I’m still “tripping” over my high school reunion. Since I had beacoup servings of alcohol from a very generous bartender, I’m sort of still gathering images of people and bits of conversations that make-up an overall general sense of “Oh, Shit, We’re Old,” combined with “Wow, I Forgot About That Horrible 8th Grade Ski Trip,” and “These People Know Me Like No One Else.” I know experiences are sweeter in recollection, but once you’ve coughed up a plume of clove cigarette smoke (amongst other types of smoke), before your brain had finished growing with another, you’re never again at a loss of things to talk about. I always thought we were “fast” and “bad,” but geez, we seem angelic and innocent compared to some of kids I see today. Listen to me, next thing you know I’ll be saying, “Back in my day…” in an old woman’s voice.
Seriously, though, back in my day, we weren’t on our cell phones 24/7 and most of my friends dress didn’t like Vegas strippers. Ok, so maybe I looked like a Vegas stripper in Junior High, but that’s because my parents were living on Planet Neglect. Actually, I didn’t look like a stripper, I just, as my friend once said, “looked Mexican.” My mother used to stand at the door with a wash cloth and wipe my eye make-up off, but I was like, “Hell, no, Mom! I’m 13 and I have the right to single handedly support Wet n’ Wild’s line of eyeshadow!” Although, who am I kidding? I deftly lifted most of my make-up like a pro. Why steal eye liner that costs $.99? I wasn’t the brightest shoplifter…
See, this is what has been happening since the reunion. I’m looking at my yearbook, the one of which I was editor-in-chief (after I stopped wearing blue eye shadow and toxic amounts of Aqua Net) and onto which I shamelessly strew with pictures of myself and my friends – and wondering how I managed that responsibility at 18. I have to say, I’m prouder of that work than most things I’ve done since.
Just for today, I’m old.