Homecoming is often a difficult time of year for me. I venture back to Atlanta, as do all my friends, with the thought that I have to return back home to DC in just a few days. And it isn’t even like we’re reliving our college days. We get drunk and act a fool everywhere — not just Atlanta.

But I also love Homecoming way beyond words. I live for Morehouse/Spelman homecomings. And strange enough, it seems like me and my compadres are the only group of folks still coming out in full force. Literally, we ALL always come to homecoming and party hard. Or as hard as one can party when approaching 30 but not quite there yet. For instance, one of my boys, Padre (is what I shall call him) is becoming such an old fogey that he got beat up by the Bitch Beach Mobile.

We rented and were givein a PT Cruiser. The very night we got into the car the first time, he hit his old ass knee on the dashboard and wasn’t right all weekend. Poor sap. While we’re talking about fucked up, let me tell you about fucked up. I go by the book and go get my car from the airport ticket counter. My girlfriend? Chicks ALWAYS have drama.

We end up with a PT Cruiser. She ends up with a damn 300M. You know, the Fake-Ass-Phantom. All that room for one person whereas we have 3. Life is an ugly bitch sometimes. Word to Grace Jones.

Anyway, this homecoming was way more low-key than any I’ve ever been too. Last year was such a blow-out good time I don’t even remember most of it. I’ve seen pictures floating around but you know, short of the pictures with actual proof, I can neither confirm nor deny that I was in any of them.

Confused much?

Unlike last year, when we showed up at my boys house and ended up ODing on the worst whiskey known to man…this year we couldn’t even find the liquor in the house. I mean we searched hi-and-low.

You know, I know I’m getting old at this point. For one, on Saturday night…PRIME HOMECOMING NIGHT, what did me and my friends do? Went bowling. And by the way, I SUCK at bowling. A lot lot. Though on Friday night we ended up hitting Compound. Let me tell you how much I love that place. Their sound system is amazing.

Another sign of old age — when you care about how the sound sounds in a club. Of course, I ended up spending lots of dough in there and drunk. Word to the wise–when going piss in the bushes, make sure you pay attention for any sleeping homeless men who might scare the living fuck out of you if you aren’t careful in some damn bushes off of Marietta Blvd.

I’m just saying, niggas at night in bushes might scare you shitless. Luckily I just had to piss.

You know, its interesting. The older I get, the less actual homecoming, with respect to planned activites, we seem to do. We spend more time spending more time together as a unit. Kind of our own little show of a decade of solidarity. The people I came into college with are still the same people I’m friends with now and in some sense that’s damn near amazing. I know people retain college friends forever, but we still do all the same shit together at any given opportunity. We travel together for the hell of it. We get drunk and destroy cities together for the hell of it. If my boy is going to be in Alaska…shucks, why not go to Alaska.

I feel genuinely lucky in that regard. Most, if not all but two, of the chicks we normally hang with from the good ole college days balked at homecoming this year. Which sucks. I miss my friends…a lot.

And mostly, I miss being with my friends in Atlanta. Though the way it’s looking, that won’t be lasting forever since all of us (though one person needs some convincing) that we’ll all be there since I want to live in Atlanta. I love the city. I love the weather. I love the red dirt.

F.I.L.A.

So basically, I just wrote all that nothing to say:

Keep hope alive. One day Al Sharpton will shave his head.

Thank you.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 24th, 2007 at 11:04 am and is filed under Mirrorism, Panama's Travels. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.