Last weekend got off to a rather inauspicious start when I tripped over my suitcase and fell into it, resulting in some nasty scrapes and a bruise.
“Well that settles it: I’m definitely wearing pants to this thing” I announced to Ed.
This Thing was my 20 year school reunion. Elementary school/junior high reunion to be exact. Every time I’ve told people what I was going to the reaction has been either “Why would you want to celebrate THOSE awkward years?” or “Who the hell plans that kind of thing?” People who fully embrace the awkwardness and fucking love it, THAT’S WHO. It was like my childhood, Facebook feed, and earliest memories collided into one bar and I kicked myself for thinking about ditching earlier in the week. Oh Social Anxiety! You are such a mercurial little whore, aren’t you? Knowing I would see Lili – who flew up from San Diego and would strangle me if I didn’t show – calmed my nerves and reminded me that I was home. Plus, she handed me a glass of wine and we put on our makeup and got ready together. Like we were on our way to a dance in 8th grade. Minus the wine, of course. Back then it was strictly tequila.
Within seconds of arrival I was having the time of my life. Over the course of several hours I danced (poorly), reminisced, drank my weight in wine, laughed so hard my stomach hurt, confirmed that I am really only funny in writing/on the Interweb, had wine spilled on me, screamed (see mentions of “wine”), tried to coerce people into moving up here/visiting so we could DO THIS ALL THE TIME OMG IT WOULD BE SOOOO FUUUUNNNN, lost part of a toenail in a tragic dancing incident, got uncharacteristically teary while watching a video our 8th grade teacher made, introduced my husband to people who – cheesy as it may sound – were a huge part of my childhood and who I am, and told myself “Don’t you ever think about missing out on these things again, you idiot.”
I mean, what’s the point of being an idiot if you aren’t going to do the running man in front of a group of people?