March 3, 2004
THREE OH
Ever respond to those ubiquitous ads for Classmates? The ones that seem to defy every known blocker known to man? Yeah, me neither. My theory is this site was created by the Uber-Cunt, the ultimate let's stay in touch girl from your graduation class who choreographed every high school reunion ever. The one who couldn't let go of seventeen. I avoid those people like scabies, gonorreah, and elephantiasis.
I don't want my ex-classmates to know where I am, or what I'm doing. I'm not hiding, I just don't think it's any of their damned business. Here's a thought: send me $450 each, bearer bonds acceptable, and I'll give you a few clues. Sort of a scavenger hunt for the perversely inquisitive. All hobbies have their price, after all.
Why am I obsessing on this? I'm not sure, but it may have something to do with the fact my 30th high school reunion approaches this June. 30 years, you ask?!? I asked myself the same thing. Hellfire, I'm only 46, and I feel like a spring chicken, or shall I say rooster, full of pecking and pecker. I feel like a 16 year old lad. Whatfor I subsume myself to something so psychically debilitating as a 30th reunion?
I graduated 6 weeks after turning 17, went to Coast Guard Academy, and never looked back (well, I did try a 3 or 4 month stint with my parents when I was 19, suffering from that dread disease myfundsalow, but it didn't take). The Bride has a cousin who's about to turn 30 who lives with his momma, and hasn't worked in 5 years. Just stays home and jacks off, until she gives him a couple of grand to go to Disney World so he can buy Cat In The Hat headgear, and $200 sports jerseys. He's a six foot four, 280 pound blivet, convinced his momma will take care of him until he dies. Would that magic beans existed, so that fearless Jack could scale that beanstalk and slay this morbid fool.
Where the Hell was I? Yes. High school, and reunions. Here's the skinny: I graduated from an elite private school in Savannah with 25 guys and 25 girls. Divided, for all intents and purposes, into two camps: the Made Jews, and the Blue Bloods. I'd gone to public elementary school with most of these people once, but my Dad went and bought that farm, and we moved, so when, in 9th grade, I returned to Savannah, to private school, in order to be shielded from sharing a lunch table with a nigger, these people acted like they'd never seen me. Pretended I was an Effingham redneck, because my father cut his political teeth on their corrupt daddy's back. That didn't bother me too much. Politics is a hellish sport. But the real rub was the fact that my parents were only second generation Savannahians, and that wouldn't do. It was usually small things: the snub to a party, the parents' refusal to let you date their daughter. Petty, mean stuff.
I tell you, of the two groups, I got along much better with the Jews, because I'd gone to elementary school with them, Heard being 2/3rds Kensington Park and 1/3rd Sylvan Terrace (Little Jerusalem), and they were mostly without guile, having been screwed out of a few social circles, too. Wonderful folk. But as a goyim, I couldn't date those girls, either. Although they would skinny dip, and the Jewesses had the best titties, anyway, so there you are.
Back to my point: I know there's a reunion coming up, but I could give a shit. These fuckers were preppies without a clue, and I and the couple of friends I had were considered hippie dope smoking fuckers for our long hair and, uh, dope smoking, when I'll wager I was more conservative, politically, than any of them.
But what is high school for, what is 15 or 16 or 17 for, if you can't grow your hair to your ass, get smoked down, and have some fun? Fuck them.
Here's an incomplete rundown of the colleges and universities my classmates attended, lest you think I'm pulling your chain:
University of Georgia: 12
Emory: 5
UNC Chapel Hill: 5
Duke: 3
US Naval Academy: 2
Brenau (finishing school): 2
Converse (finishing school): 2
Stanford: 1
Yale: 1
Georgia Tech: 2
Sewanee: 1
Washington and Lee: 1
Alabama: 1
Auburn: 1
Indiana: 1
US Coast Guard Academy: 1
I have no fucking idea where the other 9 went.
I do correspond occasionally with one fellow graduate (every five years or so). He'll probably try to drag me to Savannah. I will refuse.
That day I will have an open house, and any fucker from Savannah Country Day '74 who wants to come pay homage at the Velocihovel, and kiss my ring, is welcome. If they bring some single malt, and some Jamaican bud, I might even let them in the front door.
One last note: skipping 3rd grade hurt during high school, when you were always a year younger than your classmates, especially during those formative pubescent years, but hey: now, if I choose to go to a reunion, I'll ALWAYS be younger than those asshats. There's something to be said for that, from a mindfuck point of view.