Reunion Recap

Happy belated Thanksgiving to all of you who haven't been by in the last few days. Missed you all.... hope you had a fabulously fat day eating all of that heavy, cartery clogging food at Big Mama's house.

Ah yes... the reunion. The event that all of you (or at least one or two of you) have been waiting for. Class of 1987. Yeah, 1987. Here we go...



This is a shot of me just before we left for the big event. Can't you see the anticipation and eagerness in my eyes? At any rate, as you can see, Tina worked a much-needed miracle for me in the hair department, and although I severely overestimated the length of the dress (as usual), it worked out as well. So here we are: two well-dressed Black people off to see what the night has in store.



When we get there, we stop by our respective restrooms and run into a group of four very drunk, very white women. Four very drunk, white women who apparently are (or at least were) QUITE enamored with the Bishop. "OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! BISHOP!!!!!!! (well, they used his real name) Look at youuuuuuuuuu!" As I stand there with that half smile, half vacant look on face, I'm thinking to myself, "Yes... look at him." One of the women throws herself into my arms and hugs me. Did I mention that I didn't go to school there, let alone graduate in 1987, and that I most definitely do NOT know this woman? Well she (and ALL of her friends) were TOASTED compliments of the open bar that I had yet to benefit from, and it was only 8:00 (party started at 7:00). After we- well, HE- makes suitable small talk with the ladies, we head for the check-in table to pick up his nametag and souvenir book. Allow me to give you.... BISHOP: CLASS OF 1987.



Now... hopefully you too have recovered from your stomachache and the resulting bruise on your forehead from where you fell down on the floor laughing. What can I say? Twenty years was a long time ago. Anyway... we walk in and immediately get assaulted by another contingent of very drunk, VERY Caucasian women who similarly launch themselves into his arms with screams of "OMIGOD!!!!! Look at you!!!!" I thought if I had to smile and say, "Very good, thank you. Just fine, thanks! Great, and you?" ONE more time, I would hurl. And then there was the woman who- probably without meaning to and definitely without realizing it- made my night. After fawning over Bishop for a few seconds, she said, "Oh is this your wife?" I smiled demurely and said "no," but offered my hand and said, "Hi, I'm Monique." She said, "Oh look at you-you are SOOOOO fabulous!" Well, you know...

After exacting a promise from him that he would, under no circumstances, leave me alone at the table during the course of the night (which he immediately reneged on), I made my way to the bar to begin my drinking. I calculated that I was going to need AT LEAST four to five drinks or a very healthy dose of Beyonce records to get me throught the night without retreating to the corner to call La and collapse. I drank, we ate, he talked, I drank, he hugged, I drank, he smiled, I drank, he joked, I drank, he reminisced, I DRANK. Throughout all of this, the soundtrack for this little experience was "Pour Some Suga On Me" compliments of Def Leppard. Yes, DEF LEPPARD. And every song that the damn DJ played was prefaced by, "This next song goes out to the class of 1987 (as if there were any other classes there). From your senior year... "Let's Wait Awhile" by Janet Jackson!!!!" Wow....

Then, after a 90-minute Caucasian-only set, came the line dance set. Your favorite (and mine) "Electric Slide," immediately followed by, "The Cha Cha Slide," and then the "Cupid Shuffle." "To the left, to the left, to the left, to the LEFFFFFFT, to the right, to the..." well, you get the point. Then we got "Step in the Name of Love" and "Wifey." The highlight of this set (second only to the drunk whiteys trying to follow the directions of R. Kelly) was some guy's wife (who looked 20 years older than him) screaming at her husband (as he tried to pull her onto the dance floor), "I can't dance to this! I'm WHITE!!!" Oh my, she was SOOOO serious. SO serious.

This brings us to the New Jersey club music set. CeCe Peniston, Fantasia's "Hood Boy" (who knew there was a club mix?), "Follow Me," and "Don't Make Me Over." This was the magnet that finally pulled ya boy out onto the dance floor. So as I sat in my chair with my eyes half closed, wishing fervently that I could disappear and nobody would notice, Bishop was out on the dance floor with the fatties and the whiteys, TEARING THE CLUB UP. Wow. Then came "Now That We Found Love" by Heavy D. Finally- a song that I can dance to. So I took off my sandals and hit the floor to jiggle the last of that Malibu into whatever cells it was unfamiliar with in my body. But the piece de resistance... the last song for the reunion of the Class of 1987. It went a little something like this



No, really... SERIOUSLY. So after we supersoaked that ho for a few (at which point Bishop was like, "I am NOT dancin to this shit!"), we left.

The end. Oh yeah, one more photo...



Now, the end.