No, I am not turning 30 (thank God, and no offense youngsters). I do remember 30; I had windows 95 and Aol. So there you go. I also had just given birth to my son, who is going to college in a month. If you’re bored you can add all that up, and I will have successfully integrated math learning into my blog post, like a good former teacher of music. Yeah, I know. In retrospect it doesn’t make sense to me either.
No, the big 3-0 refers to my 30 year high school reunion, which takes place this weekend. Thirty years ago, amidst big hair, bigger blouses, the United Colors of Benetton, and sad friendship songs, I graduated with approximately 165 other people, some of whom have had the gall to stay thin. I secretly hate them, but I will squeal and hug them in 24 hours. Unless they read this blog. In which case I will avoid eye contact and try too hard. Because, you know, nostalgia.
I’ve been told I don’t look 48, not that I have ever been particularly worried about looking 48. But I definitely appreciate the sentiment, even though no, gas station cashier who could be my son, I do not want to grab lunch someday. Though it was kind of flattering for a moment. Almost as flattering as when the 19ish looking girl at the McDonald’s drive-through window told me “You’re really beautiful” in a breathy voice as she handed me my Diet Coke. I had been binge watching Orange is the New Black, so I was probably giving off a vibe. Don’t judge me; that Sophia is HOT.
Anyway, I look young because the universe is compensating me in my forties for having oily skin and breakouts during my teens and early twenties. You know what they say, acne don’t crackne. Aaannnd now I have to send out more apology letters. Again. But it’s a PUN. Also, in addition to the oil preventing wrinkles, I have learned that when skin begins to get loose due to age, you can prevent it from sagging if you allow your weight to slowly rise to accommodate the lack of elasticity. This is proven by science and Taco Bell, which I had for lunch. Because nothing prepares you to say “I’m still sexy after 30 years” like eating Taco Bell the day before your reunion. Special Note: I was not sexy 30 years ago. I was Baptist.
So due to pockmarked teen years and my love of digestion, I look pretty non-crepey for 48 (I learned that crepey was a word from Jane Seymore when she was advertising Crepe-erase, which I will never need hahahaHA!). But I am 48, which is why the math works for it to be 30 years. See what I did there?
I am excited about this reunion (no, I really am, I’m not just doing that sugary woman thing) because I get to see my best friend of forever, who I hardly ever get to see. I’ll also get to see other friends from back when who are still cool. And I’ll get to see people who I didn’t realize were freaking awesome the first time around because I was twirling batons and trying to get boys who were barely tall enough to reach my forehead to “like me.” Side Note: I was 5’10” in high school. When I went to my doctor a couple of weeks ago, the nurse told me I was 5’7 1/2″. Something is wrong. I think this is patently unfair, considering I weighed like 125 pounds in high school (which would have been fine for 5’7 1/2″), and I weigh &^%^#^&* now, which 5’10” cannot even account for. So I reject her reality.
Back to the reunion. I had a grand plan in January to do Atkins and be a size 8 tomorrow. But because anyone who tells you not to eat corn is evil, that plan went by the wayside after a month or two. So I’ll show up in my pants that fly just under the “women’s size” radar. No biggie. I’m all about that bass. Or something. It’s actually funny. My body was closer to “ideal” 30 years ago, but my soul is closer to ideal now. I’m happy in my skin and my self. That is something I didn’t quite have in 1986. So I’ll take the heavier package considering what’s inside. Plus I think I’m a lot more fun. Or scarier. Or both. I might even dance, although growing up believing it was a sin and then trying to compensate by buying a set of “Carmen Electra Workout” DVD’s at a yard sale tends to yield somewhat inconsistent results. They are somewhere between this:
Feel free to step away and bleach your eyes. That reminds me: bring bleach to the reunion, along with one of those little lights that Will Smith uses to erase memories in Men in Black…
So it is with great anticipation that I look forward to laughter, hugging, barbecue, memories, and hopefully a margarita. Because high school is even more fun 30 years later when we’ve all learned to be really cool.