The More Things Change...

A few posts ago, I mentioned that that I've been back in touch with friends from my high school days. Well, last week, we actually managed a major reunion. I can't even begin to say how much fun it was, seeing those guys again, a few of whom I hadn't seen for many moons. That's a pretty long time to you and me.

The memories came flooding back, and yes, I'm going to regale you with tales of my unbridled, uninhibited teen years. Actually, they weren't very unbridled, and other than the occasional bare ass moon out a car window, or heavy petting session on the bench seat of my dad's car, they weren't that uninhibited either. But, dammit, they were fun as hell.

We weren't much into drinking, getting drunk, smoking pot (until later, another post for another day), or anything like that. We were into girls. That was our reason for being, our sole mission in life. To meet girls, and get as far as you could with them. Hey, we knew what we were at the time. We were horny teenaged boys, succumbing to senseless hormones gone out of control. We were innocent victims of the savage rage of our own testicles. We armed ourselves with an arsenal of girl-trapping ammo, from our tight Gabardine slacks to our open shirts and gold chains, to our cologne that came in penis-shaped bottles.

We fought the good fight, learned the right dances, and said the right things. All to ensnare the unsuspecting female, with their big hair, gaucho pants, gold chains and perfume that came in vagina-shaped bottles. We would stand around at the dance, watch the groups of ladies congregate, and plan our attack. Rich would get the taller one, because he was tall. Louie would go for the second to tallest. Ant would go for the thinnest. I would go for the one with more curves. Matt would take the smallest, since he was a bit vertically challenged. And Angelo would just have his pick of the room, because he had the most hair on his chest, and enjoyed showing it off. And I usually struck out.

Mike supplied the music for our street corner serenades, "The Groove Line" being our adopted theme song, since it was first on the cassette tape, he liked that song and it was his boombox. That tape was in there for years, and had to be surgically removed. Mike would take out the tape and rewind it by hand, with a pencil in the spindle. It saved batteries, so we could listen to "The Groove Line" many more times while standing on the corner. And Jimmy would talk alot. Oh, yeah, alot.

Other friends joined the crew as we crept through our college years, and some guys slowly backed away, busy planning their brighter futures. Just as many crews of friends do.

But I'll never forget those days at the dances. Or the times we piled into Scott's little car, heading to the mall. The little auto suffocating with the stench of Pierre Cardin and farts. In the summer, we would head to Wildwood, New Jersey, to hang out at the beach, drinking pitchers of kamikazes and try to meet women, while also trying not to puke up warm kamikazes. Our arsenal changed somewhat, from tight slacks to tight jeans, from open collared shirts to pastel colored t-shirts under unconstructed linen jackets. But still the gold chains hung, with their Playboy bunny charms, gold horn, or dogtags. And I still usually struck out.

Then, some of us got girlfriends, a few of whom became wives. And we lost hair, put on weight, took off the gold chains. Okay, some still wear them. Me? I actually haven't had a piece of gold on me since the demise of my first marriage.

Anyway, it was really good seeing them all. The camaraderie was still there, with hugs and laughs, beers and Jimmy talking. A lot. Less hair on our heads, and more on our backs. Some are greying, some are putting kids through college. Some wear ties. Some will probably never get married. Some, okay, one, already did the marriage thing. Twice. But some things never change. Which is pretty damn comforting. And when we get together again in a few months, as promised, it will be like old times again. Hopefully, without the Pierre Cardin and farts.

Maybe I'll even dig out my gold chain with the Sagittarius charm. But definitely not the tight pants.