I got this Facebook message tonight from my high school class president. *I want to note that I realize a lot of my FB friends read my blog and, duh, most of them are my former classmates. That said, none of what follows is meant in anyway to offend or hurt the feelings of any of them. If it does, grow a pair of she balls and get the fuck over it.* Anyway, the message was an invite to my ten year reunion coming up this summer. I find pure hilarity in the fact that it was sent via FB. I would hope this was intended as more of a save-the-date type thing and an actual invite is to come via snail mail. I mean for the love of Christ. This is not BumFuck, ID, its fricking Crystal Lake, IL. I went to a high school where the student parking lot was FULL of new cars. Most of the kids drove nicer cars than the teachers. I, of course, drove a 1993 Pontiac Sunbird. When that died my senior year I then drove a '91 Olds Cuts Supreme, cuz I was a pimp and shit. Anyway, back to all this freaking comedy I find too freaking hilarious. So I get this invite via the Facebook and then I start laughing hysterically because anyone that knows anything about me realizes there is no possibility of my going anywhere NEAR my high school reunion. I fucking hated that shit when I was there. I got out a semester early. Would it not have broken my dad's heart I sure as shit wouldn't have attended my graduation ceremony.
I have this feeling that this thing is really just a way for all the successful, pretentious assholes that actually did something with their lives to show up and behave like successful, pretentious assholes in front of all of us fuck-ups. Which is fine. I'm not jealous of their success. Not really. I mean, most of the men probably bang their secretaries on the side and neglect their wives. Most of the women probably have herpes. I bet few of them are as awesome as me. I'll be all, "Oh yeah, I dropped out of college, got married way too young, had babies way too early, stayed home with my kids, decided after a decade together I was better off divorcing my husband and moving back home to the house I grew up in and waiting tables like I did when I was 19. No, I'm definitely not a fuck-up. I'm just a late-bloomer."
So in all my rage filled, self hate, woe-is-me, pity party moment of bitterness, I then had the. most. brilliant. idea. EVER. If you follow me on Twitter or happen to be my FB friend you know all about my #vagemate, our #vaglove and our hatred for kittens. I am willing to bet she thinks crotch rot is more appealing than a high school reunion, too. But THEN I thought, HOLY SHIT. It would be the best time EVER if she came WITH ME.
*BY THE WAY. If you don't know my vagmate, Gucci, go check her out. You'll totally understand why I love her and why we get along so freaking well.*
So, vaggie. Whaddya say? August. We'll call it, "Vagmates High School Reunion". OR "Gucci Does Crystal Lake". Hahaha...ha..ha...oh my. Of course they'll be paying us to party at the Bee while you're in town, too. Your ute will be good and healed and He Gucci and She Gucci can come chill with my wee ones. Emma and He Gucci will probably get married one day any how. Oh yes. This will be epic.
Can. Not. Wait.
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