A little gravel in my travel

So a few mysteries remain the day after my 30th (yes, I can't believe it either but apparently I was careless enough to post my full birthday on Facebook, thereby confirming to the world that I am, in fact, old-ish.)

But back to the mysteries. They are in no particular order and perhaps mysterious only to me. But it's a bit of a drive from there to here, so I had ample  opportunity to review what went on last night.

1. How did Dana Greene get those pants on? Did it require tools, and what's the process for getting out of them? 

2. Why does Rodney Atkins not croon about the time it takes to get a little gravel OUT of your travel? My car had a beach-ful of sand in the trunk that spilled from the fireworks paraphenalia and I could write the blog in the dust that covered the inside. Worth the cleanup time? Totally. 

3.  How can Mark Morse not be saddled with some beautiful babe? He's a great guy and is bringing baldness back as super bad-ass. Girls are apparently clueless in my home county.

 

4. How can Jeff Blanton not be a TV reality star? Bravo has missed the mark there.

5. How could the frickin' Legion be a better time than The Damn Lake?  While I strongly respect the right to choose in so many different situations, those of you who chose karaoke (still stupid) over the people who traveled from near and really far to see you kind of pissed me off. I hope you had a good time (and I almost mean that) because we all did.

6. Why did I cave to Beth Strahla's pressure to go back to Jasonville in two weeks to play softball with our class? I wasn't even drinking! 

Thank you Lea Anne and Kallie and Bridget and Whitney and Dana and Jeff (both of them)  and Ed and everyone who did the hard work of putting the party together. Sharing The Damn Lake was damn generous. Setting up, getting all those damn old pictures and inviting the teachers was damn inspirational.

I LOVED seeing Miss Keaton. She'll always be Miss Keaton to me. Do you know how many people get to see their SECOND grade teacher at their 30 year high school reunion?  I bet it was the 39 or whatever final number we had. That was so awesome. And for Brad Scott to come, and Mr. Wells and Mr. Krame? Damn fabulous. 

Could I possibly say damn one more time?  

And, is it just me, or did everyone like our classmates even better last night than we liked them in school?

Oh! Another mystery: I still don't remember threatening to kick your ass, Linda. I even stopped by my sister and brother-in-law's house this morning and asked Steve if he remembered us fighting over him. He did not.

Editor's note for all you city friends:  Jasonville is a very small place and sometimes you have to share when it comes to romance. Some take that a bit too far, but my sisters and I -- to the best of my knowledge -- never shared boys despite this fantastic story Linda told about she and I apparently fighting over Steve Strahla.  My brothers, on the other hand sometimes swapped back and forth in the same weekend. But that's another story.

And get this: when I went to my lifelong friends to back me up that Linda must have confused me with someone else, I was the cheese, standing alone. No one remember a Steve and Cheryl romance. It was the "I'll just kick your ass" quote they claimed sounded like me. I graduated with a whole platoon of Benedict Arnolds, if you ask me.

Except for Dana McNabb. Dana gave me a jar of her home-made relish. So she rocks. I accidentally left it at my sister Donna's house, though. So if I manage to make the drive down for Homecoming, it will be that relish that gets me back...

***

Last week, I decided that Karma was talking to me, so every day I'm starting the day posting on FaceBook a reason I will be happy that day. It's early, but I'm kind of having fun with it and I thought I'd recap my week of I was happy-isms here for those who follow the blog but eschew FaceBook. No inscense or chanting is required.

Last week, according to FaceBook, I was happy:

That my friends staged an intervention in 1996 to move me to Broad Ripple where Jeff Reed couldn't help but keep walking my way from his house to mine. And somewhere along the way we captured each other.

Because my daughter still wants me to help her with her hair.

I'll see some friends who I met in kindergarten and (for the most part) was with for the next 12 years and we should have some fun catching up on what's happened since.