People from my High School Class of 2001 have often asked me if we are having a 10 year reunion. My first thought is, "How the heck should I know? I might have been popular in Middle School, but let's not kid ourselves -- in terms of HS popularity I peaked in 10th grade. Shouldn't planning the 10 year reunion be the lot of those Seniors who went out on a high note, say, the Prom Court, the Valedictorian who said 'sexpectations' instead of 'expectations' in his commencement speech, or maybe one of those fun kids who discovered an eternal love of alcohol at the tender age of 15, cuz, you know, their parents would rather it be under their roof since their kids were going to do it anyway? Those kids know how to plan a partayy Holla!"
Well, let me just come clean here before I accuse every student in my graduating class: My name is Stephanie Dunn, Stephanie Call for those of you who knew me in 2001, and I harbor unadulterated hostility, the kind that makes me hiss and spit, at the thought of my High School years. So do you. I don't care if you were popular, unpopular, pock-faced or Brad Pitt, scratch that, he's old... I don't care if you looked like freakin' Zac Efron and was the star of your High School Musical-like experience, the world of High School is institutionalized, legal torture. You know it, I know it. Even if there were some great memories and fantastic friendships and inspiring teachers or programs, High School maimed us all. If this is coming from the girl who was voted "Friendliest" in her graduating class, you can bet your bulldog blvd sauntering butts that somewhere in your mind, a little 15 year old child is whimpering in a dark corner saying, "yes, yes I know EXACTLY what you're referring to. Make it STOOOPPPPP!" Yep, High School was not anyone's best years. Ok, that's not true. But we'll leave those poor fools out of this. High School was not most people's best years' in life, and a reunion is like bringing back the dead -- it's stinky, demoralizing, and downright evil, but you can't help but check out the circus.
So, naturally, I am already planning a year in advance to attend it. That's what masochists do. Masochists and kids who have lost 80 lbs or gotten lots of plastic surgery since HS.
I contacted the class president to ask if he was planning it because I was sick of not having an answer for all the people who kept asking me if it was going to happen. Also, I needed to make sure I could follow their statements of "You should do it" with "JOHNFAMISGOINGTODOIT!" John Fam, you are my scapegoat. Holla! 271 represent! Woot woot! Who let the dawgs out?!
Then John Fam invited me to help with the planning. I had a vision of what this next year of planning would look like -- spending everyday trying to contact people -- that one guy with the great calves who laughed at me when I fell flat on my stomach in my sequined choir dress while running down a crowded hallway, whom I looked up at from my sprawled position on the floor and into his snickering face and weakly said, "Sorry". Sorry? Yes, that's what I said -- sorry. But sorry for what? For falling? Sorry for not punching you in the face jackass!!
Yea, clearly I cannot handle planning this reunion. So I declined. Plus, I specifically didn't run for class president my senior year so that in 10 years I could say with complete legitimacy -- "Dude, that's so not my responsibility." Thank gawd. Someone WAY more mature than me can carry that burden (thank you John Fam).
Facebook has made a reunion somewhat of a moot event. We're all voyeuristic cyber-stalkers, very attuned to the happenings in each other's lives since HS. We've all signed up to participate in an elaborate charade since graduating -- one that depicts our lives as mostly a gaggle of fun over the last ten years. To me Facebook extends that phase of life we find ourselves in in high school -- the one we where we are frequently courting the public and trying to win at the popularity contest of life. Even those who have facebook and claim to refuse to participate in the charade are likely announcing how much they don't care about it on their status updates, clearly indicating that they care enough to make sure everybody knows how much they don't care, how above it or over it or underwhelmed by it they are. BS. The only people who really fall into that category don't have a FB account. Admit it! High School is still haunting you!
And now the class of 2001 can prepare to enter that House of Horror, the ultimate Haunted Mansion, in about 10 months. See you there little monsters!
