So I was in New York this weekend for my 20-year high school reunion. A fun time was had by all, and I've got two blog posts to give you about it. One is sober and reflective, the other is silly. This is the silly one.

I had the pleasure of staying with Ginger and Michael in their lovely third-floor walkup (realtor-speak for "You needed a daily stairclimbing workout, didn't you?") in Jersey City. Who knew getting to Manhattan from another state would be so much quicker and easier than getting there from Staten Island? Such a sheltered life I led in the City's outermost borough.

We had dinner in Little Italy on Friday night with our mutual friend and their fellow expat Texan Amy, then met Frances, a friend of Amy's, for dessert at one of the many amazing Italian bakeries nearby. (Suddenly, that regular three-flight climb makes more sense to me.) I was low on cash, so I paid the bill on my credit card and collected from the others. When I told Frances what she owed, she said "Do you want that in cash, or would you prefer a BJ?"

It's not easy to get me to blush, but she succeeded. You can be sure I'm plotting my revenge for the next time.

We spent the next day galavanting around lower Manhattan with Julia, her husband (whose appearance she described as "Santa Claus' younger, hipper brother"), and HM, whom I can corroborate as the cutest eight-year-old ever. At one point, as we were walking up Broadway coming from Battery Park, Julia pointed out her favorite exceedingly narrow cross street, which two people can easily cover by linking hands. This led to someone - it may have been Michael - saying "Grease up the Hummer, honey, we're going in!" We agreed that was the best line of the evening.

The reunion itself will be the subject of the more serious post. For now, if you're offered the chance to hang out in Manhattan with these characters, I recommend you accept.