Wow. What a corny title.
So. I’ve got this myspace. (I know, I know, I know!) I logged on yesterday to check out pictures of my 10-year high school reunion, which I never planned on going to, mainly because of Merrick being born and all. Instead, I ended up lazily browsing random classmates’ myspace pages. And it was interesting, to say the least.
I never wished any bad juju on anyone, but I was jealous of just about everybody that could live a normal teen-age life. I envied the girls that did it right; the ones who didn’t mess up, who dumped their boyfriends the moment they started to get handsy. I always felt good knowing that someday, all my happy-go-lucky friends would one day experience all the real-life crap that I put myself through at an early age.
And you know what? I don’t feel good at all. Even though I had a baby in the 10th grade and was a divorcee by the time I was 21, it turns out I so totally do not have the market cornered on tough times and heartbreak. It’s funny how we classified ourselves back then: jocks, preps, band geeks, hicks, scrags, nerds, the juvenille delinquents, the straight-up weirdos and the absolute rejects, in that order. I had friends in every group. We craved that sort of separation back then, but out in the real world, it seems like we cling together for dear life.
There were people who hated each other in high school but are good friends now. There are people who have been married 2 or 3 times. Some people have stayed in town. Some people moved across, or out of, the country. Some people have severely handicapped children. Some people have only spoiled poodles. Some people have done time in prison. Some people have lost limbs in Iraq. They’ve become graphic designers, EMTs, firefighters, teachers, pastors, opthamologists. That horrible bitch that made fun of my fat pregnant ass back in ’96? She lives her life for her two adorable daughters. The shy, quiet little guy that I sat with in the back corner of homeroom? He’s making a living as an editor for Hot Rod Magazine in Los Angeles, with a freaking supermodel girlfriend. I smiled at the people who were right where I always pictured they would be. I cheered when I discovered that the class couple is married with 3 kids. It bothered me to see all the dreamy-eyed young girls I used to know all grown-up, jaded and disappointed, whose "2-gether 4-ever" hopes and dreams had been blown to bits over the years.
And most upsettingly, nobody invented post-its.
I’m pretty sure that in the last 10 years, all 460-something of us have gotten over high school. It would’ve been kind of cool to have gone to the reunion. No worries; 10 more years will fly by fast. And I’ve got a lot more growing up to do. Maybe by then I’ll be able to afford that private jet.