I never inhaled...really!

You're not going to believe this about me. You may have known that I'm a square, but you won't believe the extent of my squareness. Here it is. I have never shot heroin. OK, that's probably fairly believable. I have never snorted cocaine or smoked crack. OK, still believable. I have never done E, or K, or any of the other letters of the alphabet. Getting harder? Speaking of harder, I've never even done Viagra. But here it is: I have never smoked pot.

Really. In high school, while you were going through your rebellious stage, I was actually at home reading Moby Dick. And I was kind of a dick about it too. People would just stop telling me stuff because I was so judgmental. A classmate would say, "Yeah, me and Freddie got stoned on Saturday and listened to Pink Floyd." And I'd tell him gloomily, "Only dopes use dope." It's amazing I had any friends at all.

Eventually, I just went so long holding out, never trying pot, that I felt like I had a streak going. Like a kid who keeps a wad of bubble gum going for five years, I just couldn't bring myself to break my streak. College came and went. No pot for me. My denial of marijuana had become something of an obsession. I just couldn't give it up. It was almost like an addiction. I was addicted to not smoking pot.

And then, somewhere deep in the back of my head, I was thinking about my future. You never know. Maybe someday, I might want to run for president of the United States of America. And if I smoked pot, forget about it. Then Bill Clinton came along. And proved my point. If not for the fortunate fact that he never inhaled, he would have lost his chance to be president.

And then came Bush. The guy not only inhaled, he snorted, he shot up, he freebased--he did it all. And then he nearly earned enough votes to be elected president.

So the presidential ambition isn't keeping me from smoking pot anymore. Plus, I actually don't think I've got much of a chance at becoming president...now that this Barack Obama guy is in the picture. Fuckin' pothead.

But after all this time, I can't just unceremoniously go smoke a joint now. I'm not in my youthful indiscretion phase. And I'm so naïve, I don't know where to get it. I don't know how to roll a joint. I'm so naïve, I was the last guy in the world to know what 420 meant. I kept seeing it in people's online profiles: 420 friendly. I thought that was an area code.

There's this store nearby called 420 Lifestyles. I presume it's a head shop, of course. Again, I'm so naïve, I didn't know what a head shop was until recently. Being gay, I thought it was something entirely different.

I figure they name this shop 420 Lifestyles to obscure the fact that they're selling marijuana paraphernalia. Like the police don't know what 420 means. I think this theory was developed by someone whose been smoking a lot of weed. Sorry guys, our law enforcement agencies are not filled with people as dense as I am on these things. (Oh lookie, they sell bubble blowing pipes!)

So, now, with my presidential ambitions behind me, there's really nothing keeping me from trying it, but there's never been the right moment. Subconsciously I've been waiting for someone to award me some sort of prize for holding out this long. Like Willy Wonka at the end of the movie-not the new one with creepy Johnny Depp channeling Michael Jackson, but the old one with creepy Gene Wilder--when he gives Charlie the keys to the chocolate factory. "You did it, Charlie! I knew you could do it!" After being such a good boy for so long, he's awarded the ability to gorge on candy the rest of his life. I would need a moment like that. Like losing your virginity, you want it to be special.

If I'm at a party where someone is smoking pot, I never feel it's the right time or place. But I am curious to feel that sensation. "Whoa, do you smell that? Someone's smoking one of those funny cigarettes." I sniff deeply, thinking I could get a contact high without ever touching a joint to my lips. "Oh, there they are, on the patio. Hi guys! Whatcha' doing?" I say, because I'm a dweeb. Sure enough, one of them will offer me a puff, and I get all nervous, like I'm suddenly in an after school special. "No thanks. Nope. Never smoke. Thanks though. You go ahead. I'm not judging," I over explain. But I'm sucking in air like I just finished running a 10K. Pretty soon I feel lightheaded and tell everyone I think I'm getting stoned from the secondary smoke, until I realize that I've merely hyperventilated.

Yes, even wunderkind, Barack Obama, smoked pot. Al Gore admits he smoked in his day. As did John Denver, Jennifer Aniston, Bob "Gilligan" Denver, and New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg.

Now I'm having this nightmare where I'm at a party and Barack Obama, Al Gore and Jennifer Aniston are all out on the patio toking up, and they're offering me a puff. Al Gore's saying, "Really Marty, you need to loosen up." But I just say no. And then John Denver and Gilligan stumble in, munching on a jumbo sized bag of Doritos and laughing hysterically about their realization they have the same last name but aren't really related. And I'm thinking, wait, you guys are dead! Then I wake up and feel the munchies for no logical reason.

So if you're at an Eric Clapton concert and you see someone sniffing around like a bloodhound, have pity. Come on over and say hi. Even if you're high. I'm not judging.