Sweet merciful crap.
I just agreed to go to my 20th High School reunion. On the 16th. Of July. Next month.
This means I have 16 days to lose the approximately 1.4 million pounds I've gained in the last 2 years and try not to feel 65 years old in the process.
And I swear on all that is holy, if that DJ does not play Kajagoogoo's Too Shy, I'll finish my wine cooler, tighten up my side ponytail, kick off my jelly's, straighten my white tights, push my orange neon bracelets past the 2 Swatch watches up my arm, put on my pink leather Member's Only jacket, climb into my maroon Datsun 210 SL hatchback wagon named Ferris with the broken headlight, light a Dajarum, and go home.
20 fricken years. Christ.
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