You don't bring me flowers...

....any more!

That likely doesn't have anything to do with this post, other than I'm listening to Dudley's Diamond Medley and that's the part of the song that was playing.

Ah-hem.

20 years ago I graduated from high school. Check us 80's girls out. We were all that.

It seems like a lifetime ago and I don't feel like I've aged one bit. Funny that. Next week I'm off to celebrate my 20 yr reunion with people I've spent more time away than with. Most of the people coming I know nothing about anymore, and haven't thought of since graduation listing to their names being called off. Save, Mike Greene. Mr. JC himself. (He was Jesus Christ, I was Mary Magdalen, Dean was God, and I can't remember the others).

I've probably talked about Mike in previous blogs. But tonight's blog will be different, and I'll probably get a nasty gram from him once he reads this. (Hi Mike)

Mike and I met in history class. We were immediate friends. He was a smart ass and I approved wholeheartedly of his humor. Almost right away he harassed me about being from the "wrong" Washington (see he was from DC) and that the only things that Washington has is slugs and apples. We wrote notes almost daily. Tonight I found those notes.

I've been sitting here laughing my ass off at just how much drama we created. But most importantly I marveled at the friends we were. I didn't recognize it then, but he's definitely one of my lifelong compadres. And though many months may go by without a note or anything, I know that he would be there in a crunch.

Did I mention he was one of the Mike's I had a crush on? Yah. He was. I was over the moon for him. And he, was over the moon for my best friend. Prom was especially tricky. I wanted to go with Mike, but he asked Claudia and somehow we ended the night in tears. Isn't that always the case at high school dances? Someone ends up in the bathroom crying. Oh the pain. The agony. I cursed his name on many occasions and did everything I could to NOT let him see it hurt. I knew Mike cared for me and trusted me as one of his dearest friends, so I wouldn't dare let him see me hurt. It made me stronger. Don't ask what we're doing in this picture because I'm not sure why we'd think that was cool. Other than we were 18. 'nough said.

Now, those notes. OMG. The memories they conjured up. There were a few things that were present in just about every note. See, somehow (maybe Mike remembers because I don't) we were trying to decide what we were going to be when we grew up. The options on the table was for me to be a cabbie and he would be the guy who drew the maps in the history books. Then I was going to be a bag lady or nun. The bag lady and nun options took. Almost every note has "Dear Bag Lady" at the beginning (at least the notes from JR. year) and almost always ended with "Don't be a nun."

Almost every note was Mike trying to decide what to do for the weekend. Always broke - because we were students for heavens sake - but always wanting to run with the crowd that was leaving town. And 90% of the time the travel wasn't legal. (Have I mentioned ever that I went to school in a boarding school in Switzerland? thus the travel). Anyhow, Mike's notes constantly showed his love for travel and his insanity the school was causing.

But what was most amazing about EVERY SINGLE NOTE...and I get all choked up thinking about it... He told me he was my friend forever.

Quotes from the notes:

"I'm in room detention." - A constant

"Nuns can't even talk about sex, much less do it, so don't be a nun."

"This note is radioactive."

"What do you think about me becoming a priest?"

"Will you ever leave the other side of the spectrum?" See when I started at the boarding school, I was pure and wholesome. A good Christian girl who even listened to Christan rock. Then I met Mike. He corrupted me. Admit it Mike! You did it.

I've been fortunate, I know this, to have had such a dear friend in my life. And even though I've now shared with the world (yes the world reads my blog. Shut up!) some very personal information about a certain person on the east coast, I'm sure he'll forgive me. He has to, or as a nun I'll be sure he rots in hell. This last photo was Mike and I at our 10 year reunion. Wow...the hair. Why didn't anyone tell me. Sheesh.

I'll be seeing Mike at the reunion and I'm sure I'll pay heavily for this blog (if he reads it before then). But maybe he'll be so happy to see his long lost nun that he'll have forgotten that I aired his/our dirty high school secrets on a blog that's read internationally.