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Nice Guys Finish Last

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On a bright and beautiful morning such as today, I rather enjoy my drive to work.  Sick of NPR at the moment, I decided to roll down the windows and flip through the radio stations.  As I landed on (and listened to) stations playing Uncle Kracker and Gary Wright’s Dream Weaver (shut up), it suddenly occurred to me:  I have never smoked pot.

Oddly enough, Habibi and I had a discussion about this the other day.  I have no desire to damage my body by filling it with unsavory toxins and poisons, but as the model teenager that I was (haha!) I can’t help but wonder what I missed.  In college, I did my share of stupid things that truly make me believe that the good Lord was watching out for me, yet by comparison to many of my peers, I was still relatively “PG.”  I won’t try to brag about my escapades (they would more than likely bore most of my minute readership) but do you ever just wonder, What if?

I am delighted by the way that my life has turned out, but I think I would be less likely to “just say no” if someone offered me a joint today versus ten years ago.  Friends and family assure me that I’m not missing much and I appreciate their good intentions, but what I’d really like to do is experience things on my own and make a few bad decisions.  I’m not saying that I want to engage in illegal activity; nevertheless, I am curious.

On the other hand, I don’t seem to need drugs of any kind to trip.  For instance, last night I had a dream that I was walking around, carrying my own head.  I even remember the unexpected weight and warmth of my severed bean, although I could still see everything from the perspective I have now, with my head firmly planted on my neck.  In a way, it was nice because I could arrange my hair better with my head in front of me, but I was afraid Habibi would find me less attractive without a head.  Plus, all of my friends and classmates (I was in school in my dream) made fun of me because, for some reason, when people looked at me live, my head was still attached to my body, but I was headless in mirrors and snapshots.

On second thought, maybe weed is a bad idea. 

Still.  I’m nice-ish kind of person who (almost) always tries to do the right thing.  While this certainly wonderful, I am still intrigued by The Dark Side.  I could have been a hustler, living the high life.  Can you picture lil’ ol’ me as a dealer or a pimp?  I can rock a furry hat.  I could have been on Flavor of Love!!!!!!!!!!  DAMMIT!  Another golden opportunity, out the window!!!!!!!  This sheds a whole different light on giving every American 18-year-old the Dr. Seuss book Oh!  The Places You’ll Go! as a high school graduation gift.  (I never got that book, by the way.  Maybe I’d be a crack whore now if I had.  That book should be called Oh!  The Places You Could Have Gone! because that it what it really is about.)

Clearly, being nice has gotten me nowhere as I have missed out on so many chances to “improve” myself by smoking pot.  So this begs the question:  If nice guys finish last, where do nice girls finish?

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