My 10-year high school reunion was last weekend. At dinner beforehand, I asked my friend Jill, "How many people do you think are going to show up?" She replied, "Well, first you have to factor in how many people are in jail or have been killed in drive-bys." That was my high school experience in a nutshell. As for reunion, it was "the bomb" (as we used to say back then), and that's even including the kerfluffle I got into with the DJ who insisted on only playing tunes from Ace of Base and The Cranberries.
"How old are you?" I demanded.
"Sixteen," he answered.
"Really?" I said.
"Yeah, really," he replied. "You're old."
Speaking of bombs, have I ever told y'all about the bomb threats my high school used to get every few weeks?* If we were lucky, this happened during the middle of a major test so we at least got to compare answers while we were being evacuated to the parking lot. Good times.
*My friend Gabe just reminded me of the time a couple of our fellow students robbed a liquor store nearby while we were waiting for the bomb threat to be over. That was pure gold. Anyway, a night in pictures!
It started out innocently enough.
Damn, why does my skin always look so waxy? If I ever become famous, I'm going to go to Madame Tussaud's wax museum and pose as a statue of myself and all the kids will be like, "The other ones are so lifelike but this one is so clearly wax."
Old friends were greeted. And pregnant! Like my beautiful friend Erin. Whaddup, Erin! Whaddup, fetus!
White chicks and gang signs. Identities have been concealed in order to protect their gangster.
The wheels fell off at the after-party...
...where they started setting things on fire.
Then I looked around and noticed that I was the only one still drinking.
Then for whatever reason they kicked us out. Possibly because we were sitting on the floor.