The Seattle Scribe got really drunk at his 10 year highschool reunion, shenanigans ensued

(long winded boring story alert)

So I got a few hours of sleep after my ill fated attempt to check in online. I woke up ok. Not hungover, just tired. Notice I said "tired" (that will come up in a later post for those of you silly enough to keep score).

I flew, I rented a car, I drove to P-ville, I checked into the Hotel of Shame. It's actually the swankiest hotel there, but you'll see why I called it that later.

And I'm going to refer to my town as P-ville, so as to avoid any google searches from people from my hometown. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. If you're from my hometown, and you found this somehow and know who I am and what this is about, you probably shouldn't read this. I want this to stay just between "us" (you know who you are).

The reunion lasted for three days and Friday was day one, the party being conveniently located at the back patio of the hotel I was staying at. All my college buddies were there too, for my good friend's wedding, so it was a great chance to meet up with everyone. After hanging with them for a drink or two, I got the nerve to walk into the reunion tent and see the highschool people.

Bad idea. I'm not going to name names, but an old friend of mine accosted me at the door, drunk as shit, and launched into her schpeel, "[my name long and drawn out and whiny] ... I'm the fat girl at the reunion!" all pouty and stuff, with a foot stomp. And yeah, she was. Boy howdy! Nice girl, I like her, but damn.

I tried to work my way across the room, but I immediately ran into the hottest girl of my childhood and word had it that she had been asking about me. Hell yeah! She's way hotter than she ever was, and that's saying something. Fortunately, at this point in life, I spent the better part of my dorky adolescent years forging a friendship with the object of my affection. She wanted to talk and party all night. I could deal with that!

We got separated, so I talked to a bunch of people I had totally forgotten about, and was glad I got that chance. Don't miss your reunions people, seriously. Good times. Some people show up and others don't, and some get huge fat ... it's all good.

My friends and I traded name tags at some point. There's an effing hilarious picture of our class president posing as a drunkard with BS's name on (people in the know know who I mean here). Funny shit. The aforementioned BS, my former Chicago roommate no less, paid $120 for the jacuzzi room at the Econolodge and ended up passing out on our floor instead. Funnier shit.

Before that, I left the reunion with the hot girl and her friend. We were good buds in 10th grade, by which I mean I drove them around while they tripped on acid. Ah well, we all do stupid things. Still, that one girl is super hot.

We went to a former gay bar ahead of everyone and they went straight to the bathroom. Ok, that's girls for ya, I thought. Two beers later they came out obviously fucked up. I was going to say something, but the hot one pulled me out to the dance floor and wanted to grind.

Um... allright! Not sure what they were doing, but also not complaining. Before the rest of the reunion showed up, I got in some happily received ass grabs and boob squeezes. Hell fucking yeah! The Seattle Scribe can deal with that shit!

I danced like a loon with grade school friends and there are pictures you're never gonna see to prove it. RCR finally got there from DC around 2am. Memory gets hazy here. I went to the hotel with RCR and BS passed out on our floor, as previously mentioned.

I feel bad for neglecting my college friends that night, though I spent most of my college years in the effing computer lab anyway. My take was I'd see them the next day at the wedding and reception.

Saturday morning was rough, real rough. I got up around noon or so, and my head was on fire. I got a shower and chugged a few glasses of water and threw on my brand new suit. BS and I got some Rally's and headed over to the wedding (they got some damn good fries).

I truly enjoyed the singing of Ave Maria. Done right, that song could make you cry. From what I hear though, that was not a full Catholic ceremony. I spent the whole time admiring the beautiful artwork on the ceiling and walls, wishing I had some drugs to appreciate it more. I paid absolutely zero attention to what the book guy was saying, though I did notice that he slammed the remaining wine after the communion. "That's what I'm talkin' about!" I said to BS. Then he poured more and drank that! Haha! My kind of religion. Except for, ya know, the whole god thing.

When my good buddy T was officially married, he came down the aisle greeting everyone. I said to him, and I quote, "Congratulations T. I love you. You'll always be my honky." I'm nothing if not classy, people.

We pealed out and showed up at the reception. They had an open bar and a chocolate fountain. I was too hungover to really appreciate either. Oh wait, who am I kidding? I exploited the open bar for all it was worth. The chocolate fountain not so much, though it seemed to be a big hit with the women and children.

What wasn't a big hit was the garter. When it was thrown to the guys, they scattered like roaches in the light. I got the garter at my sister's wedding because I didn't know any better. Some little boy was similarly scammed into it here. The repulsion of the garter isn't just the marriage thing though. What do I want something intimate off my buddy's wife for? What am I supposed to do with it? Make soup?

If I had been a good guest, I would have been in the crowd, scampering off with the rest of the guys. Instead I was slugging beers by the bar. The bouquet was quickly snatched up by the nearest bridesmaid.

I got a good chance to hang with my college buddies there. That was cool. I felt bad for ditching them the previous night just so I could feel up the hot chick, but I think they would understand. I'd effin' do it again and so would they, if they were all male and/or straight.

One of my old college roommates told me he never liked my ex-gf. It's too bad I didn't give a flip about his opinion back then. She was bad news. My only response was, "The crazier the chick, the better the sex." Eh, it wasn't that good anyway. Who would have thought a coke-head trust-fund-baby would have any insight? (notice I called him a roommate and not a buddy, there was an incident that I'm not going to discuss)

I'm going to see one of my other college buddies who still lives in Ann Arbor, once I get off my ass and figure it out (which means 2008-ish). And three others, two of whom are married with a baby on the way, live in Miami, which is close to where I'll be over Christmas. So hopefully I'll get to make up for lost time with all of them.

During the reception I practiced how I was going to greet people at the reunion. This was the best I could come up with: "Hey [insert name]! How are you? Wow, you've really put on weight! I mean, you were always chubby before, but you've definitely been packing them on, wow. [pause] What's your cholesterol level?" Despite my preparation, I shelved this and went for more standard fare when I got there.

So I left the reception to head over to Saturday's portion of the reunion, stinkin' drunk, appropriately located at one of the nicest bars in town. At least I had a swanky suit on. That may have been my saving grace.

I have to say, seriously, that alot of those girls from highschool are still effing hot. Dude. And for some inexplicable reason they all wanted pictures with me. This was heaven, or maybe the suit, or most likely my imagination. Then I ventured into the "real" reunion room off to the side. I wasn't too keen on going in because they ran out of beer.

Some girl who I absolutely do not remember at all barged over and introduced herself. I'm not telling this story to make fun of her, I just have no recollection of her at all, and I think it's funny. I looked at her name tag and then acted like I knew her. What else was I gonna do?

How are you? Rilly? Great! Me too! Yeah, well, you know... Rilly? Well it was great catching up with you! Ok, bye!

After 5 minutes of horrible small talk, some random hot chick started talking to me. I like talking to hot chicks, especially when they initiate the conversation. "I just have to say hi to you", she said while extending her hand. As I grasped it, I glanced at her nametag and freaked out. Hugs! Cool chick from forever ago who always had a crush on me! What the fuck is fucking up???

We were basically attached at the hip for the next 5 days from that point on. It's a long story that I'm not going to tell here, suffice it to say that I am officially smitten. Maybe you'll get the story later.

Several beers and ill timed photos later, my good buddy RCR said very loudly on the back patio, "What? There are no single girls who want to fuck me here?? Why did I come to this stupid reunion anyway??" or something like that. God, how I love RCR.

That got our porn-star-hot grade-school friend cracking up, and she advised him to not give up just because some girl has a boyfriend. She said, "You have to think outside the box". Me, being the witty sonofabitch that I am, replied, "Oh we're defintely thinking inside the box" (ba-dum-bum). I am nothing if not classy, people.

I left early with girl-I-be-smitten-with and her friend to go back to the hotel party, where my recently married friend and college buddies were. At some point BS walked in with a hometown girl we all know, and RCR said right off the bat, "You know walking into a party with BS is backpedaling a few steps," as the poor girl put her face in her hands. I'm still chuckling at that one. BS took it well. He said "I know" before stumbling over.

My recently married buddy was hugging the toilet around this point. As you can imagine, his bride was none too happy. I wonder, will he ever live that down? Probably not. Heh! Fucking P-ville baby! Classic.

It's a big smoky haze of backslaps and camera flashes from there on until we moved over to my room. That would be next door, after the hotel kicked us out of the first room. There was an interesting mix of hometown and college friends hanging out. Once again I missed out on really talking to the people I wanted to. I mean, I spent all my time talking to Smitten Chick, so, ya know. Her and her friend went home at just the right time.

About 10 minutes into being in me and RCR's room, the security guard came up and knocked on the door, "Y'all got 5 minutes to clear out before we call the po-leece". The worst possible person, BS, happened to answer the door, and he responded, "Gimmie ten" and slammed the door in his face.

Aww shit. Hysterical, yes, but the room was in my name. Of course we didn't make it before the police came. At least they were cool. But we can always say that we got the police called to the swankiest hotel in P-ville. I am proud as fuck about that. We are obviously the coolest people who have ever been there! Woohoo!

We probably should have felt guilty, but we all thought it was the funniest shit we'd seen in a long time. We made fun of JB for having his mom come pick him up at like, 4 in the morming, over text messages. I forget how it started, but it ended with the two best insults we could muster: fag, and queer. Sorry any gay people, this is just us being extraordinarily drunk. No offense is intended. The point of telling this story is how stupid we were that we thought that was funny. You should have heard the session of extremely off color jokes.

Anyway. Sunday morning, 3pm-ish, RCR and I walked out of the hotel to the background noise of the concierge saying, "Not saying a word, just not going to say a word" as loud as she could. You might think this is why I call this the Hotel of Shame. Oh no, it gets worse.

The wedding and reunion stuff was over by this point. I missed the goodbye lunch with all my college friends, like a douchebag, and deliberately skipped the picnic and highschool walkthrough because that was gay (if I hadn't lost them before, there just went my gay audience). Instead we headed over to JB's house to have a BBQ and hang with old friends, including one of my favorite people in the whole world. I'll call him Artificial Chicken, even though that was really a song he wrote about another long lost friend of ours.

I missed AC before he headed home, again like a douchebag. I wonder, is there some correlation between alcohol consumption and douchebaggery? Bah, no time.

AC and his cool wife had spent a few hours at JB's house hanging out with him and his Dad, and I effing missed it. Damn. I love them and JB's Dad (JB himself is merely pretty cool -- just kidding JB). But I picked up Smitten Girl on the way over, so I was happy. Oh, that and my two best friends from 4 and 8 years old were there too (JB and RCR, respectively), plus other friends.

We smoked, we drank, we grilled burgers and then we ate them. I was shitfaced. It was awesome!

One of my friends had a pack of Cubans. I'm looking at the last one. I don't really do cigars, but it's cool just knowing I have something illegal sitting right here.

JB brought his gf all the way in from Portland, and I think she may have been shocked at the level of debauchery us P-villians routinely engage in. She definitely can't hang, and I don't mean that in a bad way. Cool chick all around, I just hope we didn't scare her off.

Sometime around 5am I sobered up enough to notice that SG had been asking me to drive her home for an hour and a half. Uh... you expected a ride home? Didn't I just give you a ride here? Isn't it your turn now? I don't reccommend this to anyone, but I took her home. She only lives a mile away and there are never any cops in that area. I know. Stupid.

The next morning, 11am-ish on Monday, RCR shook me awake and we stumbled out of JB's fucking swank new basement and rushed off to check out of the hotel. We didn't even stay for the last night we paid for.

There's a backdoor, and we intended to use it. Except they deactivated our cards. So we sauntered up to the concierge desk and politely asked to get them re-activated. Everything was fine until we said "room X". Recognition flashed on her face as she put our unkempt appearance together with the shenanigans of two nights ago.

This may have been the most shameful thing I've ever done in P-ville, not counting all the stuff I forgot about. This is why I call it the Hotel of Shame.

To add insult to injury, me and RCR just went up, grabbed our shit, and skedaddled out the back door without actually checking out. I'm afraid to look at my AmEx bill. I doubt I'll be able to rent a room there ever again.

We weren't the coolest people in P-ville anymore.

If anyone can think of any more funny stories, leave them in the comments. There were four "swanks" by the way, please forgive my lazy writing.

... ... the story continues ... ...


UPDATE: I was checking the referals to make sure no one from my hometown is reading this, and I noticed that this post is the top result for a blogger search for "boob picture". That is so awesome, I don't know what to tell you. Thank you, anynomous person from Qatar. Since I don't have any boob pictures on hand, here's a place where you can find lots and lots of free boobie pictures (not worksafe, obviously). Happy wanking!


UPDATE 2: We didn't even make the police blotter. I am sorely disappointed.