This is a mystery. Apparently, according to my Wenger watch, it's 9:45 a.m. on Saturday, May 28. And I'm awake. That's weird. And, judging by my ability to see more than 10 feet in front of me, I've only had one Bloody Mary. Hmmm. Time to assess my surroundings and try to figure this shit out.
Ok - there are lots of people around and no-one's dressed in black so, I'm neither at a funeral nor in New York City. But I am in line for something [and, no, Jazzy and Reebster, it's not an Israeli DJ playing in the basement of a club in Manhattan.....]. Hold on a sec! I see that Dan Marino is also standing in line, about 2 people ahead of me [for real!], waiting to get into some sort of auditorium. Ok - that only happens in South Florida. Narrowing it down here. Also, there's a parking lot full of Beemers, Benzes, Hummers, Rovers, Infinitis and Lexus 300s [and, oh yeah, one dirty Jeep Wrangler with Spongebob Squarepants dangling from the rearview mirror].....Well, hell, I'm clearly at a high school graduation in North Broward!
And then it all comes back to me.....[insert swirly flashback visual here and cut to the following conversation]:
Sassy: I can't decide what to wear to your graduation, dude.
Nizzle: Um - clothes would be good.
Sassy: Dammit. I was thinking bikini and board shorts.
Nizzle: Yeah right.
Sassy: Ok - how 'bout my "White Trash" t-shirt? [A gift from Jazzy. She loves me.]
Nizzle: Um .... no.
Sassy: Ok - how 'bout my "Black Power" tank top?
Nizzle: Um .... no.
Sassy: The "Down With Whitey" one?
Nizzle: Look. You can wear whatever you want. I just may never speak to you again. So pick accordingly....
Sassy: Fine. What are you writing on your cap?
Nizzle: Huh?
Sassy: You gotta write something on your cap in Wite-Out or Liquid Paper, or whatever it is you kids use these days.
Nizzle: For real? What should I write?
Sassy: I don't know. "Wordsworth rulz" or something. I wrote, "Thanks Mom & Dad" on my law school grad cap.
Add the above dialogue to the fact that Nizzle's mom is crying to my left and I realize the answer to the Burning Question: Yeah - I am definitely at Nizzle's Graduation [Congrats Class of '05]. And can I just tell you, it was a fricking hoot!
First of all, don't worry. Despite my teasing, and because I love him, I actually settled on a nice pair of linen, pin-striped (and cuffed!) slacks, with a dark green safari jacket. I figured the quasi-militant look, coupled with my natural "tan" would get the "Fight The Power" message across to all the richies. [Actually, it's my newest outfit and I'd been dying to wear it. I'm not that activist, sorry.....]. And after only one costume change, Ben was appropriately attired in a navy blazer, Joseph A. Banks shirt, and tan slacks. Damn - we looked like yuppies. Oh well. Next thing you know, we are standing in line with Marino, waiting to see Nizzle complete the first of many rites of passage to come.
We find our seats and, now that I am almost 100% conscious, I take in my surroundings. The guy seated in front of us says "Hi" to Nizzle's mom and they have a brief chit chat. Then, his wife returns and goes off [and I do mean "goes off"] on him, apparently because he took her seat....Um...huh? Oooookaaay. So he gets up and moves four seats down on the other side of their kids, per wifey's instructions. During that maneuver, hubby makes some ill-advised comment under his breath to which his "lady" responds by flamboyantly (and vehemently) flipping him the bird, stretching her arm across the faces of the children now sitting between them. Wow. And people say rich blondes aren't classy!
I read the program and notice, to my relief, that Nizzle's name is actually on the list of graduating seniors. Apparently, my priceless homework assistance (and, in particular, the William Wordsworth project) paid off. Actually, my homework assistance wasn't exactly priceless. Nizzle paid the price in many ways: washing my Jeep; mowing the lawn; trimming the hedges; looking after Sam and Playdough; setting up my wireless print server, etc. Damn! Who's gonna do all that shit now that he's graduating?!?
Alright - back to the matter at hand. "Pomp & Circumstance" is ringing out and the seniors are slowly filing into the auditorium. And 194 students later, there's Nizzle! [Having a last name beginning with the letter "Z" is a bitch...] As Nizzle takes his seat, it becomes apparent that his cap looks different from all the others. Slowly, a buzz builds as people whisper, "What is that on his cap?" Ahhh.....it's good to stand out.
Nizzle's cap. It's true - Wordsworth rulz!
Now, having seen this masterpiece, I'm thinking I might need to borrow some of Nizzle's mom's tissues. What a cool dude!
Anyway, we sit through a bunch of presentations, awards, choir songs, etc. Next thing you know, the nice Jewish lady in front of us puts on her orange suede jacket with sequins [I can't make that shit up], and it's time for:
The.......... school................ president's............. speech.
Holy shit. It took forEVER! Seriously. During the speech, I was able to finish that New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle I'd been struggling with since June 1985; Ben designed and built a monohull sailboat for the next America's Cup; Playdough and Sam resolved their differences; the Federal Reserve cut interest rates; Sassy's blood alcohol level dipped below 1.9; the Michael Jackson jury returned a "not guilty" verdict; the Rolling Stones retired; a Democrat was voted into the White House; and my ex-husband, Norman, made a decision. It was one LONG ass speech, dude.
We survived.
Finally, Nizzle takes the stage to get his diploma and we hoot and holler. [Ben wouldn't let me yell out "Yo, my Nizzle!". I guess that was good advice.] Nizzle's mom cries some more. And we go to lunch at Fridays where, thankyoujesus, they serve alcohol.
In all seriousness, it was a good time. Some of the school president's jokes were funny; the choir was pretty good; the baby pictures of the seniors were adorable. And now - my boy, my Nizzle, one of my very best friends (even though we met less than two years ago), well - he's a bona fide high school graduate. And now - I have four years to plan what to wear to his graduation from Auburn. Congrats, Nizzle. [Seriously- who IS gonna wash the Jeep now?]
Signed,
Slightly Sad Sassy
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