Partying like it's 1999

As mentioned, oh, about two posts below, this weekend involved the latest attempt to convince me I am an adult: my 10 year high school reunion.

Truth be told, it was really quite a low-key affair, nowhere near deserving the significance it has accrued in pop culture and people's nightmares. Only about a third of my small town grad class made it out to any of the events, due to a silly bout of high school drama about the lack of planning of a formal event, along with those "real life" responsibilities that keep us from venturing back home at a moment's notice. Sunday afternoon was the "formal" reunion, really just a picnic in the park with little ones running about in all their resplendent cuteness. Saturday night, however, I declared "pretend you are 18 again night", and hosted a party at my parents' house, much like I was known to do when I was actually 18.

Of course, one can't have a grad reunion party without at least a few random observations, highlights, and not-so-highlights, can they?

• Us late 20-ers can't drink nearly as prolifically as we used to. My mom actually made fun of the number of full cans of beer and half drunk bottle of vodka remaining. I personally had to call it quits post-Jager shots, despite the calls to bust out the tequila.
• The guy who used to be skinny and wear thick glasses who has now had laser eye surgery and has buffened up will find an excuse to take off his shirt after a few drinks, no matter how ridiculous.
• The guy who dumped me in Grade 11 and the next month made out with my friend while we were all sleeping on the same mattress felt the need to announce very loudly, on numerous occasions, that we had slept together. So much for my discretion over a decade ago. He also told me approximately six times that he was sooooo proud of me while tightly hugging me.
• When mentioning that my boyfriend could not make it out due to having to finish off his Masters thesis, several people declared him to be but a fiction, and referred to his name in air quotes for the rest of the night.
• In a perhaps less than sober attempt to prove his existence, I then called the Duke at 1am and passed around the phone to random people to talk to him.
• I will admit to being more flattered than I should after overheard a guy, in his rankings of the hotness of the girls of the party, declare me the winner. Even though I disagree with the idea of ranking hotness in principle. It just takes a little flattery to make a hypocrite out of me.
• It is a little funny to hear that the meanest of all the mean girls, who was known to threaten to beat up smaller girls at random, yours truly included (and very out of the blue, I may add), had declared that she would never come to our high school reunion, stating "Why would I want to see those assholes again?" Wait, we're the assholes?
• Someone actually pulled out my parents' copy of my Masters thesis at 4am, and started drunkenly reading it aloud, while inserting random words like "butterflies" and "sex" into it.
• Only one person asked me when I was getting married.
• Sublime makes me happy. However, a lot of the other music on the kitschy 90s hits station I put on to reminisce was a little weaker-- hello, C&C Music Factory.
• It is funny to realize you missed someone more than expected. It is also funny how seamlessly some interactions can flow, despite all the time and space in between.

Then comes marriage...

I am beginning to wonder how my friends became so cliched.

It certainly couldn't be by simple virtue of the diamond rings displayed on their ring fingers. It is not as though they are the first of my friends to get married, many of whom who have managed the transition from girlfriend to wife with relative ease. 

This week, six of us sat at my kitchen table, empty plates before us from our weekly meet-up. As I began collecting the plates, the regular dose of matrimonial talk began. You see, three of the six are getting married, one this spring, one this summer, one next summer. While I don't mind talk of the larger themes, such as bachelorette plans, dresses, caterers, or of their general excitement about an admittedly huge day in their lives, lately it has progressed to the downright banal. This time, they began chattering about their three's trip to the mall to pick out wedding bands, which began with an anecdote of how the jewelry store worker made a joking remark about the big rings on each of their fingers, and ended with a detailed dissection of which shape of wedding band best complemented their fingers. 

I counted floorboards.

I also wondered when they had all gotten so oblivious. Not just oblivious to the fact that I was counting floorboards, but also to the fact that J is single and not necessarily thrilled about it, or that M has been with her boyfriend for longer than some of them have been with their fiances, and is still barely able to get him to utter the word "commitment". Oblivious to the fact that their constant talk might not just bore some people, but may actually be a tinge hurtful.

While they may be unaware of how their words may sting, they also are also painfully incognizant of the fact that not everyone is necessarily wanting their lives right now. As it has now become obvious that M and her boyfriend are not getting engaged anytime soon, attention has turned to me as the next on the list. My non-committal or general responses to "do you think he's going to propose soon?" or "do you know what kind of ring you want?" fall over deaf ears. It seems that "I'm sure it will happen, but not anytime soon" is not satisfying enough, so they keep on pressing. 

That same night, as I excitedly tell them that the Duke and I are finally booking our sunshine holiday, S coos "Oh, I bet he has something in store for you there", and winks condescendingly. And even though I know it is only because she wants for me what she thinks I want for myself, I can't help but get annoyed. Why isn't it good enough that we are having our first big holiday together? Why does it need to be that I am providing him with a cliched scenario to ask for my hand in marriage? Why does everyone act like I am just suppressing my frantic need for a wedding, rather than accepting that him and I are just happy in the moments we're in now? 

I guess it is just starting to depress me that these women I know are genuinely ambitious, driven, feisty, independent present themselves like something out of a bad sitcom, when all we talk about are calories and relationships. As I walked home today, I realized that I knew reams more about their theme colours, the necklines of their bridesmaid's dresses and their fiances' idiosyncracies than they did about my dissertation or my job. And it made me feel a little lonely.