These Are Days

GAH. You know what's really fun, if by "fun" I mean "similar to having dental surgery"? Organizing a class reunion.

Look, people. It costs money to organize this shit. People will not let a big group of twenty-somethings, especially a group from the high school I attended, just hang out in their event space free of charge. We have to pay for that. And we have to pay for security. Also, if you would like something to eat or drink, we have to pay for that, too. And so, in turn, you will have to pay to attend.

No, you cannot wait until the day of the reunion and pay. The people who own the bar we're using will not just shut it down for us in hopes that people will show up. Even if we ask nicely. Even if we promise to be their best friends, show our boobs, or offer to clean up after the reunion. We have to give them money. Again, this means that you have to give us money.

Good times. And good job, class of '96. Way to be organized and prompt and all that.

It's not like I was expecting hand-holding and Sarah McLachlan songs and slide shows and whatnot, but I was kind of hoping at least 30% of our class (over a hundred of whom assured me that they couldn't wait for the reunion) would throw out fifty bucks for a pretty good time of drinking and music and gossip. If you don't want to come, that's cool. Just don't tell me that you do, because that's kind of what we were basing all of the plans on.

Enough of that. Sorry. How about pictures of my drunken camp weekend? Okay then!

This pretty much describes 80% of my weekend. Boat + drink + "huh?" expression on my face:

When we went to dinner, we liked to class it up by putting on some clothes to ride in the boat:

Nothing says class like a bag of wine (elegantly tucked away in a plastic Miller Lite bucket), paired with fried dill pickles:

Sometimes you need to help your friends with the bag o' wine:

And here's a nice group shot with the Willie Nelson impersonator musician from the restaurant we like to call "Fried":

Man, I'm alreay wistful, but at least I have next year to look forward to.

emiloo at 11:07 a.m.