Thursday, December 1, 2011

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Let's Get High School Reunion Drunk Tonight

I woke up, covered in sweat. My head pounding. I was laying in my bed, but I had no recollection of returning there. I had a vague sense that I had vomited recently, and the taste in my throat told me I may vomit again soon. A knock came on my door. A voice informed me we were leaving for my cousin’s house in ten minutes.

In a flurry of brushed teeth, running water, and dry heaves, I found myself dressed and downstairs in just under eight minutes. I climbed into the back seat for the two hour drive and popped in my headphones as soon as possible. The drive passed in a half-sleeping haze of Norah Jones and nausea.

We pulled into my cousin’s driveway. A pie was placed in my hands and I walked up towards the house. I saw relatives hugging and exchanging greetings, and all I could think is “This is really happening.”

The fact that I survived that day is a miracle. It was thanks mainly to a potent combination of a recliner, football, avoiding eye contact, and nursing several bottles of water. Talk to family members? Not a chance. Cranberry sauce? Fuck you. Recollections from the night before? Few.

Why, you may ask, was I in such a miserable state on this glorious day of feasting? Because the night before was Thanksgiving Eve, of course.

But this was no ordinary Thanksgiving Eve. Not for me and my fellow graduating class members of 2006. This was our 5-year high school reunion.

And with high school reunions comes a special sort of privilege. Or a responsibility, perhaps, depending on your perspective. This duty is to engage in revelry. To have a few more drinks than one normally might. And to use these drinks as an excuse to re-hash over stories that have been told time and time again and laugh at them anew.

And this privilege, some may say I took advantage of it. Abused it, even. Call it what you will, all I know is I was blacked out by 9 p.m. Between then and when I went to bed (around 2 a.m. I’ve surmised), a reign of terror ensued. A reign of embarrassment that encompassed all eras of my life: past, present, and future. A reign that I never fully expect to live down. At least, not until the ten year reunion.

As Thanksgiving morning crawled on, I found out, piece by piece, just exactly how much of an ass I made of myself the night before. I will spare you from my attempts to recount the actual events of the night. But at this point I have managed to narrow down some of my more questionable decisions.

In the span of a few short hours, I managed to:

*Come down with the title of second drunkest alum at the reunion (there was some stiff competition for the crown)

*Slur my words in front of people I haven't seen in 5 years

*Flirt with unconsciousness while sitting on a barstool for at least a fifteen minute period

*Get a ride home from my friend's mom who I've known since high school…and subsequently make an ass of myself

*Pass out in my friend's basement

*Wake up, only to leave numerous highly regrettable voice mails

*Confuse my other friend's house for my own, and upon realizing it was not my house, start wrestling him in his garden, killing a handful of plants and waking up his entire family

*Stumble into my own house at some strange hour, waking up my two year old nephew staying in the room next to me

Years of good impressions and mild-manneredness down the drain. All that remains now is a picture of some stumbling drunk idiot. On the off chance that anyone that was at the reunion ends up reading this post…

Yikes. Sorry. Can we call that one a mulligan?

In the great words of Taco from season 2 of The League, "High school reunions are like office parties, except the next day, you don't have to see the other people at work. Trust me, mistakes will be made tonight..."

Words have never been truer.

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