Last weekend was every college graduate’s favorite holiday: Homecoming; an excuse to drink profusely during the day, tailgate a football game you have no intention of going to, and make out with that kid who was in your sophomore year Post-Modernism class — but who’s name escapes you right now.
Being 3,000 miles away, I couldn’t go this year. So, instead, I decided to get moderately drunk and send drunken text messages to those who were attending Homecoming. This would have been more appropriate if there wasn’t a three-hour time difference, meaning my texts were received between the hours of 3am and 5am. Whatever.
melsanie
thedith