Dear Holiday Nostalgia and Bad Decisions of the Make Out Variety

16 Dec

Dear Holiday Nostalgia and Bad Decisions of the Make Out Variety,

I’m sitting in the airport on my way home for the holidays. Does that phrase evoke a weird mixture for anyone else of a peppermint taste, the song “White Christmas,” images of your childhood Barbie dreamhouse (Christmas 1991, I had the flu) and the urge to hook up with any (all) of your old crushes that it never quite happened with? No?

Well, this is awkward. But I’m going to continue to talk about it anyway. I basically don’t go out to any of the bars where I might run into people I know unintentionally when I’m home. Maybe because I went to college and spent a year after in the same city I grew up in, I tend to see the friends I keep in touch with from college and those I’ve made since then instead of running around to high school hot spots. And we tend to go out to new places. Or maybe it’s because I’m bitter and mean and terrified and avoid that one bar like a plague. Hard to say. I’m going with the former. So the chances of me seeing anyone accidentally are small. And yet.

Yet say the words “home for the holidays” and my brain’s all, “Hey girl. You know who you should make out with?! That dude from when you were 18. You used to study Spanish together? YEAH girl. GREAT idea.” And then all of a sudden it’s all White Christmas club remix up in my mind with twinkling white lights.

WHAT?!? NO. TERRIBLE IDEA. I mean, right? (Unless you’re reading this (you know who you are) in which case, call me! (Also, Ryan Gosling, you can call too.)) (Kidding! No really.)

Ok, well now that I’ve said this on the internet, this is the year I will run into everyone I know and we’ll see who reads my blog, because either they will talk about it and I will pretend to have a stroke to get out of the conversation or they will break into awkward hysterical laughter every time they look at me. Or they will creep on me and I will go to the bathroom to escape. Or they will act like I am creeping on them when I try to reach around them for a cookie. (I was going for the fudge! That’s not a euphemism! Oh god!)

So it’ll be SOPPMA (Standard Operating Party Procedure in the Media Age) in other words.

Ah, the joy of the season….



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