Well, I just got back from my 20-year high-school reunion. Let me tell you, it was not at all what I had expected.

To begin with, nobody was how I remembered them. It was as if someone had taken each person’s skin and slid it over an entirely different body — a much larger body. But that’s OK. We all change. Our metabolism catches up with us. It’s really unavoidable. But that wasn’t the oddest part of the day.

The event coordinator thought it might be fun if we all took part in some of the old activities. So they stuffed us into several school busses and drove us down to our old high school. Of course, I ended up having to sit with my feet on the wheel well, right next to the guy who still picks his nose.

When we finally arrived at the school, I couldn’t believe how much it had changed. A 30-foot electrified fence surrounded the perimeter. Armed guards pointed their rifles down at us as we passed by. And to get in, we had to first walk through a metal detector then get frisked from head to toe by one of the security officers. Unfortunately, I had a ballpoint pen in my right front pocket. When they found it, I was tackled to the ground and dragged into a room where I was beaten with wooden rulers and interrogated for over an hour. Apparently, ballpoint pens are verboten.

About two hours later, I was able to join my former classmates at the football field. The jocks were dressed in their extra-large uniforms and were in the process of going through a few of the old plays for our amusement. On the sidelines, the cheerleaders were doing their best to perform their old cheers. And they were doing pretty well. That is, until it came time for the human pyramid. The last girl was supposed to jump off of the trampoline, do a somersault and land on top of the pyramid, feet first. Instead, she ended up crashing into the entire mass of girls and taking them all down. Still, we all applauded, and the cheerleaders who were still able to stand, got up and took a bow.

After the “football game,” we all took the long walk back to the busses. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, so I just walked ahead of everyone. Then I heard one of the jocks yell, “Get ‘im!” And the next thing I knew, I was running for my life.

Of course, I was just as out of shape as I was back in my youth, so it didn’t take long for everyone to catch up. After tripping me and knocking me to the ground, all the guys took turns giving me charlie horses and Indian burns. The ladies even had some fun beating me with their high-heel shoes.

After the guy who still picks his nose finished spitting on me, I wiped away the tears (and spit) and made my way back to the bus. Of course, nobody would let me sit next to them, so I ended up having to stand next to the driver.

And as I stood there watching my former classmates take turns giving me the finger, I realized just how much I missed them all. It was going to be hard not having them around to knock my hat off, to punch me in the stomach, to call me names that slightly rhymed with my real name, to throw objects at my head just to see what kind of sounds they would make, to dunk my head into the toilet until I screamed “uncle,” or to just look at me with either pity or disgust. But I’d get over it. Besides, from what I hear, they’re already planning our 25-year reunion party. Just enough time for me to heal.

For a while, I’ve been wondering what the hell was going on with today’s drivers. None of them seem to be obeying the laws of the road. That’s when I discovered this new training video: Having Fun Behind The Wheel. Here’s the unofficial transcript:

HAVING FUN BEHIND THE WHEEL

ANNCR: This is Irving. Irving is an excellent driver. He signals before he changes lanes and he always gives pedestrians the right of way. Yes, Irving is a very conscientious driver. Unfortunately, Irving is also terminally boring.

IRVING: Hey!

ANNCR: Oh, don’t worry, Irving, there’s hope for you yet. Just follow these simple steps, and before you know it, you too will be having fun behind the wheel!

IRVING: Well, OK!

ANNCR: Alright, then!

IRVING: OK!

ANNCR: Stop it!

IRVING: Sorry.

There is a bit of an awkward silence.

ANNCR: As I was saying, the key to having fun behind the wheel is understanding three basic principles: One: It’s every man for himself out there. Two: Be creative. Three: Rules were made to be broken. Got it?

IRVING: What was the first one again?

ANNCR: OK! Let’s try them out, shall we?

IRVING: Uh . . .

ANNCR: OK! I couldn’t help but notice that you’re being extremely careful to maintain an imaginary safety cushion around your vehicle.

IRVING: Yep. It gives me an escape route, should something happen suddenly.

ANNCR: Uh huh. This is why you never get any dates. Lighten up. Try stepping on the gas and seeing how close you can get to the car ahead of you.

IRVING: Seriously?

ANNCR: Uh, yeah. C’mon, don’t be a pussy . . . That’s it. Closer. Closer . . . Ha ha ha, now you’re getting it! Make ‘em sweat!

IRVING: This is fun!

ANNCR: OK, OK. Don’t get carried away, you jackass.

IRVING: Sorry.

ANNCR: Yeah. Now let’s try fucking with the person behind you. Let go of the gas pedal, but don’t touch the brake. Good, you’re a natural at this.

IRVING: Ha!

ANNCR: That’s right. See, what we want to do is gradually slow down and irritate the driver behind us. They won’t know what the fuck is going on!

IRVING: Cool!

ANNCR: By the way, why are you driving in only one lane?

IRVING: What do you mean?

ANNCR: A little known fact: Those white lines on the road are merely a suggestion. Loosen up. Let’s practice some lane drifting.

IRVING: Lane drifting?

ANNCR: What did I say?

IRVING: Lane drifting.

ANNCR: So why the fuck are you asking?

IRVING: I didn’t mean to –

ANNCR: Don’t give me that didn’t-mean-to crap. Do you want to learn something or not?

IRVING: Yes.

ANNCR: Then shut the fuck up and listen.

A bit more awkward silence.

ANNCR: OK! Slowly, very slowly, drift over towards the other lane.

IRVING: LIke this?

ANNCR: No, you fucking dolt! I said slowly!

IRVING: Oh.

ANNCR: Yeah, that’s it. Just for the heck of it, flip on your turn indicator in the other direction. Ha ha ha! Yes! Oh, if you could see the face of the guy behind you!

IRVING: Let me see!

ANNCR: Don’t turn around, you idiot! What are you trying to do, kill us?

IRVING: No?

ANNCR: No? You’re not sure if you’re trying to kill us?

IRVING: I . . . I, I don’t know.

ANNCR: For fuck sake, Irving. Did you learn to drive through a correspondence school or something?

IRVING: Driver’s Education, actually.

ANNCR: That was a rhetorical question, dipshit. You know what, fuck this. You’re a lost cause. You stick to your turn signals and driving-the-speed-limit bullshit. I’m out of here.

IRVING: No, wait! I want to learn!

ANNCR: Yeah, well as far as I’m concerned, you can suck it.

And that’s where the film ends. Rather abruptly, if you ask me.

My Dearest,

When I think of you, I hear music. It starts off with a soft cello, then slowly builds up to an entire symphony. Then, for some reason, there’s an electric guitar. And it’s not like I have anything against electric guitar, but it just doesn’t work with the symphony. I mean, it’s like Mr. Holland’s Opus. It was a pretty decent movie, but what the fuck was up with that electric guitar during the opus? It sounded like shit. I mean, if you’re gonna have a movie named after an opus, the opus should be fucking amazing, no? In any case, I just don’t think this is going to work out. It’s not you. It’s that goddamn electric guitar.

Fondly,

Smivey

Thought you might like to know why I haven’t written in a while. Well, I haven’t been feeling too creative these past couple weeks. That, and my life is boring.

You know what I did today? I went to the bank, got some groceries and did the laundry. Thrilling, isn’t it? After that, I spent the rest of my afternoon watching DVDs and surfing the Web. Exciting, I know.

Then, as usual, my neighbor Greta paid me a visit. She likes to drop in every week or so for tea. Greta is 98. Oh, and she often forgets to dress herself before she goes out.

Actually, I’m not sure if Greta really forgets to put clothes on every day or if she just doesn’t care anymore. Maybe she gets up in the morning and says Fuck it, I’m 98. I’m going naked. All I know is, it’s very disturbing and I really can’t take much more of it. Besides, I’m having a hard time making up excuses for why she can’t sit on my couch.

But that’s not the worst of my problems. I think some of the neighbors are starting to gossip. I mean, when a naked 98-year-old woman walks out of your door and thanks you for a lovely time, people are gonna talk. But hey, what am i supposed to do, not answer my door?

I think I’m going to have to confront her and get this all out in the open. After all, we’re both mature adults (quite an understatement for her). Maybe we can come up with some kind of compromise. For instance, she could start wearing one of those hospital gowns. Technically, it’s still clothing, but it’s open in the back, so she’d still feel that cool breeze on her rear. Honestly, I’d be happy if she just started wearing underwear.

But enough about my problems. I shouldn’t bore you with my mundane life. Then again, I can’t always be about the funny. Sometimes I just need to get some things off my chest. Kind of like my neighbor Greta, only in a less literal sense.

Last weekend, I threw another one of my famous rager parties. Beer was flowing, shots were being downed and the music was testing the endurance of my speakers (as well the nerves of my surrounding neighbors).

Yeah, it was pretty insane. I just wish I could’ve enjoyed it more. Unfortunately, I spent most of the evening refilling bowls with corn chips and salsa and making sure that the music never stopped.

By the time it was all over (4 AM, I’m told), I was completely drained. I spent the next day in bed, getting up intermittently to refill the toilet. Nevertheless, I’d probably do it all again. And who knows, maybe next time, I might even invite some people over to join me.