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The first couple of years out of school, I would look forward to this event. Getting back together with my college buddies is always a blast and leads to plenty of debauchery. Therein lies the problem as I’ve slowly felt myself getting older. Older doesn’t necessarily mean more mature as I still make questionable decisions, like last weekend when double fisting drinks after last call seemed like the smart play. But over the recent months, it’s become more apparent that I’m just getting older. That’s why as I sit here writing this heading North on 95 to my alma mater, I’m experiencing a bit of anxiety.
Homecoming scares the living hell out of me.
This weekend is bound to be full of football, lawn games, eating like shit, and hopefully a long win streak on the beer die table. And the simple fact is that come Monday morning on a six hour drive to my project site, I will be a broken man. From the minute I pull in to the parking lot of my fraternity, I will be handed a beer that will be instantly replaced with another as soon as it has served its purpose. Wash, rinse, repeat until Sunday night hits me like a ton of bricks and I’m staring at the week ahead with the spins. The amount of BBQ chicken pizza that will find its way into my gut at 2:00 a.m. early Sunday morning from my favorite joint in town will do nothing to improve my deteriorating figure. What little sleep I will get will be had on a fifteen-year-old mattress in an uninsulated attic that will leave me looking like someone straight out of Aleve commercial. And the drive home will almost certainly involve a couple stops to lose my stomach on the side of the highway.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s gonna be a blast tailgating with everyone. I will thoroughly enjoy politely asking pledges to refill my red solo cup. And believe it or not, I look forward to hearing how everyone is doing in life, for better or for worse. Homecoming is like a mini-bachelor party I get to look forward to each year. But at some point in life, you realize you can’t burn the candle from both ends. And I have reached that point. I would be lying to you if these types of high volume weekends didn’t scare me.
Regardless of the fact I’m sitting here whining about it, your boy is gonna get after it. “If you’re gonna be a bear, be a grizzly” is a quote that I try to apply to my life. It may not be the smart move in the context of self-indulgence but as I’ve said before: I’m just getting older, not more mature. There is plenty of time left to mature. No matter how rowdy things get this year, it probably won’t be as bad as the next.
Cheers. .
Image via TFM
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@207Cush
Getting so drunk at the pregame you forget to put the article up until Monday. PGP
I think it’s all about balance. The week before a weekend that will certainly take 1-3 years off your life, be really good to your body. Eat healthy, work out, and do a couple of chores you’ve been putting off Monday-Friday afternoon so you don’t feel as bad about the 48-hour alcoholocaust you’re putting your body through over the weekend
“Alcoholocaust” is my new favorite word.
Seems like this should have been posted on Friday.
Blame me, not Cush.
everyone loves the 40-45 thousand dollar millionaire
Don’t hate the player
respect the hustle
Not taking Monday off is a rookie mistake.
“Politely asking pledges to refill your red solo cup”… Emphasis on the politely.
Heading to Penn State this weekend for Ohio State weekend – perfectly timed article. My life expectancy is going to drop faster than the Lions to those fucking Buckeyes… or faster than a 12-year old boy in the Penn State showers?
*Prepares eyes for ensuing PSU rape-in-showers jokes*
Down vote me all you want but there’s nothing funny about child molestation.
It’s honestly a miracle that I survived homecoming this year