Just like 90210

Oh, high school memories. This weekend, I got together with a girl who I only see about once every two years. We went to middle school and high school together, and we were really good friends through our eleven year-old obsessions with New Kids on the Block (Joe was hers; Jordan was going to marry me, just to clarify). Well she wanted to have drinks with me and a few other random people, so we settled on Saturday night.

We hung out in the area of town where we all went to high school. This is generally a bad idea. Many of the people we went to high school with have never left that area (and I mean Never). In the course of the evening, we ran into (no names, just general descriptions):

1. A big, loud guy who everyone always called "Chicken," who, every time he sees me, feels the need to shout, "Hey! You remember that time we smoked that big BLUNT on the way to PANAMA CITY?!" Um, no, I do not remember that (thankfully), and if I did, I would not admit it to anyone, especially not in public. That whole Panama City/Redneck Riviera, post-graduation trip is one hazy, shameful blur, and I'm quite content to keep it that way, thanks.

2. The skinny, mouth-always-hanging-open guy who always had bonfires in his parents' yard. I believe there was also some sort of makeshift mechanical bull there, consisting of a big oil drum suspended between two trees. Top drawer, no?

3. A girl who would always pretend she was pregnant, for what reason I don't know. She was never actually pregnant, though. She would also make up songs about our student teachers, and follow them around the classroom, singing and clapping.

(I don't know if you've picked up on this yet, but I didn't exactly go to a prestigious prep school.)

Anyway, you can see why I never hang out on that side of town, even though I actually live there. All weird, run-ins aside, though, my friend and I had a great time catching up. Except that she is very skinny now, and I am not? But that's not her fault, I guess, so I can't hold that against her. She does not make me eat cheese danishes four times a week.


Other activities over the weekend included discovering new and exciting reasons to hate my father (always fun), looking at paint and cheap furniture with my mom and sister, and getting new contacts.

The optometrist was all, "Would you like a trial pair of colored contacts?" And I thought that would be a neat thing to try; you know, change it up bit? Well, it turns out, he could only give me one contact in each color (lovely!), and those had the word TEST printed on them in white. "TEST," all written up on my eyeball. Maybe I could start some trend?

emiloo at 1:36 p.m.