Grand Reunion vs Tinder

It’s my 25th college reunion this year and I’m being heavily recruited to join the Leadership Team.

Plenty of opportunities to volunteer, my friends.

Not as many opportunities to get paid for your side hustle.

I’m trying very hard to avoid volunteering for YET ANOTHER cause.

But it’s proving to be challenging because I am dating a fellow grad who graduated 10 years ahead of me in 1985.

So he’s celebrating his 35th reunion.

My association with my college is not as strong as some people.

I was a transfer student who lived at home while I was in college.

I mean, I know a few people but I keep in touch with the ones I want to through Facebook already.

I don’t need a reunion in order to connect with them again.

What WOULD be helpful is networking.

But since I love my job and the company I work for, that’s less important in terms of my job mobility and more important in terms of meeting single men.

Yes, I said it.

The ONLY reason I’ll go to reunion is to meet men.

Even though my dance card is really full right now, there’s no one special person taking up my time and I’m still open to the possibility of finding someone.

And it would be a hell of a lot nicer to tell people we met at Grand Reunion rather than Tinder, no?

My Reunion Story

Sherri, pregnant at her 8th grade graduation

I remember the EXACT date I lost my virginity.

July 8, 1989.

I was 15 years old.

It’s ironic then, that I don’t know the date for something as MOMENTOUS as meeting my birth parents for the first time.

It was spring.

I know that because all the tulips in my yard were in full bloom.

For the rest of my life I’ll always associate tulips with my birth mother.

Finding your birth parents isn’t as hard as you’d think.

At least not for me.

My mom told me she knew my birth mother’s name from the adoption paperwork.

Brandon, Brett (ex), me, Sherri and Lani

So when I was 17, I asked for her name.

My mom wrote it down on a piece of paper, handed it to me, and walked out of the room.

After a little research I finally got the phone number to my birth mother’s in laws.

I called one day and asked for Sherri or Vince (her husband).

They gave me their phone number.

Just like that.

I stared at that number.

It was burned in my brain.

It took me 5 years to work up the courage to call that number.

One day, I called the number fully intending to ask for a random name – Elizabeth.

Art, me, my dad, a friend, and Cy

When my birth mother answered the phone, she had the MOST BEAUTIFUL voice I’d ever heard and I knew that someone with a voice like that would not be mean to me.

So I asked for Sherri.

“This is she,” she responded.

“I’d like to talk to you about something personal. Is now a good time?” I asked.

“Yes,” there was concern in her voice.

“I’m looking for my birth mother. . .”

I visited her the very next day and got to meet her husband and my sister and brother.

She told me who my birth father was and he was listed in the phone book.

So instead of driving home, I called him.

His (ex) wife answered the phone.

I asked for Paul.

She asked who I was.

I wanted to tell him directly so I just said my name.

She hung up on me.

I called back.

“Just tell him it’s Sherri’s daughter,” I responded.

She repeated what I said to him. Then she repeated it again, this time with gravitas.

They knew what this meant.

Paul had a daughter.

He asked me to pull into a local Denny’s where he said he’d meet me.

He showed up 15 minutes later, with his (ex) wife and her daughter.

We (my ex-husband) and I followed him to his house and slowly, his siblings and friends started trickling in.

Someone brought an “It’s a Girl!” cigar for him.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

What can I say about my reunion?

It truly was an ideal reunion and I feel blessed that my birth mother and my birth father accepted me so openly and lovingly.

Two eighth graders accidentally made a baby, and gave me an ideal home to grow up in.

I regret nothing except perhaps that I didn’t meet them sooner.

I am blessed.




Here are the people who made me.

I am forever grateful that two eighth graders fell in love at such a young age and acted WAY OLDER THAN THEY SHOULD HAVE when they made ME!

I personally think I look like my birth father’s side of the family but I have a lot of my birth mother’s personality traits.

I also have her eyes, her hands, and her legs.

There’s something about growing up not knowing who you look like that makes it ever so much more touching when you find out that yes, you do in fact resemble someone else.

And in my case, it’s nice that I take after both my birth parents.

Someday I may post the whole story because people seem incredibly interested in reunion stories.

The short version is I called my birth mom and told her who I was and I went to visit her the next day.

She told me who my birth father was and I stopped and visited him on my way home.

He invited all of his 5 siblings over his house to meet me and I’ll never forget someone showed up with an “It’s a Girl” cigar.

As far as reunions go, mine has been ideal.

I met my birth family when I was 22.

It has now been almost 22 years that I’ve known them.

Soon I’ll have known them longer than I was living without them.

But the BEST PART OF BEING ADOPTED AND REUNITED, besides finally knowing where you came from, is that you get oodles of SIBLINGS!

Here’s to Lisa, Omar, Cy, Lani, Art, and Brandon.

I heart all of you.


Reunion, kink style

As you all know, I attended my 25th high school reunion a few days ago.

And by and large, I had an EXCELLENT time.

But I left relatively early because. . .

I was invited to attend a lingerie party in San Jose.

Not a lingerie party where women show up, drink wine, eat cheese, and BUY lingerie.


A party where people go IN LINGERIE.

Naturally, I had to bring my lingerie with me so that I could change into it after the reunion – a black eyelash lace teddy and fishnet stockings.

teddyThere I am at my reunion, with a bagful of lingerie feeling awfully naughty.

But that wasn’t all.

Oh no.

You see, I was spending the night with Dante after the party and so I had to bring toys (read: sex toys) with me.

So there I was, sitting at the reunion table, with a bag full of lingerie AND a big HUGE magic wand and cock ring.

Oh my.

If they were giving out prizes, I’d get one for the most likely to shock the daylights out of her classmates.

I was quite the Goody Two Shoes in high school.

Something is right in this world when you show up to your high school reunion with a bagful of lingerie and sex toys.




I went to my 25th high school reunion and by and large REALLY ENJOYED THE MUSIC.

I went in with low expectations, basically hoping that I’d meet a friend or two and catch up.

And I did!

I caught up with Kimberly, who I hadn’t seen in over a year.

I ran into people I recognized and people who I’d totally forgotten (sorry Eric and Jason).

But once again I was reminded of online dating – where the focus is on making small talk and getting to know the details (married, kids, job, where you live) etc., rather than making a real connection.

But by far what took the cake was running into a high school classmate who literally couldn’t stand to clap his eyes on me.

He was the one in the fancy suit who was posturing about, looking important with his wife who was obviously trying WAY TOO HARD.

Mentally, I rolled my eyes. HARD.

Meathead in high school, meathead in life.

Some people never change.

But oh, the ones who had!

One woman had so much work done she was UNRECOGNIZABLE!

By and large, I was impressed with my classmates as a whole. People I barely knew in high school chatted with me and shared their lives.

They were friendly, fun, and obviously as stunned that we were at our 25th HIGH SCHOOL REUNION as I was.

The music, performed by a band of alumni led by my friend Mark, was out of this world good and I was as impressed with Mark’s vocals as I was his good-natured response to an alumnus from 1986 taking over his microphone to scream the lyrics to “Don’t You Forget About Me.”


But what really capped off the evening, and I mean REALLY, was me going up to an old professor and shouting, “Hey! You taught me how to type,” followed swiftly by the expletive “fucker.”


I may have been referring to the time he gave me an unwanted, unsolicited, unpleasant backrub in class.


Over a barrel

michelleI’m not much for reunions.

Mostly because I hate the posturing and “hey-look-how-good-I-have-it” attitude.

And I keep in touch with all the people I want to keep in touch with.

Granted, it’s mostly through Facebook, but that counts.

Well, two musician friends who I follow on Facebook have put together a band to play our Reunion.

That’s right. They play in bands already and are coming together to entertain my high school class.

They’ve gone and done the one thing that I can’t resist the temptation to watch – they’re going to perform.

But it won’t be like it was in high school, playing covers of 80s and 90s music. Performing Gypsy’s “Everything’s coming up roses”. . .

Oh no.

These fellows are dark. Mysterious. Creative. Talented.

I’m guessing it’s a performance that will BLOW ME AWAY.

Who am I to resist?

They’re going to get to me eat my words and go to a reunion. . .



* UPDATE: Just discovered that Reunion is NEXT weekend and I am not allowed to wear anything BESIDES cocktail attire to the Reunion. Fuck!


So my friend Mark was messaging me the other day when the topic of HIGH SCHOOL REUNIONS came up.

As I rule, I have shunned reunions.

I think they exist so that graduates can go through unnecessary efforts to show off how GREAT they are doing while simultaneously gossiping about other graduates.

It all seems a little forced and contrived.

I keep in touch with all the people I want to from high school.

And now that there’s Facebook, I can keep in touch with all the people I didn’t want to keep in touch with from high school.

I joke.

I LOVE all my Facebook friends.

In any case, I half jokingly said that if I were to go to a reunion, I’d wear my Cheshire cat costume from Burning Man.

cheshire catAnd that’s when it hit me. . .

I really WOULD wear a costume to a reunion.

Just to show how seriously I take all the pomp and circumstance surrounding a reunion.


The post that ends with me doing the splits in a restaurant

IMG_9184From kindergarten to 8th grade, I attended a private school in Saratoga, California.

Most of my friends were friends for years.

I don’t remember too much about that time, except putting notes in my shirt pocket, hoping the boys would see them and “take” them away.

Life was pretty drama-free, so I tried to create a little.

Can you blame a girl?

Truth be told, I was interested in boys but they weren’t interested in me.

So…sigh… the notes.

Yes, I was an bumbling little thing with a funky feathered haircut and a little too much baby fat.

IMG_9194Over the years, I lost touch with most of my classmates, only to reconnect years later in the “Facebook Era.”

Yesterday, a group of us got together.

David, Jenny, Rusty, Manisha, Christy, and me.

David and Jenny used to crush on each other.  Christy used to crush on Rusty.  Rusty is newly single.  Manisha talked about being the lone Indian girl in a school full of white kids. We talked about everyone we knew from grade school and how they were doing.

And then there was me.

Awkward still.  Telling off-color stories.  Like the time I peed my pants in an Uber ride.

Oh God, did I REALLY tell that story?!

So I did what any gal would do to distract from my awkwardness.

I did the splits.

You can take the girl out of middle school but you can’t take the middle school out of the girl.




Here is my birthmom in a restaurant in Healdsberg, sharing some quiet conversation with me and my (now ex) boyfriend Jay.

sherriIsn’t she beautiful?

In case you don’t already know, I was adopted at birth.

My birthparents were very young – 14 and 15 when I was born. They got pregnant with me in 8th grade.

They were precocious little things and for that I am eternally grateful.

My whole life I wondered who I looked like. Who I took after.

Well, fast forward 22 years and I’ve got the phone number to my birthmom’s in-laws. I call them and ask for Sherri or Vince, my birthmom and stepfather.

They give me their phone number.

Just like that.

I used to call that number and ask for Elizabeth. I didn’t have the guts to tell the person on the other line who I was.

But then I called one time and SHE answered and she had the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard and it was that voice that made me take a chance and tell her who I was.

I think we spent the next 4 hours on the phone chatting and arranging to meet the VERY NEXT DAY.

So if you ask me who my heroes are, one of them is this woman who at a very young age was asked to do the impossible and managed to make the best of it for everyone.


Below:  Picture of Sherri at her 8th grade graduation, ~ 4 months pregnant with me.

sherri1Below:  Twenty two years later – reunion picture of me and my ex-husband with my brother, my birthmom, and my sister.


By the way, here is my most favorite photo of Sherri.  Probably because at a glance, it looks like me…