foxy guys and classy chicks, we're the class of '86
I just found out that my twenty-year high school reunion is happening in a couple of weeks. OH MY GOD. I think I'm going to go.
The timing is fucking TUBULAR, as we happen to be living with my mom. That is exactly how I always imagined rolling into my twentieth. Look. I was not voted most likely to succeed. I was the class clown. And it's because of rats! Not because of failure! But that, too, is so awesome. Yeah, we have a house around the corner from here, but we're not living there because it's infested with rats. So we're living with my mom. Hey, where are you going? I am going to walk into this reunion with my Good Listener hat firmly the freak on. No, no, enough about me. I am so interested in YOU.
Also, baby weight. But who was I kidding anyway? I would have been telling people it was baby weight at my fifteenth.
What the hell am I going to wear? Do you guys like this shirt*?
Oh, my god, I'm running my outfit by the internet. That is hilarious. I'm going to start doing this every day. Do you guys think I should wear these sweatpants or these sweatpants?
*I wouldn't be wearing that little white camisole under that shirt. And I'd wear a little black jacket with it, maybe. Some trousers. Some boots. Oh my god. I don't know. I don't know.