20th Reunion

Last Friday, B had his 20th reunion. His band, Whistlepunk, was supposed to play and it was a big deal. B was not looking forward to the trip down memory lane, but was a little bit excited about playing. Well, at the last minute, the singer (the small guy in the sunglasses) decided he didn't want to play for a group of people who know every word to Hank Williams Junior's Family Tradition. I can't say I don't blame him. Dude, they know every. single. word.

Anyways, after S bailed, B didn't want to go anymore. What the Hell? After many conversations of "I'm too fat, old, [insert self-degrading adjective here]... and one argument later, B and I gussied up and made our way to The Blue Parrot, a local bar owned by one of B's classmates. The room was spinning with disco lights, and the synthtic sounds of Roxette's The Look was blaring over the speakers. I have never seen that many desperately tanned bodies and bleached teeth in my life.

After a couple of beers and the arrival of the other bandmate, B finally loosened up and relaxed. He didn't say much about anything or anybody, and more often than not, I had to just jump in and introduce myself. We left after about 3 hours, came home, and went to bed. I thought that was it. Oh no, all I have heard about for the last few days is this reunion - who was there, what they looked like now, etc... For somebody who didn't want to be there, he sure has a lot to say about it.