(I was actually going to name this entry “HHS 2; Electric Boogaloo,” but know what? That title was way funnier when I thought of it yesterday. Which was Tuesday. But now it is 4:55 on Wednesday, and it’s not nearly as funny anymore. And, I guess it’s possible that it wasn’t even funny to begin with except for to me, but … wait, is that Monk on HULU right now? GOTTA GO.) OH DEAR LORD, WRITE THE STORY ALREADY, WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU? And this concludes my paragraph analyzing a five-word title, guess who hasn’t slept much the past few days, THANK YOU.)
But, anyway. Oh, hello! HI THERE!
So ANYWAY, Saturday was my 20 year high school class reunion [BIG UPS! Hamilton High Class of '88!] And it was … you know. Interesting.
We went with my dear friend Kathryn, whose very own husband is right now in Kuwait serving our country [shout out to SCOTT!] The reunion was at a sort of out-of-the-way [READ: Boonies] VFW hall so Harold decided to utilize the handy-dandy GPS function on his phone. Which would prove very useful as none of us knew where the heck we were going. The phone would tell us in it’s sexy voice, “Prepare to turn left in .5 miles.” and “continue on this here country road for .4 miles.” I asked if it would tell me if I’d made a wrong turn & he assured me it would. And it did. It guided us there accurately all along the way … yeah, all the way PAST the place. We drove right by it & it said NOTHING. Likely because it saw the place & was all, “On second thought, y’all should just keep driving. You should definitely not go to that seedy place.” But it didn’t give us that warning, so we turned around & went back.
ANYWAY, after trying 3 or 4 doors that wouldn’t let us in [how the heck did everyone else get in there!] we asked some helpful smokers. OF COURSE. The door with the handwritten ‘HHS’ sign on it. At the back of the building. Right.
Inside, we stopped at the registration table to, um, register. This is also when Harold spontaneously combusted. Seriously. He burst into flames because it was like 90 degrees in there. He doesn’t tolerate heat well. Ha. And ALSO this is the exact time that a set of unidentified lips came directly at my face, landing precariously close to my mouth! [Hi, Tweeter] Fortunately subsequent meetings & greetings with friends were not so accost-y.
The good news is that I saw many fabulous friends that I haven’t seen in years and I was very happy to see them & catch up & hear how they were doing and about their families and reminiscing. That was so awesome. The bad news was: THEY DON’T SERVE WINE AT VFW HALLS. Did y’all know this? And also, martinis. No martinis. And we needed them, y’all, because YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW.
I truly thought that 20 years might maybe lend way to a little maturity. Perhaps some decorum. Some civility. And indeed, for some, it had. But now, have y’all heard about this? Because I will be happy to tell you ALL about it, namely, that it involves thong underwear, AND AN OPENED CONDOM, and also, right on the floor of the facility, and incidentally, there was a BOOB FLASHING, right in front of everyone, in front of my HUSBAND, and homemade pre-packaged Jell-o shots AND beer drinking to the tune of they ran-the-heck out[!] and people, those may be a signs of the apocalypse, right there.
So, anyway. We’re standing there, my HUSBAND, and MYSELF, gazing at the floor staring at a pair of thong underwear & a condom and thinking, “How did this happen, exactly?” and also, “Oh my heavenly GOD,” because WHAT? Holy WHY? Surely someone had to realize that suddenly … they’re commando! I never, ever want to be in the same room — nay, not even the same ZIP CODE — with a situation that leads me to ask these kind of questions. This is not RIGHT people! 20. YEARS. Because somebody was all, “You know what would be funny? Planting a pair of panties & a condom. HA! I’m a comedic GENIUS!”
You know, I could go on and on about the shenanigans that went on, but in all actuality, we had a really good time [and by "we" I probably mean "me" because let's be honest, when you don't know anyone -- I'd say my chances of having fun were slighly higher than Harolds] Although, he really seemed to be enjoying himself when he was standing outside holding not just my BUT ALSO Kathryn’s purse and also snapping pictures of a group of clowns – [some of whom had depleted the beer!] – try to organize for a group photo before the heavens opened up, threatening to drown us all. That was probably fairly amusing to watch, so I’m thinking he enjoyed that part more than I did because I was standing in my cute new shoes which, it turns out, are more cute than comfy.
It was also pretty cool that quite a few folks told me that they read my blog. Awwww. Bless your little hearts! And then they said, ” … so if you could update more than once a month.” Ugh. I GET IT. I’ll work on that. I promise. But with things going on like, “Parent dessert night” [I'm not even kidding you guys. I'm going to that tonight!], time is scarce.
So, the class reunion was fun. I can now use the words:
Reunion
Thong
Condom
Jell-o shots
and
Tweeter’s titties
in the same sentence.
And I definitely could not before I went. So look at all I got for $65!
Y’all have a good week, and I will try to find a minute and be back with some actual stories about something or other. Until then, if you’re a HHS class of ‘88 alumni lurker … you need to HOLLA! Let me know if I missed anything. I really hope someone took pictures!
