Cause I'm never going back to my old school.....
I’ve been meaning to write about this for the last month but I didn’t want to get in trouble. But since I’m almost always in trouble anyway I figured what the hell.
My wife and I went to high school together.
I graduated in 1975. She graduated in 1976.
My class didn’t have a 30 year high school reunion. I think we just forgot.
My wife’s class had a 30 year high school reunion. I guess her class still has hope.
Women tend to approach a 30 year high school reunion differently than men.
We’re just happy to be alive. Women want to look better than they did 30 years ago.
I won’t get into the details of how my wife prepared for this evening or how she picked out her outfit.
Because… well… I don’t know.
Oh I know she was talking about it. I saw her lips moving. But I had already gone to that happy place in my head where I block that crap out.
The “reunion committee” was made up of all women.
There’s a shock.
They had the reunion on the campus of the new high school that replaced our high school. We went to a private Catholic School… which meant we had better pot than everyone else. At least that’s what other people told me.
It wasn’t the same.
It’s hard to reminisce about things you did on the hill behind the gym when the hill behind the gym isn’t there.
I have to give the reunion committee credit. They handed out name tags with everyone’s high school yearbook photo on them. They even had one for me with my photo from 1975.
I wasn’t sure that it was my photo.
The guy in the photo was tan and had this long blond hair and only one chin.
I don’t remember that guy.
That guy looked like a stud and a go getter.
That guy looked like a hunk and an athlete.
That guy wasn’t me.
I just want a twenty minute nap now and then.
Then it dawned on me that with a couple of exceptions I didn’t recognize anyone. Who the hell were these people? None of these people matched the photos on their name tags.
Were we at the right reunion?
So I pretended I knew people with the old shake the hand quick look at the name tag maneuver. This was exactly what the people who were shaking my hand were doing to me.
Then it happened.
One guy came up to me, hugged me and said, “Dude! Man it’s good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit. Do you remember the time we climbed on the roof of the Holiday Inn and pissed on the cars down below? You were nuts man. Those were the days.”
“Uh… Who the hell are you?”
“Dude!!! It’s me!!!! Kenny!!!”
“Where’s your name tag?”
“Dude, I’m not wearing no stinking name tag man. I have to do that all day at work.”
“Uh… I think you got the wrong guy.”
“No man. Don’t you remember? We used to get high everyday man.”
Then it dawned on me that he was confusing me with my brother who was a year younger than me and had been in my wife’s class. My brother never showed up for anything.
“Kenny!!! Wow man I thought you died.”
“No man. I… Why would you think I died man?”
“I thought you fell off the roof of the Holiday Inn.”
“No man we went to Denny’s afterward. Remember?”
“Right... Maybe it was someone else who died.”
“Maybe.... Uh........ So you still playing the guitar? You used to rock man. I’ll never forget what you told me man. F$%K Disco, Rock and Roll will never die. That’s so true man. Freaking prophetic man. That’s how I live my life man.”
“Yes well I have many followers my son. But for now I must be going. Na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye…”
“It’s cool man.”
So I guess drugs did affect some people during the 70’s. At least I know my brother healed one case of “Disco Fever.”
There was one couple that looked like they never stopped doing drugs. “She” looked like Jerry Garcia. “He” looked like Karen Carpenter. They sat in a corner gazing into space for about forty five minutes then they got up very slowly and melted away in a haze of smoke.
I think they were a little bummed that the hill behind the gym was gone.
The true excitement came when one of the guys said that “Driss Dook “(name changed) had showed up.
“Driss” was one of the hottest girls in my wife’s class. Hell, she was one of the hottest girls in the whole school.
Thirty years ago.
Um… There’s something that happens to blonds when they spend way too much time in the sun.
She looked like a leather version of Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies.
For you San Diegans think, “Donna Frye”.
You know, even a sun block with SPF 1 would have helped a little.
And have a cheeseburger for Christ’s sake. If you’re earrings are the only thing that are keeping you from blowing over you’re too damn thin.
The “committee” then herded us into the new multimillion dollar library to show us a video.
This library actually had books. I was amazed. Back in the 70’s when we went to the library it was to sleep.
Thank god for this video. It was made up of old yearbook photos and scenes and included everybody that had showed up so we could finally figure out who the hell everyone was.
Plus it had a great soundtrack, actual music with words and everything.
When the evening ended we got back into the car and headed home.
It was an eerily quite ride.
My wife had this confused yet almost angry look on her face.
I was rolling back the evening in my head trying to figure out what I had done to piss her off.
We had driven about ten miles when she finally spoke.
“Who the hell is Kenny?”
My wife and I went to high school together.
I graduated in 1975. She graduated in 1976.
My class didn’t have a 30 year high school reunion. I think we just forgot.
My wife’s class had a 30 year high school reunion. I guess her class still has hope.
Women tend to approach a 30 year high school reunion differently than men.
We’re just happy to be alive. Women want to look better than they did 30 years ago.
I won’t get into the details of how my wife prepared for this evening or how she picked out her outfit.
Because… well… I don’t know.
Oh I know she was talking about it. I saw her lips moving. But I had already gone to that happy place in my head where I block that crap out.
The “reunion committee” was made up of all women.
There’s a shock.
They had the reunion on the campus of the new high school that replaced our high school. We went to a private Catholic School… which meant we had better pot than everyone else. At least that’s what other people told me.
It wasn’t the same.
It’s hard to reminisce about things you did on the hill behind the gym when the hill behind the gym isn’t there.
I have to give the reunion committee credit. They handed out name tags with everyone’s high school yearbook photo on them. They even had one for me with my photo from 1975.
I wasn’t sure that it was my photo.
The guy in the photo was tan and had this long blond hair and only one chin.
I don’t remember that guy.
That guy looked like a stud and a go getter.
That guy looked like a hunk and an athlete.
That guy wasn’t me.
I just want a twenty minute nap now and then.
Then it dawned on me that with a couple of exceptions I didn’t recognize anyone. Who the hell were these people? None of these people matched the photos on their name tags.
Were we at the right reunion?
So I pretended I knew people with the old shake the hand quick look at the name tag maneuver. This was exactly what the people who were shaking my hand were doing to me.
Then it happened.
One guy came up to me, hugged me and said, “Dude! Man it’s good to see you. You haven’t changed a bit. Do you remember the time we climbed on the roof of the Holiday Inn and pissed on the cars down below? You were nuts man. Those were the days.”
“Uh… Who the hell are you?”
“Dude!!! It’s me!!!! Kenny!!!”
“Where’s your name tag?”
“Dude, I’m not wearing no stinking name tag man. I have to do that all day at work.”
“Uh… I think you got the wrong guy.”
“No man. Don’t you remember? We used to get high everyday man.”
Then it dawned on me that he was confusing me with my brother who was a year younger than me and had been in my wife’s class. My brother never showed up for anything.
“Kenny!!! Wow man I thought you died.”
“No man. I… Why would you think I died man?”
“I thought you fell off the roof of the Holiday Inn.”
“No man we went to Denny’s afterward. Remember?”
“Right... Maybe it was someone else who died.”
“Maybe.... Uh........ So you still playing the guitar? You used to rock man. I’ll never forget what you told me man. F$%K Disco, Rock and Roll will never die. That’s so true man. Freaking prophetic man. That’s how I live my life man.”
“Yes well I have many followers my son. But for now I must be going. Na na na na, hey hey hey, goodbye…”
“It’s cool man.”
So I guess drugs did affect some people during the 70’s. At least I know my brother healed one case of “Disco Fever.”
There was one couple that looked like they never stopped doing drugs. “She” looked like Jerry Garcia. “He” looked like Karen Carpenter. They sat in a corner gazing into space for about forty five minutes then they got up very slowly and melted away in a haze of smoke.
I think they were a little bummed that the hill behind the gym was gone.
The true excitement came when one of the guys said that “Driss Dook “(name changed) had showed up.
“Driss” was one of the hottest girls in my wife’s class. Hell, she was one of the hottest girls in the whole school.
Thirty years ago.
Um… There’s something that happens to blonds when they spend way too much time in the sun.
She looked like a leather version of Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies.
For you San Diegans think, “Donna Frye”.
You know, even a sun block with SPF 1 would have helped a little.
And have a cheeseburger for Christ’s sake. If you’re earrings are the only thing that are keeping you from blowing over you’re too damn thin.
The “committee” then herded us into the new multimillion dollar library to show us a video.
This library actually had books. I was amazed. Back in the 70’s when we went to the library it was to sleep.
Thank god for this video. It was made up of old yearbook photos and scenes and included everybody that had showed up so we could finally figure out who the hell everyone was.
Plus it had a great soundtrack, actual music with words and everything.
When the evening ended we got back into the car and headed home.
It was an eerily quite ride.
My wife had this confused yet almost angry look on her face.
I was rolling back the evening in my head trying to figure out what I had done to piss her off.
We had driven about ten miles when she finally spoke.
“Who the hell is Kenny?”
posted by Shrinking Wop at 8:07 PM
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