Some of you will remember that, the last time I blogged, all
the way back in the mists of ancient history (April, was it?) I blogged about
how much I was looking forward to my 10th college reunion. Some of
you totally agreed with me that reunions are an awful idea and college sucked
and so the people you went to college with also sucked and your real grown-up
friends are heaps cooler anyway. Some of you really need to work on your
reading comprehension.
I have now been and gone from that reunion (like, TWO WEEKS
AGO, geez) and I’m back to give you an update. I bet you thought I was never
coming back. Ha ha ha, I’m totes like that ex of yours who dumped you for
somebody else (regular exercise and a sleep schedule) only turn up like 10
years later when his life didn’t work out as well as he planned. Please take me
back. I miss your laugh.
ANYHOO, if you’re still with us, my college reunion ROCKED
SO HARD THAT I MIGHT HAVE TO WRITE THE REST OF THIS POST IN CAPSLOCK. Kidding,
that would suck. But just know that it rocked super hard. Here are some
highlights:
I arrived late on the first day, because of course I did,
and missed lunch, and I kept meaning to go and get something to eat in the
afternoon but that never happened because somebody handed me a drink and I just
decided to go with that, because of course I did. One of the great things about
Hollins University’s reunions is that they like to keep us pretty liquored up,
so we’ll donate more to alumnae fund. So I had beer for lunch, wine for
dessert, and of course there was an open bar at dinner. Don’t worry, I ate dinner
– it will reappear later in the story.
There was a class party after dinner and of course, I had to
drink some more. My class’s reunion co-chair bought us enough booze to kill an
elephant. Not even a small elephant – a full-sized elephant. I had planned to sleep on campus, and I was supposed to join my class for the parade of
classes on the front quad right outside my dorm room the next morning.
![]() |
This area right here. |
And that’s when I looked down, and saw for the first time
that my reunion badge was drenched in vomit.
![]() |
I was able to clean the ribbon. The tag itself didn't fare so well. |
So this conversation happened repeatedly throughout the rest
of the day:
“What happened to your nametag?”
“I vomited on it.”
“BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
This conversation also happened:
“At least you didn’t get any on your meal ticket, right?”
“Um…” *looks at meal ticket* “A little bit.”
“BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
“HEY PAGE, I GOT SOME OF FRIDAY NIGHT’S DINNER ON MY MEAL
TICKET!”
“BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
My former professor, Richard Dillard, didn’t even have to
ask. He just looked at my nametag and cracked up. “You had a wild night last
night, didn’t you?”
Yes, Richard, I did. For the record – and this will probably
cost me a really good job someday – I actually vomited in my dorm room, INTO A
PLASTIC BAG, LIKE I WAS 19 YEARS OLD. That is what I call recapturing your
youth.
Later the next day, one of the bartenders asked me how far
along I am in my pregnancy. I AM NOT PREGNANT. Also, she was handing me a beer
at the time. I don’t know if her next step was to harangue me for drinking
whilst pregnant, or what. I mean, I get asked about my (non-existent) pregnancy
at least four to six times a year, but this is the first time it’s happened
while I was actively drinking an alcoholic beverage. I guess there’s first time
for everything. I didn’t say anything at first. I just clutched at my fat
little stomach with my non-beer-holding hand and gaped at her for a second
until I mustered up the courage to explain that I am, in fact, just fat.
The really awkward thing about people asking about your
pregnancy when you’re not pregnant is that, having realized their mistake, they
never just let it go. They always go on about it. Instead of saying “Oh, I’m
sorry” and shutting up or changing the subject, they stand there and yammer on
for five minutes about how really, really pregnant you look and how the elastic
waistband on those khakis makes them look like maternity trousers. It’s a
gruesome train wreck of a conversation – body parts and pools of blood are
lying everywhere, but you just can’t look away.
Of course, my classmates spent the rest of the day assuring
me that I don’t look pregnant, because they’re true friends, but I do kind of
look a little bit pregnant.
![]() |
Also, this is a pretty great outfit I managed to throw together in literally 15 seconds. |
Later that night, someone handed me a bottle of cinnamon
whiskey, which I had never had before, and which I apparently drank most of. What
can I say, it was delicious.
I have some vague memory of wandering the campus in the
night, begging random alumnae I didn’t recognize to drink it with me. So people
are going to be talking about that at the next reunion probably. (At this point
I just don’t know what I’d do with myself if people weren’t gossiping about me.)
Against all odds – I mean, MOTHERFUCKING MIRACULOUSLY – I managed to make it to
breakfast the next morning, (at 8:00am, which is earlier than I wake up on some
–okay, most – days when I’m sober) in my pyjamas, and discovered that everyone
else is getting dressed to go to breakfast now. I’m not sure when they started
doing that, but I bet it was around the time they stopped drinking entire bottles of whiskey by themselves.
![]() |
Well, okay. They probably never started doing that in the first place. It's probably just me that does that, actually. |