twenty years later

So I attended my 20th high school reunion on Friday after all.

I returned yesterday and had an hour to relax a smidge before meeting people for dinner and a meeting (the new dinner and a movie, don'tcha know), returning home and crashing out really early. Today all my grandiose plans crumbled into cramps on the couch. I read a book, I read two David Foster Wallace short stories online, I talked to my friend in London. And my girl G called and was a bit disappointed that my account of the reunion was so cynical. I think she wanted me to have had a great time. I think that I was open to having a great time, but that a great time just wasn't possible with people so completely different than people I fill my life with these days.

So… a written account. I'm not sure I'm up for it today but let's see what happens, shall we?

First, though, the back story. My friend Jennifer asked me to attend with her about a month ago, and I said no. Put it out of my head. We talked again this week, and she told me that her plans were to go to Columbia Friday afternoon and return Saturday afternoon. I started to think that the road trip part with her sounded fun, and it would be fun to make a quick visit to my family and have a partial weekend home as well. The real factor, of course, was the actual reunion. I agonized over the situation, and finally decided to attend Thursday. I just didn't want to be a fucking coward.

Let me explain the back back story. I attended a private school. There were 72 in my graduating class, and I think about forty-something of us had attended all grades 1-12. Out of the 72 there was a central clique of about 25 who ran everything. Cheerleading, student council, beauty pageants, homecoming, honor society, pep clubs, sports, whatever… this central group (and a supporting group of 10-15 who were semi-popular and intermittently included) ran everything. My friends and I did not exist. We were not visible. None of these 35-40 talked to us except to be mean to us. Casual cruelty about my hair, my clothes, my glasses, my, um, very existence. If we dared to try to join activities we were efficiently put back in our places. We quickly retreated into the safety of chorus where we were relatively safe.

It was only this weekend that I realized how scarred all of us were, meaning my friends as well and not just me. In retrospect, I wish we had figured out sooner that we just weren't going to make into the rarefied atmosphere of the class kings and queens and just made more of our own fun. That's hard to know, though, when all you want in life was to be included into what everyone is told would be the quote unquote best fucking years of our lives. Incidentally, if that was true, I would have shot myself by now.

---

It's now Tuesday. I think I needed a couple of days to absorb. The funny thing is that I am having the oddest experience: I can't remember big chunks of Friday night. It's like I was drunk, but… I wasn't.

Overall, I'm glad I went. It was really great to re-friend my old friends. Jennifer and I really reconnected, and I was surprised that though different we were able to talk about our lives and shoot the shit. 'Cause usually I have a hard time relating to people not of my tribe unless related to me by blood, and sometimes not even then. So, yay.

Anyway, the reunion itself: y'all, walking in that house was one of the hardest things I've ever done and I'm not exaggerating, unfortunately. I was all pins and needles. I didn't know what to expect and I didn't have any desired outcomes. I was just there to, I don't know, rip open the closet door and look at the monsters.

So, all the girls squealed when we came in, gave us hugs and one line of conversation and then proceeded to ignore us (mostly) in lieu of dancing to 80s tunes and reliving their glory days. In limited conversation I determined that they are all still best friends and all their kids go to the school now. All the girls had southern-lady hair and are all probably in the Junior League. Hanging as party decorations (the house was pretty, though decorated in Early Duck) were every t-shirt ever made and all twelve of our yearbooks and saved prom decorations (seriously) and class wills… stuff I got rid of approximately five seconds after graduation if I ever had it at all. They were reliving their glorious high school years. I was in a post-traumatic stress disorder induced flashback. Which, I'm kinda not joking about: I really am blanking out part of the evening and it was so surreal that I wonder.

So, yeah, I talked to almost everyone for literally a minute or two. I talked to a few people for longer and enjoyed maybe two of the conversations. One being the only other liberal at the party and I think she was excited as me to find a kindred spirit in a strange, strange land. I talked to the guys more than the girls. One of the guys totally gave me a dismissive smirk, which, seriously? Dude, you're wearing your old football jersey over your paunch — without irony — and you're smirking at ME?? I know I looked odd in their insular world since I look more like New York (well, not as much as I did) than Columbia so I'm the freak, proudly.

I kept the bitter snark to a minimum ("I can't hide my Hammond pride, whoo!" "I can") and didn't try to impress anyone 'cause I didn't care enough (seriously, I think my life is awesome but it's hard to convey in a sound bite and I didn't care to try). So, all in all, a success. Whatevs. It was… interesting. Oh, and I'm sure that a picture will be sent out at some point and I will post it for everyone's enjoyment.

Wankers. Sorry, just had to get in one more dig. :) Oh, wait, one more: every man there had on pleated khakis with a polo shirt or an oxford. The only picture I took was of a line of good southern gentlemen in their republican fucking casual-wear uniform.

I am glad I went, seriously. I don't know why, but I am.

Grrrrr

Smells Like Teen Spirit was released seventeen years ago today.

I bagged on the Dandy Warhols last night even though I wanted to go. I didn't care that no one would go with me, even though, sure, I would preferred it. I didn't care that I'm broke and couldn't afford it. I didn't care that it was all the way back in midtown or that I'd have to pay $10 for parking or hoof it in and risk murder. No, what finally got me was that I went on the Center Stage website to make sure it hadn't sold out and saw that they had put actual showtimes, with the Dandies playing 11:00 to 12:45… and that's what got me. On a school night??!??

Fuck. I'm old.

Another version of a third step

Hee. I kinda love Margaret Cho.



I’m a Christian, you Fuckers
All kinds of Christians are getting mad about my Sarah Palin comments, and it is pissing me off.

First of all – you fucking fake Christians - don’t fucking question my Christianity. I grew up in the church. My grandfather was a minister, who is with God now and talks to me in my dreams from God’s corner office. I am a former Sunday school teacher. I taught the Bible to children and showed them how to love God and invite him into their hearts. I believe in God – but I don’t fear him. God is my best friend. God is my ally. God is my boyfriend. God is my best fag. I am God’s fag hag cuz didn’t you know, God is a big fag. Serious bottom too. Butch in the streets, femme in the sheets. That is my God. God is my biggest fan. God gets me, dude.

God wants us all to just get along. He doesn’t give a shit about the profanity. The bitch fucking invented profanity. He thinks it is hilarious. He just wants you to talk to him, and he doesn’t care what you have to say. He just wants to keep the conversation going. Like Jay-Z, he just wants to love you. He just wants you to be able to make your own decisions. God is all about you and what you need. God is happy that you are gay. God made you fucking gay cuz he thinks it is awesome. God understands if you need to have an abortion. That is why he created abortion, on the 8th day. God accepts. God forgives. God loves all of us, even though some of us might have a problem with each other.

Don’t fucking question my Christianity you fucking idiot assholes. If you continue to have a problem, then talk to God about it, not me, you fucking racist homophobic misogynist fake Christian shitheads. God thinks it is funny that I swear so much. He said I could use his name in vain or whatever. He just wants me to use it. He loves me. So fuck you. And I guess he loves you too. Even though you are fake Christian assholes. If you were truly Christians, you would let gays get married, and send them fucking presents from Bed Bath and Beyond!

If you truly believed in Jesus, you would try to be like him and love us, fags and dykes and feminists all. God bless you, even you. You fucking fuckers.

politically incorrect me

Okay, I don't need to be referring to Sarah Palin's youngest as "that little retarded baby". I mean, I think it's funny as I have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old boy sometimes, but really… as a democrat I can't be giving ammo to the Republicans I know. Plus, it just makes me look like an ass. More…MORE like an ass. I know I mean it (simpering) with love, but it really doesn't play well.

In other news:

Yoga kicked my ass last night in a not-great way. As in, I didn't come out happy but rather a bit mangled. Owie. Hopefully it'll be better tonight.

*whining* No one will go see the Dandy Warhols with me!! I've thought of an aa friend who might go, otherwise I'm going by myself, which would NOT be my favorite option. I'm going, though. I saw the Arcade Fire by myself, I saw the National by myself (twice). I'm a big girl. I'll just put on my big girl panties and go.

My diabetic dad has blue feet and won't go to the doctor. Yay. Okay, ONE blue foot. Which makes it so much better.

I am broke broke broke. Car insurance due this week and roofer coming out. Haven't quite figured out how this is going to play out. But I'm SERENE, goddamnit.

Had a lovely lazy day yesterday. Looked at art. Went to Borders to examine magazines to which I'm contemplating subscribing for work. Have a new project briefing today and am excited to start one refreshed as well as with time to work on it. YAY! Until then I am on the internets surfin' the World! Wide! Web! And going to get delicious food from Mediterranean Grill at lunch. Delish.

Watched Fringe last night (new JJ Abrams). Some issues, but promising. I need a Tuesday show anyway. Wait, I read something funny on ALOTTFMA:

Just one eensy weensy teeny tiny request:

Dear J.J.,

Please, please, can you finally learn the lesson that you were supposed to learn from Alias but apparently didn't because you did it again on Lost? Namely: can you please have a plan for what the Pattern is ahead of time? So that maybe you don't find yourself in the customary situation of having 20 episodes under your belt and suddenly having to figure out how to tie together a statue with four toes, a big red ball of goop, a jar of smoothaise, six random numbers, and a fourteenth-century sketch of Jennifer Garner? Please? Thanks.

Love, KCosmo


I know, right? Unlike my friend there, I still have hopes for Lost. I've seen nothing that looks like a failed attempt at reconciling story threads, just some stray threads that may be reconciled yet.

Couple of thoughts re: Fringe: 1) that my inexplicable switch to preferring blonde guys continues (which mystifies me) as I thought the guy who played John was teh hotness (in internet-speak), 2) Joshua Jackson is also a hottie even though I have no (despite having?) Dawson's Creek residual perceptions of him (I never watched Dawson's Creek and 3) X-Files associations definitely there but not overwhelming. Yet.

In other tv news, I have seen TOO MUCH Intervention. I was watching it with my friend who was staying with me and, in my attempt to explain everything to her I realized that I literally knew everything. There was a live recap show Monday (!!!) with audience questions. For example, when someone asked the interventionists about their most difficult interventions I knew Sweaty Ken was going to say Christy: which means that I remembered which interventionist had which interventionee (new words, I has them) and who was the bad on the scale of crazy to really fucking crazy. Think I need an Intervention intervention.

BTW< check ME out with all the italics. I'm gettin' fancy, yo.

Oh, hey to my brother who apparently managed to get dog poop flung into his mouth, which HEE. No, HA HA HA. With a BWAH thrown in. It's not MY story, so GerBear, wanna share?

I have critique tomorrow at (name redacted: don't need to be googled), which is a good thing. See student work, mingle, make a leetle money.

Anything else? Drawing a blank, but as am rocking the frequent update initiative am okay to go.

Kisses, bitches!!

LOLme

Ohmigosh, I made a LOL. I'm simultaneously ashamed and proud.




I mean, what a dorky thing to do. On the other hand, I am a part of internet meme history. Or something.

Hee. :)

cat mute button

Oh, dear god, last night Max did his freaked out meowing that comes with a guest in the house. Jesus, it makes me want to trade him in for a version with a remote control and a mute button. Do they make those? (That'd be handy anyway to shut him down so I can actually take him to the vet.) I wanted to kill him this morning. On the glass-half-full version of events I was up early and had a leisurely breakfast. Plenty o' time to snarf down my — wait for it — homemade granola. I know, right? I'm impressed. :)

It's 10ish and I already read something I love today. Someone on Jezebel referred to a friend as "the Piper to my Trig" which I am SO working into a conversation as soon as it's possible.

My least favorite bit of reading so far today is that the GOP has seen a huge bounce in the polls since the convention. I so don't understand this country. Do they read? Like, at all? How can they mindlessly suck up this shite they're being fed? I just… can't wrap my head around it. And how does secessionist-leaning, book-banning, sketchy firing, anti-sex ed with a knocked up daughter, speaking in tongues, weird kid-naming, scary anti-choice freak like Sarah Palin get mindlessly championed? *whimpering* I don't GET it. And how do you position yourself as the party of change when you've been in charge?? And people fall for this Karl Rove-ian badmouthing and gossip mongering every time. I'm just… bewildered. And scared as shit that these people will win yet again.

In other news, I need these, but am on a budget and can't get them. *whining* But it's not just a want, I NEED THEM.




Sometimes it sucks to be well-behaved.

Dude.

I remember my dad scoffing and growling at award shows when I was a tween-before-there-were-tweens, all disgusted when I'd be practically peeing myself to see Prince or Madonna or Duran Duran performing live.

Tonight, I did my usual speed-watch of the VMAs, having recorded it and then skimming through it. It's… horrid, y'all. And the more I rolled my eyes, the older I felt.

Thanks, MTV, for your irrelevance adding to my pre-midlife angst.

Remember when Krist Novoselic threw his bass up in the air and beaned himself, and Kurt didn't know it and kicked him in the ass? Good times.

How 'bout y'all write something in the comments about something you liked back whenever so this gets all interactive and shit? And I know who's reading this? I kinda do, but corroboration would be lovely.

Oh, I found out tonight that my aa crush is moving to California. Pouting. I'm not supposed to date anyway, so it's probably, like, the will of god or something. Sigh. I'm dyin' over heah. My sobriety date is (inadvertently) also my celibacy date. Fabulous, wonderful, yeah, yeah… I know I'm doing the not-dating-for-a-year-thing. Goddamnit. Yay. Fuck.

Okay, it's late and I gotta go to bed. I'm up a bit later than usual as I have an unexpected guest. My friend's house had a tree fall on it (last night while sleeping) and she has no power, so there's that. Could always be worse.

Love y'all. xoxo

wiping tears

Oh my god, too cute. Dangerous: gives me urge for kittens!! which I must ignore.