This horror story almost feels like it should belong in The Jamboroo but hell it happened on Thanksgiving Eve so it belongs here. Around my parts Wednesday night is the big reunion night so we headed to bar where everyone was. Walking into the bar was like opening a fucking yearbook but whatever I was there to get drunk. Halfway through the night we lose track of my friend's girlfriend, we'll call her Cindy. I am indifferent to this since she is a bitch to me anytime I see her. Well, she comes back not more than 45 minutes later bombed off her ass. We all have no idea how that happened since she disappeared sober. From this point on my friend's new role was babysitter for the night.

We left the bar and I was going to give her and my friend a ride to their place they were crashing at but he couldn't get a hold of their friend's house they were staying at. Being a good friend I called my friend, "Laurie" to ask to use her empty apartment for them. As she asked if she was going to puke at her place, Cindy throws up Linda Blair style all over my back seat, the floor, and my friends lap. I can say with certainty she ate at Olive Garden that night. Figuring she was done I vouched for her and I took her to my friends apt and let her pass out in my friend's bed and about 15 min later we see her shuffle across the hall to the bathroom. After another 15 min my friend "Laurie" goes and checks on her and comes out with the most pissed off face demanding her boyfriend gets in there right now. After he goes in Laurie comes out and with the most serious face I've seen her make she tells me "SHE SHIT EVERYWHERE!" I was confused at first but she explained, "ON HERSELF, ON THE WALL, ON THE TOILET, IN THE BATHTUB!!!" I didn't know what to even think needless to say it took 45 minutes to clean it all up later on, not including my car. For the five of you that have seen Dumb & Dumberer, picture that scene with Bob Saget.

Eventually she called an ambulance for her and walked in the biggest asshole paramedics ever. They forcefully hauled her out of the tub she was currently in and put in a chair still with shit all over her pants mind you. As Cindy tries to act sober to them they yell at her, "YOU HAVE DEFECATION ALL OVER YOU, WE ARE TAKING YOU WITH US!!!" so they leave in the ambulance and we hang with the officer was there for a bit. The next morning I get a call asking from my friend asking to pick them up at the hospital. The most awkward car ride ever followed. I drove the whole way with no one saying a damn word and I had the windows slightly cracked as there was the faintest shit smell still present. We get to their place he says bye and they leave.

Worst part of it all was there was no "thank you", "I'll help clean up", or "I'm sorry" from her at any time to this day. I haven't told anyone as I feel I owe it to my friend to be polite, though not her in the least. Happy Thanksgiving! — Bob H.

My 20 yr reunion 10/3/2009 . . .

After dropping $75 on food I would not eat in college, watching the spreading the H1N1 virus thru 1000 handshakes and hugs, and watching the drinking to cover up the massive out-of-shape, balding, and fattening of my former class-mates - it was time to go to an after party . . .

Some half-pint from the local trailer park met me in the restroom prior to leaving.

[rewind]
{Half-pint was the "Don Juan" of the trailer park, and I was fortunate enough to have been invited to his wedding to the "Rosie O'Donnell" of the same trailer park. During the "shot-fest" reception a fight broke out - When I say fight, I am talking bartenders v. bride's parents, other guests vs each other - naturally I was blamed for it as I was the only sober one in the piece of shit hall they rented. After they un-piled the participants, I was asked to leave reception . . . gladly! }

[Back to reunion]
Half pint was, mf-ing me for ruining his wedding, and he was ready to fight. I think I will ask him for the Budweiser/Nascar mirror I got him for his wedding present and maybe he will be out of my life for sure. No question, he is the reason I will not be attending any more reunions. Needless to say, I quelled the situation and walked away the better man.

Thought you may enjoy . . . just happened.

I graduated in '97. Skipped my five year and was dragged to my tenth, where I had a surprisingly great time. It certainly wasn't dull.

First was the party itself. It was kind of amusing that my rather well-to-do Catholic school had our reunion in the party room of a Comfort Inn. The planning committee did a decent job- most importantly, it was an OPEN BAR. Cheap liquor and light beer, but when some pack of girls is asking you to do a lemon drop with them or you're on your third (fifth...whatever) gin and tonic, does it really matter?

I sat at a table with a few people I was friends with. Along with my then-girlfriend, I was next to my best friend and his wife. A friend of ours from the lunch table senior year joined us. Then a guy I sat next to in jazz band and his wife. Another guy we were friendly with sat down...with his life partner. No one batted an eye. Maybe we'd grown up.

After dinner, there were the usual awkward conversations, attempts at dancing, group photos. It's amazing how cliques still cling to each other. I was surprised at the number of people who didn't recognize or even remember me, one of whom I used to do homework with on the phone. Being a natural degenerate, I gravitated to the comfort of the bar rail for a good portion of the night, letting people come to me. The drinks flowing led to some interesting conversations, like the one I had with the son of the Cleveland Indians beat writer. One of my fondest HS memories was when he turned around and punched me in history class during our junior year. He was actually a pretty nice guy.

Not to mention the alcohol-induced benefits of buttons coming undone, cleavage coming out, shirts riding up, and other wardrobe malfunctions. The wife of the guy I was in band with was kind of a flirt, and oh yes, did she have a tramp stamp. At one point in the evening, she was openly hitting on my best friend, right in front of his wife. (They were both too sauced to notice, more on this later.) Two minutes later, she was talking to me and actually scratching at my chest.

The evening wore past 11, and my best friend and his wife were absolutely blotto. At one point they were dancing on the parquet…to no music. They were staying in the hotel upstairs, so I tried to herd them out of the party and into the elevator. Not too tough. The hallway to their room was another story. I fireman-carried each of them 50 feet at a time; at one point the wife was on all fours trying to wedge her head into the ice machine. This took me about 20 minutes, and I came downstairs to a very pissed-off girlfriend.

Her: Where the hell have you been? I want to go home!

Me: Um, we've got a problem.

She would be even more unhappy when we had to help get the two of them to bed, as they were puking their guts out by the time we got back upstairs. It took over two years for my best friend to apologize.

We finally got back just as the reunion was letting out. It felt like things were just getting interesting. The final capper to the night happened as we walked through the lobby. A guy and his girl (or a hooker) had finished up a very obvious and very quick booty call, and were trying to see if they could get out of there with a reduced rate —Via Juancho

Note: Photo above is not from said reunion. No, it's from Googling "high school reunion drunk." Close enough.

It was my 10-year reunion. I was reasonably excited. I felt like I kind
of got my shit together in my mid-20s and, since I had a surprisingly
good time at my 5-year reunion, it was a no-brainer to go to my 10th.

Before I continue, you should know I was totally not cool in high
school. Oh, I wanted to be. But I lacked confidence in pretty much every
aspect of my life: school, sports, dating, everything. I had no idea who
I was or who I wanted to be. One of the running jokes about me was that
whenever someone farted, some of my buddies would blame me. I think that
sort of encapsulates my teenage life. I have no idea why.

Anyway, 2002. My 10-year reunion. Before Facebook allowed us to have a
mini-reunion every morning before breakfast. The reunion was at one of
those bars across Lansdowne St. from Fenway. I should have known things
were going to go badly when I went to my friend's Kenmore Square
apartment for a small pre-reunion get-together. In walks a woman who I
have known since sixth grade, a woman who I saw multiple times in
college, a woman who I once accompanied to a wedding. She walks into the
apartment, comes right over to me and shakes my hand. "Hi, I'm Jen," she
says. "Nice to meet you." (Granted, I do look different from when I was
in high school. I now wear glasses and have been slowly losing my hair
for 15 years.)

We head over to the reunion. On my first trip to the bar, one of my
former classmates walks up and says: "So, how about that e-mail?"

"E-mail?" I ask.

"Yeah, that one that was supposedly from you."

"Huh?"

Long story short, gleaned through interviews with many classmates:

Someone created a Hotmail account in my name and sent multiple messages
to a slew of my ex-classmates. In them, the fake me announced that I was
gay and said that the reunion would be my coming out party as a
flamboyantly gay man. I never actually saw the e-mails, but supposedly
they got ridiculous enough that some people caught on. But not everyone.
And, of course, there was the telephone game effect whereby the people
who didn't get them only heard about them secondhand and assumed they
were true.

So, I spent the ENTIRE reunion doing the usual catch-up with old
classmates and then slipping in, "So, did you get weird e-mails from
me?" and then explaining they were sent by someone else and that I was,
in fact, not at all gay.

After a couple hours, I gave up. If my former classmates think I'm gay,
so be it. I live 300 miles away now.

The funny thing is, as I said, I was so lame in high school. I didn't
steal anyone's girlfriend. I wasn't a jock. I was a 120-pound nerd with
a receding hairline, spewing dumb jokes to cover up my own insecurities.
The worst thing I did was toilet paper someone's house.

Even now, I cannot fathom what I did to anyone to warrant a solid burn
10-year after the fact.

And, really, I do appreciate the magnitude of said burn. It was pretty
epic.

But I'm done with reunions.

God, I need a vicodin. Remember — still time to send yours in for Friday. Send them to ajd@deadspin.com

But for many of you, the day after Thanksgiving is also that time of the year where you have to put on your best Gap sport coat, head out to the local beef-and-beer drink your way through a high school reunion. I documented my experience last year. This year, it's your turn. Please submit your High School Reunion Horror Stories so we call have something to read about besides the shitty Colorado Nebraska game or whatever basketball slop is thrown our way.

This is basically your time to vent: give us all your awkward interactions, bitch about the food, gripe about who got fat. Consider this a service piece for all those unfortunate individuals who will have to spend their Friday evening realizing either that their life hasn't gotten any better since senior year of high school or that, yes, 35-year-old white people still feel compelled to pogo-jump in the air when House Of Pain comes on if they are in a group together.

Send to ajd@deadspin.com. Please don't send anything about Pat Murphy.

At the 15 year one, I spent most of the time wrapped up in conversation with people I know and like and spent the rest of the time dodging conversations with people I despised. You would think that once you reach your 30s, the type of social hierarchy in high school would cease to exist and that there are no more cliques, or cool kids, or jocks, or geeks, or all that. You'd be wrong. It's still there. Most people just learn how to handle these awkward social situations a little more tactfully. Instead of making up a lame excuse to get out of a conversation without blatantly insulting someone, they choose something along the lines of, "Just give me one minute, I have to get something to eat. I want to go before the buffet closes." Or, "Will you be around all night? I have to step outside for a minute and get some fresh air." I pulled the "I have to grab something to eat..." move on one guy and he achingly revealed that it was the fourth time that had happened to him that night. Yeah, well, welcome back to high school, buddy. Now don't fucking bother me on Facebook.

If any of you are planning on attending a reunion tonight or anytime in the near future, it's time to prepare yourself accordingly for the evening that will change your perception of high school for better or worse. You'll either walk away from that night fully content that all those people you obsessed about weren't worth the drama and finally move on. Or you'll come to the horrible realization that your life was never better than it was when you were 18.

So today I'm cranking up "For Just a Moment", re-pegging my jeans for old times sake, and placing odds on some of the people you'll run into at your high school reunion.

Let's go play Asshole at my parent's house later tonight after this jump.

The Hot Chicks Who Get Inexplicably Hotter: 1/1 This is just cruel. You've spent the last ten years preparing yourself for the moment when you, former Shlubby McPear, have finally built up the self-confidence, gotten rid of the acne, started hitting the gym, and have a nice, safe job doing something mildly interesting. You can finally approach Dafni Cheerleaderrsupertits and Kathy Promqueenhotass without fear of wetting yourself because you feel like you're on an equal level now. Plus, those girls have probably not had as good a run post-high school as you have. They've probably let themselves go a bit, have been soured by bad relationships, and no longer enjoy being the center of attention. They'll probably need you to make them smile again.

But...no. You see them from across the room and, shit, man , you have no shot. Everything's tighter on their bodies in the best way possible. They dress better, classier, and have become much more refined. Oh, yeah — and they've got money and are now dating a professional cage fighter. Try going up to them and telling them the amusing anecdote about that wacky legal client you had who kept skipping out on his payments. Or maybe just hold on to that and try it again at the 50 year reunion.

The Hot Chicks Who Did...Not:3/1

Blaaagh. This is depressing if only for the fact that these girls have gone out and ruined a completely legitimate masturbatory fantasy for the rest of your life. What happened, ladies? Those Pinot Grigio wrinkles, that extra arm fat, the dour expression —- this is just a travesty. And, no, it doesn't help that one of them will actually show up in what appears to be the dress she wore to the homecoming dance. Then, of course, one of them will get real drunk and resort to making fun of some of the people they used to when they were able to get away with such behavior. Best thing to do is call the cops and give them the heads up that there's a leathery woman in an old Ford Probe who's out driving drunk in the neighborhood.

The Having Waaaaay Too Much Fun Guys: 1/4

Wow. This is embarrassing. All of those guys who decided that the best way to make it appear that they weren't actually losing their hair, but made a conscious decision to shave their heads has seemingly backfired. Instead, you're in a roomful of 60 guys who made the same exact decision a couple years ago but have yet to update their look. Don't stand too close to each other or this event could be mistaken for a White Power convention. We don't want to attract protesters. But also? Who turned these guys loose on the dance floor? Why are you jumping around so much? This is not The Wiggles. Stop mugging for the camera! No, I don't want to see you Supaman that ho. I hate you. Oh, great. Buster Poindexter is coming on. Yeah, line dance your ass off, chief. I see you. Heeey. Wave those arms. I hope you get kicked to death by a horse.

The Newly Handicapped Classmate: 4/1

Inevitably, one of your classmates will either be stricken with some sort of debilitating illness or had some accident that has left them in a wheelchair. It's tough to interact with these people. Your usual bland small talk doesn't work because it could be misinterpreted, but if you don't say something to them then you're just a heartless, immature little bitch. But what to do — the "what have you been up to?" question could pin you into a depressing conversation that will take hours to extract yourself from. And you can't pull the "I have to go eat..." move because well, who wants that on their conscience? Best thing to do to get out of it is to offer them to come along to wherever you're headed to. (Just don't ask them any place hilly. Like, "A couple of us were thinking of going sledding this evening..." That's just a dick move.) Most of the time they'll just respect the fact that you're not trying to exclude them and politely say no. If they do come along, well, hey — look who's the big hero that evening! Just suck it up and play along. Sit in their lap and take a spin out on the dance floor with them. What could possibly go wrong?