Monday, July 29, 2013

The Class of 93 Is The Epitome*

My 20 year high school reunion is this weekend. Which means I have exactly five days to hurry up and do something with my life.

I thought my first step could be to get a tan, because that would probably surprise people the most.

Holy crap, that Gina chick is tan! She used to be so ungodly pale!

After that, I thought I'd lead with the fact that my dream of becoming a Fly Girl never came true, and then transition into showing my former classmates photos of my cat.

Everyone is going to be so excited to party with me.

Whoomp! (There it is.)

The Marion High School class of 1993 voted me class clown. Which is great and all, except what I really wanted was to be voted best dressed. I didn't wear oversized plaid shirts from Goodwill and listen to grunge for my health, you know. Clearly I was misunderstood. (My clothes were the cry for help, not the jokes.)

I asked Ray to help me come up with some lies to tell my classmates since I don't have much to offer in terms of actual entertaining life stories.

Indignant, he said: "I disagree. You have a lot going on. You're getting married. You bought a 106-year-old house with your husband-to-be. You ride around Cincinnati on a cool blue scooter. You have a good career and great friends."


The only really exciting thing I have going for me is health insurance. Which actually IS impressive. If my classmates could see the bill that Humana has picked up for me over the last 15 years, they would be super impressed.

This is a photo of me from 1993. I found it on the last day of school, abandoned in the school newspaper's darkroom. When I stumbled upon it I envisioned one of the photographers hearing the last bell, throwing it into the air and saying 'I'm Audi 5,000!'

Because that's what we said in 1993.

The ring I'm wearing I made in jewelry class my senior year. Sadly, I lost it that summer toilet papering someone's house. Which sucks because usually we forked yards. (I still remember who's house we were toilet papering but I can't recall a single thing I learned in geometry.)

But in general, I look pretty much the same as I did then.

I fear people will see me at the reunion and be disappointed I am not fat, bald or the mother of sextuplets. And I haven't been on any reality TV shows either. I am a high school reunion disappointment. I probably shouldn't even go I'm so boring.

Me: Hi! It's Gina! I'm tan!

Them: Oh. It's you. You're the same. Bye.

I know at least one of my classmates is excited to see me.

I'm excited to see her bitch ass too.

Judging from Lizz's and everyone else's Facebook pages, my classmates are doing well.

There were about 425 students in my graduating class, which made for a diverse group of kids. Rich, poor, blue-collar, white-collar, black, white, Latin, gay, straight. 

The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads. I'm excited to see them all.

Everyone likes to kick around ol' Marion, Indiana, but it was as good as any hometown. (And don't front like your hometown was that great, ok, because it wasn't.) While none of us went on to solve world hunger, we did pretty well for ourselves.

Mm hmm. '93 is gonna be creepin' to that reunion like a phantom.

It's like this and like that and like this and uh
It's like that and like this and like that and uh

Imma roll up in there in my six-four. Ok, fine. I'll just be in my Honda Civic. BALLER.

* our class slogan

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