Reunion S***Show

Last spring, HT and I attended our fifth college reunion. We travelled back to the idylic hillside where we'd fallen in love, not entirely certain what to expect for the weekend. I had the joy of celebrating the wedding of some dear friends this past weekend who graduated the year behind us will be heading straight back to their five-year at the end of the week. They, and a handful of other guests inquired if we'd attended last year, and I couldn't help but laugh when they asked us what to expect.

Five years out of college, reunion is a big excuse to pretend that you are still capable of drinking in the same volume you did in college. Most of us cannot. And it is an excuse for single people to try, one last time, to hook up with the other single folks who we never had the guts to approach in college. I only know of one successful attempt at such an encounter. They "dated" for a brief period thereafter; but I'm pretty sure they're no longer speaking.

The weekend was filled with brief 10-15 minute discussions with folks you hadn't seen; acting suprised/excited/impressed to learn that they'd landed a great job/gotten into their grad school of choice/or met their future spouse. There were also the supremely awkward passing encounters with folks whose names you couldn't remember for the life of you, even though our graduating class was just over 450 students. And then there were the uncomfortable embraces with folks who remembered YOU, even though you couldn't return the favor. . .

The thing that struck me the most about our five year is that the people I really cared about from college, I had already seen or talked to recently. There were at least 10-15 people I saw who I really enjoyed catching up with; but I spent the majority of the weekend with some of the same people I already make an effort to see once a year if not more often. They are the people I already call in times of need, when we're going to be back in the midwest visiting, or even just when I've got a supreme hankering for a margarita. In other words, they're the type of friends that I don't need a reunion to give me an impetus to call. They're the friends that even though you've spread across the country, you still feel close to.

And so, surrounded by the same support system that has guided me in to adult hood, we took it upon ourselves to attempt, like the others around us, to be as young and rowdy as we were in college. We stole wine from our catered dinner and passed the bottle around the back of the auditorium at the concert we were attending. We stayed up until somewhere close to dawn dancing in the same lounges that we frequented as students; and I'm pretty sure I drank from a wine-bladder removed from a box of wine owned by some random group of men who graduated in the 80's in a game known as "slap the bag." I awoke with bruises all over my arms and legs of which, to this day, I am not entirely certain of the origin. And I spent the entire drive home trying to curl up into the fetal position in the passenger seat, wretching in pain from the night before.

In other words, my five year was a certifiable S*&% Show; so I wish my friends the best of luck as they head out there this weekend. May they not need the highly durable bookstore bags as much as I did on our trip home. . .