Monday, February 15, 2010

We'll make it up to you in the year 2000 OR Year of the late-bloomer

Just the other day I got a jarring revelation from an old friend that had me huddled in a corner in the throes of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Remembering high school always does that to me.

What happened was my old friend asked me, “Are you going to go to the 10 year reunion?”

I laughed and laughed and laughed some more until I was crying. “10 year reunion!” I giggled. “That’s funny! We haven’t been out of high school for…”

TEN. YEARS.

I counted them out on my fingers just in case I was wrong. I wasn’t. This May marks the 10 year anniversary of my advent into the cold cruel world, the end of one set of problems and the beginning of a whole new bigger, better set of problems.


First, let me say that those ten years have gone faster than beer in a frathouse. Second, I want to ask, “How did I get so old?” Granted, 27 is not very old but the thought of being graduated that long is just so brain-meltingly strange to me. Time seems to pass faster and faster the older I get, like it's picking up speed.

I can only think of two real reasons to go to a high school reunion: First, you peaked in high school, haven’t done anything of consequence since and want to relive the glory days; or second, you were not that cool in high school but have really made something of yourself and want to rub your late-blooming awesomeness in the faces of all the people who made fun of you back in high school.

I am neither, and the thought of returning to high school, even if only for one night, makes me shudder. I definitely didn’t peak in high school. High school was more of a “trough” time in my life, if you were to go to the trouble of graphing it out. I am doing alright for myself now but haven’t become so awesome in the past 10 years that I need to flaunt anything. I’ve also grown enough as a person to not care what any of the useless people I knew back in high school think of me and wouldn’t care to flaunt, even if I had something to flaunt.

Mostly I just want to put those dark days of bad clothes, bad hair and bad skin behind me. A college degree and Proactiv have given me a new outlook on life and I am not looking back. Ever.

An internet study showed that people surveyed about their high school reunions defined the true sign of success as riches, looks or an attractive mate. Yuck. That sounds just like high school. Incidentally, I have settled in my hometown of Rio Rancho and when I go to the gym I run into a surprising number of my fellow Class of 2000 classmates at the gym, although we never acknowledge each other.

There is a small handful of people from high school that I still keep in touch with. Besides them, I don’t really care to keep in touch with anyone else. The tricky part is that the invention of Facebook has made it super easy for high school people to track you down, which yields some very mixed results. Sometimes it's “Hey, it’s good to hear from you” and other times it's “You must be thinking of a different person. Please don’t contact me ever again.”

And in a bizarre and shocking turn of events, someone has taken the liberty of posting everyone's senior yearbook pictures to Facebook, mine included, with all of its aforementioned bad hair and bad skin. Thanks for nothing.


PS - Miss Chief is also having similar reunion woes. I'm glad I'm not the only one.
PPS - This cartoon cracks me up. And this one.