A Move, A Reunion + A Big Kaboom

 Part Two: The Reunion
The Clairemont High School Class of 1986 celebrated its 20-year reunion this past weekend. Technically, I graduated with the Class of 1985, but my age and friends were all 1986, so I received an honorary invitation.

I opted to skip the $70 rubber chicken extravaganza but did attend the pre- and post-party festivities. (And let's face it - who wants to show up at a reunion 9 months pregnant and 30 pounds overweight? Not me.)

My weird "tweener" age and social circle division thing probably explains why my high school experience was, um... how shall we say? ... uh, excruciating. Yeah, that's it.

But then, mine was the real Fast Times at Ridgemont High high school, the one about which the book and movie were based. And the Class of '85 in particular? Well, as anyone would be willing to tell you, it was REALLY out there. Some bizarro alignment of the planets brought extremes to the student body: Suicides, dropouts, meth addicts, breakdowns, anorexics, cutters, thugs, rapists, trailerpark breakdancers - you name it, and my class probably had one. Or two.

There were some great people, as well, but let's just say going to college was an enormous relief. I graduated from CHS with more street smarts than you might expect for a little suburban albino sporting ridiculous white pumps and huge hair, known primarily for being the nerdy captain of the soccer team who drove her VW Rabbit at breakneck speed through the school parking lot.

By contrast, The Class of '86 was together: Smarter, more driven, less damaged. Overall, I'd say I gravitated to them not only because I was closer in age, a late bloomer and could relate better, but because I felt safer. The Class of '85 scared me.

Anyway. The reunion. The bevy of 30-something beauties in that photo up there constitutes much of the creme de la creme of the Class of '86. It's always fascinating to see what time and circumstance has done to people you haven't seen in years. In this case, I've seen most of these women regularly since high school, so their appearance wasn't much of a shock. But seeing them all together, without kids, husbands, or other life baggage for more than 3 hours at a time? Well, that was shocking.

The girls got ready together and spent the night, slumber party style, in a hotel near Chez Varmint. I was the official event photographer and personal stylist - a fact which, at certain points, caused me some serious laugh attacks. As did the fact that some skills learned in high school are carried with you through life. Apparently this includes the ability to down really shitty, warm tequila without barfing. I don't think I was ever happier to be sober and pregnant than at this particular moment:



Please enter your contact information, so we can verify you aren't a bottom-feeding spambot. We promise we won't pass it along to anyone.

I am a writer and lazy artist who loves travel, architecture and design. Right now, I'm into photography. My fabulous husband (a.k.a. The Varmint) and I are also the principals of a San Diego-based creative agency - and new parents to the divine Baby Mak. Read More >