A friend pointed out another fault with my essay...I'd assumed that I'd receive a paper invitation to the reunion. Formal invite, asking for my attendance. Reply card and everything. But, no. I was invited simply by Facebook. I received a friend request from my class president, followed by an immediate event invitation where I could reply electronically, and also post comments on the event wall. Maybe by the time I get married, it'll be totally normal to just text a date and time and just skip the whole invitation process in general.
Also. I'd imagined a prom like reunion (again, I'll refer to Romy and Michelle...great movie if you haven't seen it, by the way) in the high school gym/auditorium. We'd all meet back in the place where we originally formed our cliques, and reminisce as we walked through the overly decorated halls of a place we now knew as our alma mater. But, no. Our reunion was held at Power Plant Live, where I frequented too often during college. Often enough that I didn't feel the need to visit again. Not even for my reunion.
12 years. Have I really changed that much in 12 years? I don't feel like its been that long, and I certainly don't feel like I've really done much in all that time. But, during my first day off in over a week, I decided to be productive, and I continued to discover what 12 years really means...
At 17, on a day off, I might have slept until noon. Then, I would have driven to Dunks for a blueberry coffee. From there, I might have spent the day with my friends driving around in my silver Saturn, getting a manicure, going to the mall, and then trespassing after hours on a school playground. After that I might have gone to a party, where clearly parents were present.
Yesterday, I did this...
I woke up at 8:30am and forced my self to fake sleep for another half hour. I got up, made my own coffee via Keurig in the kitchen. As I drank it, I threw a load of laundry in the washer, got dressed, and drove to Columbia to meet my friend and her two kids at Target. I bought a box of cereal and some laundry detergent, and then drank Starbucks while attempting to maintain sanity amongst her two kids.
From there, I drove back home, moved laundry from wash to dry, and threw another load in. Then I cleaned the kitchen. Deciding to take a break, I sat on the couch to watch an "On Demand" episode of a recently discovered favorite show, How I Met Your Mother. I saw my own future as I watched the episode where Ted goes on a blind date with a girl who he realizes, he's already blind dated 7 years prior.
Realizing I hadn't eaten, I poured a bowl of my newly purchased cereal. It got soggy as I'd already poured the milk when I, A. Bought cheaper Target brand cereal because I've become my mother, and B. Realized I needed to swap the laundry again because, I've become my mother.
I decided to have soup instead. Because there was some left over, I searched for a tupperware container to save the rest when I realized, I have lids that have no matching container, and vice versa! How does that happen? Where does it go? Well this was just not ok, so, begin project "match lids to container and throw away the rest." Riveting.
That was essentially my day. So this morning, after folding my final load of laundry, I sat down with my coffee to finally watch this weeks Modern Family (seriously, if you don't watch this show you have to...I literally lol'd for nearly the entire episode). In one of the scenes, Claire, mom of three kids over the age of 10, realizes she has mismatched tupperware, and so she begins the same project I completed yesterday.
Somehow, in the midst of the last 12 years, I've skipped the regular steps of husband and kids part, and went straight to becoming my very own desperate housewife. Lucky for me, not only do I still have my grandmother offering to pay for more time online soulmate searching, but my mother, even while vacationing in California, full time searching for my husband offline. Every day, my parents send me an email with a picture of something in CA. Yesterday, it was a picture of them lunching in Laguna Beach, the day before, my dad living his dream on a Pebble Beach golf course. Today?
Email subject line: Good Looking Men.
Email: Your mother sending this for you. SWAT Team.
Picture:
As much as I've started to become my mother, I vow to never go this far...she likes the one in the black t-shirt. And yes, she said "Excuse me, you're very cute, can I take a picture of you to send to my single daughter in Baltimore?" Hopefully she followed it with "But she's very good at cleaning and doing laundry..."
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