Monday, August 9, 2010

high school reunions

This past weekend many of my former peers got together at our high school reunion. As there could be attractive women younger than me reading this, who I'd like to believe I'm somewhere in my early twenties, let's just say that if I used Cockney Rhyming slang, I'd refer to this as the Uncle Ben reunion.1

I make the reference to Cockney Rhyming slang, of course, because if I had gone to the reunion, I would have spent the entire evening telling people how cool I am because I just got back from London, and therefore they can ignore the absence of any other major life success, because I lived in London. So there. Now keep your money-laden husband away from me.

Uncle Ben is also the appropriate imagery for this reunion, as he is the main character on a BYU flick circa 1978. His main contribution to film is his insistence that "I will if you want me to", accompanied by various and sundry creepy metallic bell sounds. He spends most of the film single, disheveled, playing with his nieces and nephews, and leeching off of his married sister. I can think of no more accurate representation of myself.

Which is obviously why I couldn't go. I couldn't give the girl who once answered my request to go on a date with an abrupt, simple, and followed-by-silence, "NO", the satisfaction of seeing me take up my former post standing against the wall, counting down the seconds until I could go get another drink without incurring the risk of wetting myself later on.

I also couldn't go given the venue (an aviary), and its proximity to the headquarters of my sworn enemies (the pooping seagulls). That wouldn't have done much for the disheveled image.

On that note, if I were a lesser man, I'd discuss the choice of venue in more critical terms, but seeing as how I've had a crush on the woman who organized the event since pre-school,2 I'm going to have to let it slide today.

I'm sure those who attended had a magical time. Luckily, given the list of attendees, it appears that about 90% of my friends didn't go. The 10% who did likely left early. That means I could have spent my evening with a group of people who are either too cool or too beautiful to speak to me. If I wanted to go somewhere where I sat in the corner while my social superiors talked and laughed, I would go to High School.

Oh. Wait.

Lest this self-deprecating humor give you the actual impression that I'm hideous (please, I need to save my reputation for those younger chicas), I'll remind you that I was, in fact, technically, Homecoming Royalty, thanks to the ballot-box-stuffing efforts of my kind sister and friends. This meant I got to drive in a car I'll never afford, around a field I'm too skinny to step foot on, next to a girl of such exquisite beauty and poise that I could not utter a single syllable in her presence. That vote alone probably delayed one of my dozen breakups by a few days.

Which is, of course, the other reason I could not attend. I'm fairly certain the only things people remember about me are my attachment to the bass, the fact that I had convinced myself I wasn't pitifully skinny, and regularly wore a skin-tight t-shirt over my stick figure, and the fact that I got broken up with every other week. That in and of itself isn't too embarrassing, but factor in that all of these experiences occurred with one single woman, and it becomes awkward to explain away.3 Granted, one could not blame her, given my fashion choices. So scratch that reason off the list.

So maybe I'll cross the desert and make the twenty year. I've forgotten pretty much everyone's names by now anyways, so it couldn't be that bad. I'll need to figure out some way to magically conjure up some large sum of money over the next decade so I can speak to people, personal insecurities aside. Or maybe just spend more time in London. Or find that old t-shirt. That could do it.4

1. And since there is no way those same women have any desire to date me, let me clearly state Uncle Ben = ten (though I technically just made that one up). You know Cockney Rhyming slang, right? Barney Rubble is trouble? Apples and Pears are stairs? Never mind.
2. Well, had a crush until her marriage, of course. And I'm so not kidding. We were in a carpool in pre-school, and ended up in the same High School. She holds a warm place in my heart as the longest-ever crush with whom I never once spoke. Carpool and all. That's right, two solid decades of crushing and non-speaking. Please don't tell her, as that might precipitate our speaking.
3. Realizing that you might read this someday, let me just state there are no hard feelings (at least on my part; I sure hope that's mutual), and I know, I know, I'm exaggerating. It was probably every other month.
4. I hesitate to be serious, but since this wasn't that funny anyways, I'll just insert that I couldn't help but think of Dan Holladay while reminiscing. He was a good friend.

2 comments:

Diana said...

I think is was the same girl that was involved in the dozens of break ups. After all, you should have picked the frosty machine.

chris said...

every time I see a frosty machine I remember that day.