The End is Very Fucking Nigh

No, I'm not fixin' to go broke, despite the paddling I'm taking at the tables. Card dead, mostly. When I do wake up with a hand, I find myself dominated (like getting JJ after 50 straight folds last night and running into QQ). But I'm mostly unaffected, despite the unfairness--THE INHUMANITY--of it all. Like Gloria Gaynor, I Will Survive. And I've already socked away my bankroll for December's Blogger Conclave, which is rapidly becoming my raison d'etre. The rewards and friendships poker and this silly little blog have given me far out-weigh any monetary success and it's easy to get over the beats when a chat room is full of weirdos making me laugh every two seconds. God Bless you kids.

The title refers to the fact my 20-year High School Reunion is a week away. That I am of an age where such an event is necessary is also truly unfair. This thing coming up has sent me into spasmodic trips amongst the past and the one thing that keeps coming back is "Where did the time go?" Seriously, there are large chunks of the '90s missing. I'd like to blame the LSD, but I happen to remember those times very clearly.

And High School, well, that's still pretty clear. Because, I guess, it seems so important to us at the time. It's the first time we become aware of a society and our place in it, the different strata and castes. How our only real life issues are acceptance and trying to get into Mary Jane Rottencrotch's pretty pink panties. There's no pressure of money or mortages or child-rearing, things that detract from us savoring memorable moments.

I was lucky. High school for me wasn't the difficult road it is for many. Sure, there were moments of humiliation and despair, which seemed utterly tragic at the time. But I was generally happy with my lot. I was far from being ensconsed in the Inner Circle, but I could straddle it from time to time. Most of all, however, I had three friends who made it all worthwhile, who protected me, mocked me, entertained me, inspired me, challenged me and yes, I think it's fair to say, loved me.

Of course, none of those assholes are going to the reunion. Thanks a lot, jerks.

Schott loved high school, too. Which is why he's not going. He wants it to stay right where it is, in the past. He doesn't want to see our classmates with 20-years worth of life packed on. He wants to remember them when their flowers were still in bloom.

Kool Breeze doesn't want to go because he dreads the idea of repeating the same rote lines over and over. "I work for _______. I'm living in __________..." Yeah, I'm not really looking forward to that part, either. I'm mulling the idea of changing it every time. "I'm a rocket scientist. I live in India." Things like that. I'll start drinkin' early.

Ron Don Majaworski, well, actually I don't know if he's coming or not since he won't return my calls.

I will get a chance to meet up with them on Friday night, however, and that's the part I'm looking forward to the most.

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As far as the reunion itself goes, I have no idea what to expect. I've heard from several people recently, people to whom I've not spoken in a dozen years or more. Some of them I've even wrote about here (and God Knows there is no way I'm outing my blog since I'll be providing intimate details here 10 days from now), like Harry, and I'm absolutely going to enjoy seeing the likes of him again.

But...

The reunion invitation included a link to photos from the last affair five years back. It was with great anticipation that I pulled it up. But looking at the pictures kinda made my nuts draw back into my belly. I barely recognized any faces. I caught some nametags, sparking some familiarity, but could not, for the life of me, remember specific situations which I shared with them way back when. Uh oh, I thought, this is gonna be awkward.

I went to one previous reunion, the 5-year, which was less a reunion that a big party. I had a good time seeing a bunch of friends and partying before and after in our hotel, but the reunion itself sucked balls. For one, it was a big "Dick-Size Contest," full of one-upsmanship and self-promotion. Gawd, I hope we've all moved beyond that point and are comfortable in our adulthood to be honest and genuine. Though I like to talk about myself, as anyone knows, I don't think I'm an especially impressive person. Sure, I have good hair (which should probably put me in the top ten percentile in that crucial reunion demographic), but I'm extremely happy in my averageness (again, NOT the Type-A personality) and more than satisfied with my station in life. I don't envy much in others (though people going to Vegas without me PISSES. ME. OFF.) and I immediately shut down when confronted by braggarts.

Secondly, a lot of people were really uptight last time. Specifically, I greeted a couple people with the nicknames--of the non-insulting variety, I might add--we used in HS and they were truly offended, quickly correcting me. Huh? Loosen the fuck up. It's a party, Senator.

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Of course, I can't help but contrast my trepidation with the giddy feelings of anticipation I felt before the June Blogger Gathering. It's weird, ain't it? I dread awkwardness, pregnant pauses and lagging conversation with people I've known for over 20 years, but felt no such issues with people I'd never met.

Is there a phychologist in the house?

Truth is, though I shared a formative and character building four-year experience with these people, I don't REALLY know anything about them. I don't know anything about their lives or personalities. The bloggers, well, I knew you were all retarded and debauched and that I'd fit in perfectly.

ANYWAY, this is much ado about nothing. I'm showing up with my hair, my new suit and a hot wife. Alcohol, it is rumored, will be available. What could go wrong?