Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind

Marist College alumni weekend takes place every October. This is an opportunity for post-graduates to try to reclaim their college years, for a weekend at least. It's also a time to drive actual students out of the bars, as payback for the four alumni weekends one suffers as a student where you practically have to blow the bartender to get a cranberry and vodka, for fuck's sake.

Every couple of years, one of my college friends will suggest we go. And we do. And we drink too much, which just reminds us that we are not, in fact, 20 years old anymore. We see none of the people we wanted to see and all of the people we didn't. We have awkward conversations with estranged friends and old boyfriends. We leave vowing to never return again.

Then something happens. A couple of years go by. We forget what a wretched time we had. We somehow start to miss people we haven't seen in 7 years. We again book a hotel room and take a trip up to Poughkeepsie.

It was no surprise when Cindy called me this morning to suggest that we might maybe want to go to alumni weekend this year. But you know, only for one night, because two is too much. In fact, she's been looking into hotel rooms and figured she'd just book a room, maybe for one night or maybe for two, just in case we decided to go at some point. I found myself saying, "Yeah, sure! Let's go! It will be fun! Let's call Amy and see if she's up for it!" Cindy will be calling Amy, and I will be calling The Boys, and we will all be having another god-awful weekend in Poughkeepsie. Rennies, Noah's, here we come!