Jeneration X: One Reluctant Adult's Attempt to Unarrest Her Arrested Development; Or, Why It's Never by Lancaster, Jen (e books free to read .txt) ๐

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Read book online ยซJeneration X: One Reluctant Adult's Attempt to Unarrest Her Arrested Development; Or, Why It's Never by Lancaster, Jen (e books free to read .txt) ๐ยป. Author - Lancaster, Jen
โHow was your afternoon?โ he asks as he shoves six pair of socks and no underwear into his overnight bag. Fletch is not a Packing Viking, bless his heart.
โNot bad,โ I reply. โI had a manicure [OPIโs Conquistadorable seemed to be the most responsible-looking color.] and went to Palm Beach Tan. By the way, when I was doing my speech research, I saw that a bunch of NASA guys are receiving the same award tomorrow from the Engineering school. Wonder if any of the astronauts are getting ready for their big day with a spray tan?โ
โDoubtful,โ he says, tossing in sneakers and some workout shorts.
โUm, are you going to the Co-Rec for a pickup game of squash or are you coming to a banquet with me? If itโs the latter, why donโt I help you pack?โ I suggest.
Not long after this, weโve got everything Fletch could need for the twenty-four hours weโll be gone. From pajamas to going-out shoes, Iโve helped Fletch neatly prepare for any eventuality on the road. However, he argues when I try to get him to put his shirt and suit in the suitcase.
โTheyโll get wrinkled,โ he complains. โIโll grab them tomorrow.โ
โNo,โ I reply. โYouโll put them in the car right now; otherwise youโll forget, if the last three weddings you attended in gym shoes are any indication. I am not about to receive my major award with you in a Donkey Punch T-shirt.โ
And with that, weโre ready to go.
Joanna and her husband, Michael, were planning on driving down with us, but they have a schedule conflict tomorrow morning and need to leave at the crack of dawn, so itโs just us in the car. Fletch breaks his cardinal rule of no eating because I was so busy not writing my speech that I also didnโt go to the grocery store and thereโs no food in the house. We stop at Arbyโs and I do my best not to drip Horsey Sauce on upholstery. [Oh, forbidden potato cakes, youโre the sweetest potato cakes of them all!]
When we arrive at Purdue, Iโm shocked at how much itโs changed. I guess I didnโt expect it to be exactly the same as when I left, butโฆ thatโs a lie.
I totally did.
I wanted to see the Purdue of 1985 when Joanna and I used to stumble home to our teeny room in Earhart Hall after way too much trash can punch, sweaty and happily exhausted from dancing to Modern English in Keds.
I hoped that somehow, even though it was April, Iโd see kids in barn jackets using ironing boards and cafeteria trays to slide down a snowy Slayter Hill.
I was secretly expecting to drive by the fraternity houses and spot familiar faces out there, clad in khaki shorts and white oxfords, feeding sips of Little Kings Cream Ale to a bandanna-wearing black lab/house mascot named Murph.
Instead, I see an army of Justin Bieber clones, texting away as they hurry from one spanking new university building to the next. Itโs all I can do to not scream, โGet a haircut!โ at each of them as we cruise by. Oh my God, I feel so old.
As we pull up to the Union, Iโm melancholy when I realize that all my favorite spots are gone, paved over into parking garages or turned into Starbucks. I havenโt been back at school since the late nineties specifically because I was afraid this would happen.
I never wanted to be that pathetic alum accosting a bunch of undergrads about all the places that ceased to exist decades ago, all โHey, kids, you could get a steak for a nickel over there and see a moving-picture show, too!โ
I never wanted to be the weird older lady pointing out the front corner of the Yacht Club, where the manager Ferris kept the topless bronze statue that Iโd always cover in a paper-napkin bikini whenever I sat in front of it. No one cares that was the exact spot where we raised a glass to Kurt Cobain after his suicide, playing an endless round of Nirvana songs on the jukebox. I remember how we hugged each other, saying over and over with the kind of sincerity exclusive to kids in their twenties, โThis changes everything.โ
No one wants to know how good the pizza at Garciaโs was, or how bad the drinks were at Peteโs. Or how Iโd meet my best friend, Andy, at the little Chinese place every Friday for the three-dollar lunch special and how every week weโd laugh at how they refused to give us butter knives. [So, yeah, pretty much my equivalent of steak for a nickel.]
Donโt get me wrongโI prefer to live in the now. I love my life and the people in it and nostalgia generally makes me happy. I wouldnโt relive my college days on a bet. No one tells you in your twenties how much better your forties are. [Primarily because if you knew how much your thirties would suck, youโd drink bleach.] But being back on campus, in the one spot where so many of my best memories were created, and finding a setting thatโs completely changed is disconcerting.
Fletch and I check into the Union. We get ready for the reception before the awards banquet and I dress carefully in a black wrap dress, accented with a snappy plaid scarf/shawl. Truth? Iโm not wearing this piece for fashion as much as for function. I call this my โgood eatinโ scarfโ as it protects whatever Iโm wearing underneath from errant mayo and salad dressing dribbles. As pleased with myself as I am at having created this solution, I remind Fletch to give me a kick if I
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