RSVPlease don't subject me to this...

My five-year high school reunion is this coming weekend. I've been going back and forth for the past month, since I got the invitation in the mail, as to whether or not I want to go. This is my first confrontation with high school reunions and I'm not so sure I like the idea of it. I've been trying to balance out the pro's and con's of the entire situation, and really, the con's far outweigh the pro's.

Actually, there's only one pro, and that is the fact that, once I clean the puke out of my hair, take the time to change out of my sweatpants I haven't washed in a week, and put on a little mascara, I still look pretty hot. And thanks to breastfeeding, I'm even skinnier than I was pre-pregnancy (yes, crazy breastfeeding loons, I can acknowledge that something positive comes from it). That, and it would be fun to see Mr. Popular, the pretentious asshole popular jock (whose pretentiousness is eclipsed only by that of his cheerleader bimbo my-dad-could-buy-your-dad now-wife), and laugh my inner ass off at his receding hairline.

I admit it, I'm vain, but one thing I am not is a gambler. Will I look this good in five, 10 years? Or should I go to this reunion, make my mark (where I am infinitely hotter than I was in high school) and bypass future reunions where I will probably be fatter and less attractive? I mean, let's be honest, don't tell my husband but I'm probably at my peak here.

But the fact remains, I hated high school and I hated all but exactly three people that I graduated with. All the angst and sarcasm you see before you now was exactly what I was in high school, except I didn't have a blog and I didn't have awesome breastfeeding boobs (you see that? Benefit #2 to breastfeeding, in the same post!) to make up for my distaste for pretty much everyone around me. I was not given a mentality that was able to flourish in a high school setting. I had my sights set on something higher and as a result, couldn't identify with those in high school.

I'm basically dancing around saying, I was a total loser.

And while my day-to-day behavior pretty much conclusively points to the fact that I am -- and was -- a dork, I really don't want my husband to see the scope of my high school loserdom. I mean, let's be honest. If we went, I'd probably talk to, oh, two people. Then we'd just be there to try to get a quick buzz off the cheap beer that we paid $20 apiece for, and then leave after an hour and I'd spend the entire drive home bitching about how much I hated high school and how much I wished we hadn't gone.

And on top of all this? It's been five years -- that's not nearly enough time elapsed for me to quit caring about it all.

The cliques are still the same, especially when you come from a tiny little town like mine where all the children are waiting for Kevin Bacon to come teach them to dance. The classmates of mine who have had kids have ensured their kids are friends. Most of my classmates are either 1.) stay-at-home moms with 2-3 kids, 2.) farmers, 3.) factory laborers, or 4.) in jail. Not that there's anything wrong with any of these things, but the fact is, it's pretty much obvious who falls into what category.

The fact that I am sitting here writing an entire blog post agonizing over my decision is probably indicative enough that I shouldn't go. The result will either be a built-up and destroyed expectation, or just general disappointment. And I'll just remember all over again why I nearly hurdled someone's grandmother in the crowd at graduation to get out the door.

Fuck it. I'm not going. I'll just go browse MySpace.