I’ve turned into this shamefully sluggish person. Guys, I’m so sorry for my abrupt hiatus. A month since I’ve blogged? You’d think I was getting some serious writing done!

And you’d be wrong.

That’s probably a hair dramatic, but here’s what I did in the course of the last few weeks:

• Worked on two novels simultaneously!
• Bought lots of vintage clothes!
• Got a tattoo!
• Went to my college Homecoming!

Ahhh, homecoming. That magical time when things happen. What kind of things, I’m not sure, because this was my first time going. And I went for one reason.

It was my ten-year college reunion.

Whisky. Tango. Foxtrot.

Look, when did an entire year just zip on past, let alone a decade? A decade. Ten years since I got my diploma and refused to throw my cap in the air because I wanted to keep my tassels. I earned those damn tassels.

Anyways, there was also going to be free food, beverages, and t-shirts for the alumni in the celebratory years. What’s up, 1964? How you doing, 1989?

The Hubs agreed to accompany me. I made him park in commuter parking because, let’s be honest, I commuted for four years and have no idea where actual campus parking is located. In typical Western Pennsylvania fashion, it was cold, rainy, and gloomy. I pulled my old-timey college jacket out of the questionable depths of the closet because a) I’m perpetually freezing and b) despite the fact my college turned into a university my sophomore year, it was still a college when I started there in 2000. Note: remember this. This is key to my later oldness.

Our first stop was the bookstore. I’d decided I needed a school shirt. For reasons. We went up to the student center and…….and it was a barista. A huge, multi-aisled/multi-refrigerator case barista.

Um.

I bought bagels and cream cheese at the nookish barista in my day.

In my day.

It was bizarre and emotional to walk around campus. I didn’t weep (I know, I’m surprised too) but it was just weird to be there, like part of me was just picking up where I left off ten years ago. It was somewhat like that uncomfortable feeling I got when I watched The Great Muppet Caper as an adult and distinctly remember watching it as a child.  So then I had to turn it off because it was too unsettling to remember sitting in my childhood home watching this movie I’m now watching with my children…

If you’re just now tuning in, I’m weird.  Extremely, inexplicably weird.

Any how, we rubbed elbows with some recent graduates in Tail Gate Alley. “Has campus changed a lot since you were a student?” Asked a charming 2013 engineering grad.

“Yeah, what’s now the bookstore used to be our rec room!” I said. “In 2003, we watched the bombs fall over Baghdad down there.”

His equally charming friend and 2014 graduate said, “I was in 4th grade when that happened.”

Uhhhhhhh…..so, yeah.  Thanks for bringing that to everyone’s attention.

When we headed to the next event, I heard him exclaim, “She’s wearing a college jacket! Do you see that? College!”

Well, I guess it’s time to head back to The Home before the nurses notice I’m gone…

Eh, whatev. I had a blast. Our football team was beat to a pulp, but I hung out with friends I haven’t seen in years. I ate. I drank. I chatted with Olympic silver medal winning, women’s ice hockey goalie Brianne McLaughlin Bittle and wore one of her medals. Awesomeness! That doesn’t happen all the time. It was phenomenal.  Look at me wearing a medal.  This is as close to Olympic greatness that my sedentary butt is every going to get.  The Curling Curleys is not going to be a thing.

I’m totally going to homecoming next year.

Meanwhile, here’s a jaunty little tale for you that has nothing to do with homecoming.  So, my child and I were watching Sheriff Callie’s Wild West on Disney Junior.  That’s my life: Disney.  If it’s not happening on Disney or on Facebook, chances are I don’t know it’s happening.  But I digress.  So, this particular episode had the cactus, Toby, wearing a mustache.  It doesn’t matter why, just bear with me here.  The Preschooler looked at me and said, “Why does Toby have a mustache?”

“Well, some people have mustaches.”  I said.  “Poppa has a mustache.  My daddy had a mustache.”

“My daddy doesn’t have a mustache.”  The Preschooler suddenly turned very serious.

“No, Daddy does not have a mustache.”  I paused.  Sudden seriousness is never good.  “Do you want to have a mustache look Poppa when you grow up?”

“No,” he said, “I don’t want a mustache like Poppa’s.  I want a mustache like yours, Momma.”

Ba zing.