That's right. You read that right. I had my ten year high school reunion this past week. And though I've been remarkably amiss in updating my blog as to the current events of my catastrophic world, my reunion is definitely one of of those moments that has so occupied my mind since then so as to warrant an entry.
     First of all, I must clarify that I have been looking forward to my reunion since my junior year of high school. No joke. I desperately wanted to graduate, not so I could go to college, or enjoy the Senior perks, or turn 18 to buy lottery tickets.... oh no, I wanted that cap and gown ceremony to conclude so that I could start counting down the years to my reunion. When I graduated from college in 2004, I thought not of the four years of accomplishment, but rather, "Only six more to go until the reunion!"
     Why, I have no idea. I did not have a great time in High School. I remember my senior year starting off on a particularly sour note when my four closest friends from the previous years called me up to tell me that they had decided - together - that they didn't want to be friends with me anymore, and that I should plan to choose a locker NOT by them. It was probably around this time that I started looking forward to 2010, the year that I would go back to my reunion and show them!
     Unfortunately, my divorce last year put a huge dent in my enthusiasm. Crap, I thought, as the months creeped by, it's not going to be very impressive to show up as a divorcee. Luckily, I talked Boyfriend into coming with me. He's hot, He'll make me look good. But then, lo and behold, he crapped out on me.... a deciding factor in my now "Single and Free" status, but that's another story. All my plans of going back to my reunion with a rockin' amazing career (phutt), beautiful kids (nada), a husband (nope) or hot boyfriend (zilch) as well as a home (nope) and having done it all while still keeping my figure (one point for me!) were fast going down the drain.
     And then an email came. An innocent enough email asking me if I would save him a dance. I responded that I was no longer sure I was even going, as I didn't want to go, and end up feeling terrible again, just as I did in 2000. With my break-up fresh in mind, I didn't want to go as a broken-hearted divorcee, with no mortgage or offspring, no dramatic career to listen to those popular kids brag about all that which I had wanted, and had yet to have for myself.
"Hell, if you're feeling sporty enough to go, we'll both go & pick up our tickets at the front door together!," he wrote back. "I'll keep you smiling all night if I have to :)"
      So I went. We went. And he did.
     Turns out my mom was right (again). God, I hate when that happens. In the last decade, the popular kids' charm and power had somehow worn off. My companion and I got voted Best Dressed. People (read: men) who wouldn't have allowed me to pick up their discarded gum at PHS all of a sudden were introducing themselves to me, or hugging me, or asking for my number. And as malicious as it sounds, I liked clarifying that we had gone to school together, and yes, actually, I did come with someone. Ah, sweet victory.
      It also turns out that my status of being divorced didn't carry a stigma. Those with kids either couldn't come at all, or seemed a little embarrassed for having to duck out so early. It didn't matter that I work only part-time at a bank, and work from home the rest of the time, people seemed a little envious of my ability to travel and do what I want. But in the end, the friends I DID reconnect with were all that really mattered. Them, and my Companion, who was wonderfully, beautifully, courteously attentive.... giving me a smidgen of a reminder that though my heart was still broken, there was plenty to be hopeful about.
     So here's to the next ten years, kids, fellow Mustangs. Here's to my being wrong, being scared, but going anyways. Here's to you... and here's to me, in whatever form I come!