Two girls at a high school reunion

I wasn't going to go to my high school reunion this past weekend (we'll say it's my five-year, so I don't feel so old), because if you knew me in high school… well, congratulations, you're about the only one who did. I had glasses, braces, a painfully bad sense of fashion, and a lisp that kept me from speaking to anyone. (Still have the lisp, but now it's considered cute and quirky. Like Zoeey Deschanel's bangs.)

I was terribly shy and read a lot, which somehow made people think I was really smart, which is also why they kept putting me into all of the Advanced Placement classes and then wouldn't let me drop them because they said it would hinder my "potential." They told me I was "going places." (They weren't wrong here, I do "go places"; however, those places usually begin with "all-you-can-eat" or sell any form of alcohol.)

I might be more impressed if you couldn't come because you lived somewhere like Zimbabwe or someplace that has animals I've never heard of.Needless to say, I wasn't popular and no one really talked to me. The only person who did talk to me during my high school years was my dad, and that's only because he was legally obligated to. Especially after the state threatened to take him to court for my truancy; although I thought sleep was more crucial to my well-being than choir class, the Department of Education apparently saw it differently.

So when I got the notification that my reunion was coming up, you can imagine how very unexcited I was by the prospect. I pictured warm beer, that Vitamin C graduation song playing on loop, and an overwhelming sense of inadequacy (in other words, a lot like the night I lost my virginity). Also, because of modern technology and social media, I had a pretty good idea who was going to be there and who wasn't; not because I was Facebook stalking, but because a fucking notification popped up every goddamn three seconds, interrupting my actual ex-boyfriend Facebook stalking.

I think my favorite part of this whole new idea of using the internet and creating groups for things like high school reunions as opposed to good old-fashioned mail, is that you get to see real-time responses from everyone on the group list. Particularly the responses from people who aren't going. Listen, I get it, you're not going. I don't need to know the details. I didn't give a shit about you in high school, so you can imagine how much less of a shit I give about you now. Oh, you can't come because you live in California? I lived in California for three years. One of my neighbors was a coke dealer and the other one (who shared my adjoining bedroom wall no less) masturbated to Sailor Moon paraphernalia. I'm not that impressed, okay? I might be more impressed if you couldn't come because you lived somewhere like Zimbabwe or someplace that has animals I've never heard of, or if you sent your regrets from a really old computer that still has a floppy disk drive and uses dial-up, from the only internet café within 500 miles. In which case, you're probably sitting next to "Steve," the guy who helped me with tech support for my iPhone last week. Tell him I said hi.

As the day neared, I continued to waiver between going or not. It was the same argument I had with myself regarding my college graduation ceremony (in the end, the hangover won out and while the Dean of Ceremonies called my name to receive my diploma, I laid on my couch eating Pringles and watching an All in the Family marathon).

Ultimately, I decided to suck it up and make an appearance, because let's be honest, I wanted to see who got fat and who got ugly (the only true reason anyone goes to their high school reunion). So I went to the Friday night activity. (It was an entire weekend thing, kind of like Bonnaroo. Except I'm pretty sure my high school classmates would've been less impressed by my ability to bong three beers back-to-back, followed by doing a line of a questionable substance off the belly of a girl named Treebark who reeked of patchouli, while Dave Matthews played in the distance.)

It wasn't as bad as I imagined, and looking back on it, I would recommend going to your own reunion when the time comes. It's a great way to catch up with old friends and connect with people you otherwise never would've, just like I did. At least, I think I did. I don't know, I was hammered before I even got there and I don't remember leaving. But based on what my boyfriend tells me, and random glimpses of memories that came to me the next day while I was hungover and eating a family-size bag of Cheetos, I think I had a really good time. And I think you will too. Just be drunk before you get there. Like, really drunk.