and we danced like a wave on the ocean romanced

I had my 15-year high school reunion this past weekend. It was a lot of fun. I think 15 years is the proper span of time because we're all in our thirties now and so completely over the bullshit that plagued us back then.

Alliances and cliques all but faded away. Intermingling was the order of the night. Although, a turf war did ensue in the form of a junior-high dance-off. Sadly, I was the only one representing my Catholic school that night. The dirty publics controlled the dance floor so I bowed out. In retrospect, I really wish I busted out my best Cha Cha DiGregorio routine. If I was gonna go down, at least I should have done it swinging.

None of us were content to let the night end at 11:00 so we proceeded to a cheesy nearby club and disco-danced among a sea of middle-aged divorcees. Truthfully I loathe disco but the fact that I partook means that a) I was feeling rather euphoric from the success of the reunion and b) I was totally bombed.

How bombed was I? Well, I managed to lose my watch, a pair of sunglasses and my shoes. In any other context such absent-mindedness would totally suck. After a reunion and getting down to "Play That Funky Music, White Boy"? Well, clearly it was good times.