Dear Spring (and also making out)

18 Mar

Dear Spring (and also making out)

I live in San Diego, which means the weather doesn’t really change from season to season. Still, there’s definitely been a shift in the last two weeks. We went back on (or off? I don’t know) daylight savings time, and now it’s light out when I get done with class, which makes me want to go drink fancy cocktails on some porch overlooking the ocean every night. I don’t because:

A) there aren’t actually that many places to do that in San Diego, and

B) liver.

And there are flowers blooming.

What’s amazing to me is how internal seasonal shifts are. Even though the temperature hasn’t changed drastically, I know it’s spring, because I’ve been feeling slightly crazy (stir crazy and otherwise) and a little bit antsy, and generally unable to concentrate or sit still or care about the thing that’s in front of me. I’m like, Can we barbecue? What about the park? Who wants to go to the park? An open window! Let me look out it! Oooh, colors (in the sky, in that dress, on my shoes, over there).

Also I have this urge to make some bad decisions. Spring quarter at my undergraduate college usually involved convincing our professors to let us have class outside, napping on the quad for an absurd number of hours, refusing to wear coats when it was definitely still cold outside, eating ice cream, playing beach volleyball on the random court that was on our campus— and oh yeah, getting involved with someone I normally would not have thought was a good idea to get involved with.

Like the red-headed Jewish friend-of-a-friend I made out with twice before he “dumped” me while he was high on 4/20. I rolled my eyes. We weren’t dating. I had just been planning to ignore him the next time he called me instead of having a whole “talk.” (Boys are more dramatic than girls are.) He followed up by asking if he could still come to the party my roommates were throwing that night. I so did not even care about the whole thing that I said yes.

Or the guy in my Tupac class (yeah, I took a class on Tupac) who just straight-up never called me back one night. Literally. School ended, he left on a road trip, I found out I had mono and didn’t go to Europe because I wasn’t allowed to fly in case various of my internal organs spontaneously combusted, he came back and I called him and told him about the mono (I am responsible, y’all). He said, “Oh, that sucks. No, I feel fine. I’ll come take you out for ice cream.” Then he said, “Hang on, my friend’s calling, I’ll call you right back.” AND HE NEVER DID. I’m pretty sure he’s still alive. Although I suppose I don’t know that for sure.

There was the nineteen-year-old Mormon (I was 21), who was being a really bad Mormon, because we first kissed when we were drunk at a party. (I SAID, I WAS 21, MOM.) He’d just broken up with a girlfriend, who was in high school (see: people I wouldn’t normally think it was a good idea to get involved with). Shortly thereafter, he spent a whole night arguing with me about how my major was “bullshit” because “no one knows what your acronym stands for and everyone knows what ME stands for, therefore my work is more valid than yours” while I made chocolate chip cookies and tried to turn the music up loud enough to drown out my own impulse to argue with such inanity. That ended on Cinco de Mayo, when he said he was going to hang out with his buddies and would call me later. He never did. I didn’t follow up. I yelled about it for a second though.

I BLAME SPRING FOR ALL OF THE ABOVE.

I’d list more, but then you guys would think I’m a slut.

Speaking of which, who wants to go make out on the grass?* IT’S SPRING AND IT SMELLS NICE OUTSIDE.

xoxo,

MM

*This is not a real offer. Stay away, creepers.

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4 Responses to “Dear Spring (and also making out)”

  1. The Postman 18 March 2011 at 3:02 pm #

    If you are rich enough to have ocean-view property in San Diego, you most likely aren’t going to get your hands dirty in the “service industry.” Ew. So, we’re limited for cocktails with said viewing…

  2. Karlyn 18 March 2011 at 8:33 pm #

    oh I miss those days of bad/hilarious decisions

  3. Carrie Moniz 19 March 2011 at 12:49 am #

    love it!

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Dear Nice Guy Who’s a Better Person Than I Am But I Don’t Want to Date « Dear Mr. Postman - 25 April 2012

    […] out make out make out. And no, I don’t care if it’s with Edward or Jacob. I just think people should make out more. I’ll save the rest of my reasons for when we talk face-to-face. I find it’s a good […]

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