Homecoming Post 8: Old- Treating HER-rectile Dysfunction

I just want you to know that this homecoming I had the best intentions. I was going to go to all of the events and take lots of pictures. I was going to twerk my away across every Xavier event! Spoiler alert: that did not happen. The first event I attended was on the yard on Friday. Getting out of my Uber, I had a strong urge to climb back in and go back to the Air B and B. Listening to the loud music and seeing the students bouncing around, I felt like I needed a good two-hour nap. After that, I was supposed to go to the day party, which I was actually excited about, but that plan got derailed after I ordered myself some Copeland's for dinner and decided to catch up on Grey's Anatomy. 

"So, you don't want to go to the club?" Big Homie Sans asked that Friday, disappointed. I snickered to myself. In college, I went out every weekend and didn't really want to go then, at 18! If Uber would have been around in 2003, I would have spent exactly five minutes at every party before returning back to the dorm to enjoy a hot shower with everyone gone. Looking at the party flyers with Big Homie Sans made me yawn. I'd have to get dressed and do my hair to go to said club, get a car and go to said club, stand in line at said club, try not to collapse from exhaustion at said club. God forbid I did a line dance. I just may have gone to the bathroom, locked myself in a stall, used my clutch bag as a pillow, and turned in for the night. 

Saturday night I could tell that I had gotten on Big Homie Sans's nerves. I had promised to go to the club party that night but had again gotten sidetracked by Copeland's and news clips from CBS Mornings. She was amped up on energy drinks and ready to boogie, and I was full of Oreo cheesecake and ready to count sheep. Watching her put on her eye makeup, I did feel a little sad. She was so excited to party, and I had absolutely no desire to go out at all. All I could think of was those erectile dysfunction commercials where they are like, "Is your energy down? Is it hard for you to get excited? Are you disappointing the woman in your life?" I looked up at Big Homie Sans on the edge of the bed, pouting at me. "You may have erectile dysfunction." Maybe I have HER-rectile Dysfunction or She E.D. 

Or I am old. 

You have to remember that I was the only girl in my kindergarten class that carried a purse! The only girl in middle school whose grandma set her hair with foam rollers. Now I am 38 and put going out to a club and having fun with friends in the same basket as doing Crossfit or climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. Maybe next year I will buy an overpriced section at the club with bottle service so I can sit and tap my toes to the music. Just don't say a word if you notice that I am wearing a floor length nightgown and watching Murder She Wrote on my phone. Real change takes time. 

The Hair Flip

So I went to my homecoming, and shut up. I know that I said that I wasn't going to go because of the anxiety that I was having about it, but I have to say, it was a lot of fun and I am very glad that I went. For one, I thought that I would be the only single, fat person there. Not the case. And no one cared! Everyone was just happy to see everyone, and there was a good time had by all.
However, I am sad to report that some things about the people that I went to school with have not changed. Some of my female peers are still as terminally rude as they were ten years ago.
Once upon a time, about 11 years ago, I had a communications class with this girl named Ashley. I didn't know Ashley well, but I could tell by her attitude that she was one of those petite girls with long, flat-ironed hair that liked to flirt and felt like the world should revolve around her. During a study session, she referred to a male friend of mine that had just crossed Alpha Phi Alpha as fat multiple times. Number one: the boy was not fat. Number two: who uses the word fat so openly around a fat person? I tell you who: Ashley. Ashley the Rude.
Anywho, the first night of homecoming I found myself at a club for an alumni dance party. I was the first one there because I am old and punctual, and if my friend Ethan would not have agreed to meet me there, I would have gone home at 9:30pm. I mean, I really felt like a fish out of water. All I kept thinking was that the music was hella loud and that the young girls that were there needed to go home and change into something more appropriate.
Ethan got there as soon as I had decided to leave, and we stood at one of those tall tables and talked. In mid-sentence, I hear someone yell, "Ethan!" I turned around and who was it but Ashley the Rude. She is still just as cute as she always has been and had on this dope black sweatsuit. Her hair, as usual, was heat damaged to the side.
"Hi Ashley," I said, as she ignored me, stepped in front of me, and gave Ethan the warmest welcome I have ever seen in my life. I half expected him to pick her up, kiss her, and spin in a circle. They caught up briefly, and as Ashley motioned to leave, I said, "Bye Ashley." Homegirl didn't turn around, she simply flipped her hair in my face and walked away to dance with her other rude ass friends. She left me there with a tight face, blinking profusely, in a state of disbelief.
That night, I didn't really dance. I had a good time watching the youngins twerk and hearing my favorite songs on good speakers. My feet began to hurt, so I stood barefoot, rocking side to side to Cardi B, eating ice out of my cup. But on the way back to the hotel in my Uber, I realized that there is some comfort in things not changing for better or worse. Ashley the Rude is still rude. I still hate standing at the club. My classmates still look good. New Orleans is still fun. It's nice to know that as the world kicks your butt, there is still a mislead girl in a tracksuit that will flip her hair in your face for old times sake. This, my friends, is the definition of comforting.