whole Sex, drugs, and Rock and Roll business commenced in the 1960s. As a senior, I suppose I’ll be joining this movement a bit late, but, kudos to Jane for, at last, getting the ball rolling. (Jane = said best friend, by the way.)

So everybody turned out to be Jane, her boyfriend, and a couple of his older more…mature friends who’d already smoked something.

Older Mature Friend #1: Whoa, so dude, I see like stars and-and unicorns…
Older, More Mature Friend #2: Omigod, me too! Look at how pretty. It’s so…luminescent.

Yes, they were QUITE impressionable.

The gathering was in the basement of a shabby, abandoned-looking building that this dude resided in with his father and several other siblings that were oddly nowhere to be seen on this night. I suppose they were out engaging in similarly life-altering activities. Oh, that’ll be Rule #2: Do go to shady strangers’ houses, ESPECIALLY when your friend claims to know them through the friend of a friend of a friend and assures you that it IS safe. Because, well, you can ALWAYS trust your friends’ judgments - And how else are you supposed to learn how to live?

So, the cannabis sativa – okay, weed – was skillfully rolled up into a joint and passed around the circle. I tried to ignore the leery looks I got from some of the guys and shrank closer to my friend (I thought it’d have stopped by now, but I guess they weren’t too used to meeting new people). When it got to me, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do because I’d never smoked, but everyone else seemed to know what they were doing. Not wanting to be the only one without a clue, I figured I’d imitate what I’d seen everyone else do and stuck it into my mouth. And waited.

Rule #3: How to pull your first drag and look smokin’ hot while doin’ it.

“You have to inhale it. And hold it in.”

“Right.” I smiled sheepishly, before doing what I’d been instructed.

…

WOAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

All of a sudden my throat was on fire as I went into a coughing frenzy. I doubled over dropping the blunt to the ground and clutching at my throat. I was sure I looked the pinnacle of sexy with my eyes bulging, my throat clasped, and my mouth puckered in an ‘O’ shape as I tried to keep from heaving the entire contents and lining of my stomach.

I failed.

“Dang, girl!!!”

“That was my friggin’ weed!”

I apologized for dropping the blunt but, alas, I could no longer handle the fumes and fled to the toilet to burry my face. Once I was through and had wiped lunch from the perimeter of my mouth I was met by Jane who decided to take me home.

JANE: Come on, I think you’ve had enough for the night.
ME: Are you *cough* sure, I *cough* mean, *cough* I don’t mind *cough* getting back *cough* myself. *wheeeeeze*

Jane was a great person and knew there was no way I could handle making it through the guys downstairs, and so kindly walked me to the door. Still wheezing, we said our goodbyes and I made my way toward the I96 to start my trek home.

“Where on earth have you been?!”

Falling into my mother’s arms I allowed her to drag me to the couch. I was far too exhausted to move the rubbery things, likened to legs, on my lower half another millimeter.

I mumbled something like “Mrmmmphglszzz” in response, and fell into a deep slumber.

At the end of the night (or, once morning has dawned), say to yourself - Suppose I hadn’t gone into the creepy stranger’s house. Suppose I HADN’T gone out on a limb, taken a risk, and incapacitated myself in the presence of strangers who were similarly uninhibited. Would my life have been better for it, or worse?

As for how to avoid punishment when you wake up…

Request an invite into the Osbourne family.