I fear I can't articulately string together all of my impressions of reunion, so instead I think I'll treat you to a series of vignettes:
1. Before reunion, I had dinner with my old high school friends Rachel and Victoria, during which I joked that I was sort of nervous that no one would believe I was married, since I was so terminally dateless in high school. So the very first people we meet at reunion are some girls that I always thought were cooler than me, and I say hi and tell them I got married and Victoria pipes up "She really is married; I've met her husband!" and all of the cool girls laugh nervously. Awwwwwwkward!
2. Two women at reunion were pregnant (one, a former social Queen Bee who got knocked up by a guy who used to date her best friend--drama!-- and one who is married to a very sweet guy who I used to be bitchy to in high school). I was wearing a tight dress and had just eaten a burger and fries, so I started to worry that people would congratulate me on my bump. I hid my stomach behind my purse all night.
3. A couple of people said "I hear you have a blog." And I made the same self-deprecating joke that I always make about how I have 80 readers and 75 of them are friends and blood relatives. But even more people said "I saw your wedding pictures on Facebook." And it made me feel so good that I am not to only one who finds myself looking at a distant acquaintance's vacation snapshots during slow days at work.
4. I had four glasses of wine. So I was very tipsy. And I had somehow thought it would be a good idea to stop by work on the way to reunion and pick up a 50-lb bag of books that I had to give to Aileen before she left for the Philippines for two months (she is currently sort of homeless--but an upscale homeless--and had Amazon.com shipments sent to me at work). So I tottered out of the bar carrying this bag of books and my clutch purse. The bag promptly split open and spilled all over the street, and when I bent to pick it up my clutch spilled all over the street. So I am squatting on 8th avenue in my tight dress scooping up textbooks and lipstick, and finally, when I get everything precariously packed into my arms, I stand up and I see the McDonald's golden arches illuminated like a beacon, and I teeter in like a junkie and dump all of my stuff on the floor and order a Big Mac and fries. Then, clutching my greasy McDonald's bag PLUS all of my crap, I hail a cab and procede to stuff my face with fast food for the entire ride home. I really wish someone had been filming me--I bet it would have made a great silent comedy, especially if set at slightly fast speed and paired with old-timey piano music.
But overall it was fun, even though almost no one got worse-looking, which was highly disappointing. Everyone looked better--even the people who Anna and I had assumed would peak in high school--so our entire theory is sort of blown. On a total tangent, don't you fear that day when you stop looking better with age and start looking worse? It's gotta come, right? I can't tell if I've hit it yet ... that's why Noah K's site is such a genius idea.