Page 3
Figuring the 20th Year Reunion was being held at a bar (Llywelyn's Pub in Webster Groves) for a reason (namely booze), I took a taxi over (instead of driving myself) just before the party's official start time. I was very nervous for some reason... True, I hadn't seen my friends and classmates in years, and I was no longer the tiny little dorky geek I was back then (I am 6'4" now), but I still had butterflies in my gut... Maybe my stomach just knew that it was out of reach of the restraining order that kept me from buying any alcohol at any bars or liquor shops in Georgia and that I was about to go hog wild.... Maybe.
Anyway, I was probably the 6th person there, and nobody recognized me. All of the girls in charge of the event thought that I was just some slob trying to crash their party. Then when I gave them my name they thought that I was just somebody that the puny Rossman they knew had HIRED to pose as him in order to try and impress his old classmates. It wasn't until I started revealing some embarrassing and little known facts about each of them that they shushed me up and claimed that they believed me. That was good enough for me seeing as the bar was calling at that point, and they served Guinness.
This picture speaks for itself... I just think Tony's face in the background is awesome here; it's like he's impressed, scared, and nauseous all at the same time. Oh, yeah, and Joe ripped my goddamn arm off.
It was kind of funny, the married ones all seemed to admire my bachelorhood, and the bachelors (well, ME, seeing as I WAS THE ONLY SINGLE GUY THERE) all just let them. Yeah, I'll get married someday, pop out some Rossman spawn and whatnot, but DAMN is it fun to brag about banging chicks left and right (even when it's not entirely true) to married men!
Holy crap... I was just posting this picture above when I thought I somehow put up a picture of my dad when he was younger.... I think I need another drink now.............
Then came time for the big group shot.... Goddammit, story of my childhood all over again.
And then I finally got my picture with Jenn... Oh, she knows that I worshipped her back in grade school. This picture was really like a dream come true for me... If ONLY I had the balls to ask her out back then. Oh, and that's not spinach or anything in my teeth... I just have two gold crowns and I smile way too wide all the time.
And this was the very last shot with the old, shitty Rossman camera bought in 2001. After posing with Sean I reached my drunk hand out (yes, I was drunk in this shot, can you believe it?!) to get my camera back from Mr. Jodi Otis, and then as the object was placed carefully in my palm my hand went limp and it went crashing to the tiles, making a tinkling sound with every bounce, thus promising that it would never capture light digitally again. May it rest in peace. It took many a fantastic picture over the years: from hot chicks, to amazing scenery, to me acting like a fantastic dick in front of many national and international tourist traps. It shall be missed.
The rest of the shots from the night are from others' cameras (duh).
Unfortunately after a few dozen brewskies I started slinging some bull around. I don't think I realized it until somebody brought up that it wasn't me, but Art Fry who invented the Post-It Note...
I think it was around this point in the night that we started naming kids who weren't there and then asking if anybody knew how to contact them. Rich said he had Jimmy on speed dial, and that's when Jenn and I drunk called him. Jenn kept saying that we all missed him, and then I got her to ask if he was naked. I was able to grab the phone away soon after that and I told Jimmy that I was the Principal, Mr. Weis (yes, I said I was "Mr. Weis," and not his first name and last name), and that I was "veeeeeeeeery disappointed that [he was] such a bad boy and skipped this reunion," and then I think I gave him the option of one of two detentions: writing "I will not miss another reunion again" 700 times, or a spanking. A big, ass-reddening spanking (done with love). I don't know which he picked (I was curled up in a ball on the floor laughing too hard to hear), and by the time Rich got his phone back 20 minutes later Jimmy had hung up.
One of my biggest regrets of my young life was acting like a complete pussy during that Freshman Semi-Formal at DeSmet... I got a cute girl to go with me, and then my lack of any real confidence allowed her to be dragged away by a little monster named Tim for most of the night while I sat at the "sad man's table" in the back of the gym....
Wow! You know what? I knew I made this website for a reason. This thing is SOOOOOOOO much cheaper than therapy. I feel so much better just letting all this faggoty "If only I did this," or "If only I did that" crap off my shoulders like this. Thanks, Internet!
The "A" Cookie gift basket... Just thought it was a cute picture. Nothing snarky to say here.
Anyway, the party kind of ended at 1AM, but Joe, Jenn, Shaun, and I hung around till closing time at 2. Even in that extra hour with that extra hour's worth of alcohol in me, and knowing that I could stay another day in St. Louis if I wanted to, I STILL couldn't ask Jenn out. Just looking into her eyes simply and totally overpowers me to this day.
Well, I was a complete wuss that night, but dammit if I didn't have a fanfuckingtastic time. My advice to you, dear readers, is this: If you ever get an invite to a high school, college, or even a grade school reunion, GO. Just go. Don't be a wuss. Go. Have fun. Just do it.
The next morning (Sunday), I woke up at the sound of my alarm at 7:50 — enough time I figured to shower, check out, and make it to the Arch for my 10AM tram ride up to the top.... Then I remembered that I had just gone to bed about 5 hours before, I had a gigantic headache and hangover, that I didn't have a working camera, and that I was alone... I then turned off the alarm and went back to sleep.
I woke up again at around 11, felt sorry for myself that I missed the top of the Arch (I just knew that they'd be sold out until 5 o'clock that evening, or even till Monday if I went at that point), and started packing... But after I cleansed the grease from my drunken night off me I looked at myself in the mirror. My naked (and very impressive) self looked back at me and called me a total pussy. "What the fuck is your PROBLEM, shitstain?!" my inner drill sergeant yelled. "Is this the pathetic, pussy, dickless you from 20 years ago, maggot?!" "NO, SIR!" "Are you not a MAN now, dick-breath?!" "YES, SIR! I AM A MAN!" I bellowed. "Then get the fuck out there, buy a new goddamn camera, and GO TO THAT FAGGY ARCH and do everything within your power to make it up to the tippy top before you return to the pig-fucking South!"
And so I did. I ran to the Wal-Mart across the street, got myself a new Nikon, then checked out of the hotel and booked it to the Arch... Well, at least I tried to make it to the Arch. I took the wrong exit and ended up in Illinois... And I almost kept going. I U-turned about three miles past the river, got back across the mighty Mississippi, and then got caught up in baseball traffic at the entrance to my exit. I then went around that exit, and unfortunately found that I couldn't get off that stretch of highway for another 2 miles... Then I backtracked again and fucking FOUGHT my way through Memorial Day weekend and Cards-game bumper to bumper for another 45 minutes before FINALLY finding the Arch parking lot. After another trek on foot through the Arch Park I found myself at the end of the 45 minute security line. It was around 2PM when I finally got in (after having to listen to countless tourists [walking out of the underground Arch Museum and the long lines to the trams] complaining about how they missed their assigned ticket times and had to wait until 5 to try again). I didn't care as I marched straight up to the North Gate Tram and put on my best puppy dog face and said, "Excuse me, miss, I had a ticket for the 10AM tram, but due to a family emergency I couldn't get here until now... Is there, I mean, is there anything that.....?" I showed her my ticket, but let my request trail off so that she could fill in the blank anyway she wanted to.
She sighed, lifted up the chain, gave me a big plastic card with the number "3" printed on it, and ushered me past the 100 or so people already in the tram line all the way to the front. I got on the very next ride. Car #3.
Car #3 was very tiny, and up until that moment I had forgotten that I was a bit claustrophobic and acrophobic. It all came crashing back down upon me like a 60-foot high tsunami as soon as those doors closed on the tram compartment built for 2, but sitting 5.
I woke up again at around 11, felt sorry for myself that I missed the top of the Arch (I just knew that they'd be sold out until 5 o'clock that evening, or even till Monday if I went at that point), and started packing... But after I cleansed the grease from my drunken night off me I looked at myself in the mirror. My naked (and very impressive) self looked back at me and called me a total pussy. "What the fuck is your PROBLEM, shitstain?!" my inner drill sergeant yelled. "Is this the pathetic, pussy, dickless you from 20 years ago, maggot?!" "NO, SIR!" "Are you not a MAN now, dick-breath?!" "YES, SIR! I AM A MAN!" I bellowed. "Then get the fuck out there, buy a new goddamn camera, and GO TO THAT FAGGY ARCH and do everything within your power to make it up to the tippy top before you return to the pig-fucking South!"
And so I did. I ran to the Wal-Mart across the street, got myself a new Nikon, then checked out of the hotel and booked it to the Arch... Well, at least I tried to make it to the Arch. I took the wrong exit and ended up in Illinois... And I almost kept going. I U-turned about three miles past the river, got back across the mighty Mississippi, and then got caught up in baseball traffic at the entrance to my exit. I then went around that exit, and unfortunately found that I couldn't get off that stretch of highway for another 2 miles... Then I backtracked again and fucking FOUGHT my way through Memorial Day weekend and Cards-game bumper to bumper for another 45 minutes before FINALLY finding the Arch parking lot. After another trek on foot through the Arch Park I found myself at the end of the 45 minute security line. It was around 2PM when I finally got in (after having to listen to countless tourists [walking out of the underground Arch Museum and the long lines to the trams] complaining about how they missed their assigned ticket times and had to wait until 5 to try again). I didn't care as I marched straight up to the North Gate Tram and put on my best puppy dog face and said, "Excuse me, miss, I had a ticket for the 10AM tram, but due to a family emergency I couldn't get here until now... Is there, I mean, is there anything that.....?" I showed her my ticket, but let my request trail off so that she could fill in the blank anyway she wanted to.
She sighed, lifted up the chain, gave me a big plastic card with the number "3" printed on it, and ushered me past the 100 or so people already in the tram line all the way to the front. I got on the very next ride. Car #3.
Car #3 was very tiny, and up until that moment I had forgotten that I was a bit claustrophobic and acrophobic. It all came crashing back down upon me like a 60-foot high tsunami as soon as those doors closed on the tram compartment built for 2, but sitting 5.
I was ready to come back down the SECOND I stepped out into the center of the giant, curved, demon death trap in the sky. I had not been up in the Arch since my third grade year, and I completely remembered why.
I swear to Satan that I thought this whole structure was going to tip right the fuck over into the crowded Busch Stadium... What a way to go, sure, but I wanted to hear the next Aerosmith album... And I doubt I'd be able to knowing where I'd be going in the afterlife.
And so, that's pretty much it. After I got back down to the ground I ran outside and kissed the grass hoping to God that a dog hadn't wet the spot in the immediate past. Then I took the long, slow ride back home.
If there's a lesson to be learned from all of this (how could there NOT be), I think it's this: Do fun shit, don't try to relive the past, but also don't try to ignore it, and don't ever puss-out from doing something you want to do because it might be "too much trouble" or "people might look at you funny." Seriously, don't be a loser.
The End.
NOTES FROM THE EDITOR:
Not that I wanted to go with the Rossman to his grade school class reunion or anything that gay, but it would be nice to leave the house every once in a while... He's got me kind of locked up in his basement just in case "inspiration strikes [him] and [he] need[s] something edited pronto!" I tried gnawing my leg off, but it hurt. I ate a rat this morning for breakfast... Though maybe it was just Karen's new cat... I have to stop doing that. She's the only one who brings me water. Anyway, whatever. I'm getting woozy again.
Not that I wanted to go with the Rossman to his grade school class reunion or anything that gay, but it would be nice to leave the house every once in a while... He's got me kind of locked up in his basement just in case "inspiration strikes [him] and [he] need[s] something edited pronto!" I tried gnawing my leg off, but it hurt. I ate a rat this morning for breakfast... Though maybe it was just Karen's new cat... I have to stop doing that. She's the only one who brings me water. Anyway, whatever. I'm getting woozy again.
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