this was going to be full of gifs, but lj decided to hate on me
This weekend.
This weekend. Yeah.
Remember how I was stressed? So stressed that my brain felt like it was going to explode into a million tiny pieces? Like, this was me, every minute of every day?
I feel better now.
This was my weekend:
My mom dropped me off in Newark, where I played a rousing game of pick out the crack addict at Penn Station and stared at the horoscope globe like I'd dropped some LSD until I realized if I didn't have coffee, I might actually pass out in a corner. Then, I got on an Amtrak train and leisured my way up North. Then I stood in front of South Station like some kind of crazy person, looking for a clock (that I was standing directly under) going, no worries, I'll figure out where I am. I only lived here for like two years. Got picked up, watched Cougar Town with my sister (never saw that show before. But the blonde reminded me of someone. Namely, me.) while she downed like, seven glasses of wine. And then there was sleep. No big drama. YAY.
In the morning, I woke up and heard that my nephew had apparently woken up, called his mom, and yelled HI MOMMY. In other words, he was trashed. On the morning of his college graduation. My sister kept telling anyone who would listen and punctuating the story with I'M SO PROUD. Kind of sarcastically, but kind of not. We sat through his ceremony, which was super classy UNLIKE THE STATE UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK, AS MY DAD POINTED OUT THROUGHOUT THE DAY and then, because we are a classy family, we brought our own beer to the reception. Or more accurately, my sister and nephew dragged me to get beer from some random girl's apartment, and then while we were there my sister proceeded to coerce a sixteen year old boy into taking tequila shots with us.
Then we headed out to Rockport, because apparently my nephew was too drunk to actually eat a real meal. Even though he proceeded to order a three pound lobster because he is ridiculous. He also told me I could put my hands all over his hot football friends thanks T, but I'mma pass on that shit and asked me if I weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. Which is kind of win, and I'm sure he figured out different later (I'll get to that) but shit, man. I don't think he was being sarcastic, so- COMPLIMENT. I'm five foot ten and haven't weighed one twenty since I was like, eight. Like, I think my bones shredded of all my skin (nice image) might weigh that much. But even when I was fucking ana I couldn't get under one thirty. His mom's the same height as me and still fucking anorexic, and she's like, one twenty eight.
Anyway, okay, my family's body issues are not the point (although my nephew was harping on it all night- he lost like forty pounds since he broke up with his girl and now has a body like James fucking Maslow. It is ridiculous). So then he proceeded to take me and my sister and my SEVENTY FOUR YEAR OLD FATHER to a party so we could do KEG STANDS. And T's friends proceeded to tell us that they loved our family, could we adopt them, etc, etc, etc. I smoked a cigarette in front of my dad, which I'm sure pissed him off, but he kept being disgusting and hitting on high school girls, so. I bummed one off T and was like, suck on that.
T kept saying how much he loves his Cali family, but I'm not sure if I'm included in that, because he kind of refuses to admit that I lived in California wayyyyyy longer than he did (he left when he was three) and even said that night, "You're from Jersey, which is kind of trashy."
I was like, I'mma punch you in the face, college graduate or not. My nephew is kind of an obnoxious, arrogant, cocky bastard. But I love him, so. Plus his mom is way more trashy than me. She decided she needed to pee on the way home- I also did. She got out in front of the SUV, in front of me and my dad and the HEADLIGHTS in front of some poor person's apartment and just like, popped a squat. I went to a gas station, because I'm a classy bitch. not
The next day, I wake up to the sound of BOYFRIEND on the Plasma TV. I walk in, see Kendall's face, sit down beside my five year old nephew, Evan, and tell him, he's hot. Because I'm inappropriate that way. He goes, That's Big Time Rush. I go, oh honey, I know that. no shame here
I end up driving my dad's ancient Mercedes which was very obviously built for short people to Maine for the day, where we proceed to go to...Applebee's. Because we had to be back in Boston by five. So. I was kind of pissed about that, because I wanted to go to this awesome lobster shack up in Northern Maine, but whatever, I was supposed to go out with my sister to a movie theater that serves beer and wine. Which is obviously the greatest thing ever.
And then, because she is my sister, we went to a bar first. Where I felt a little inadequate amongst all her freakishly skinny Boston Marathon friends who get off on running two hundred miles in a weekend (not actually lying, they just did some two hundred mile race on Saturday) but beer helped that sitch. Then we watched Bridesmaids, which is hilarious. Or maybe not, but I'd had at least five beers at that point, and I also missed huge sections when my big sis kept sending me out to get her more wine.
And then after the movie, we went back to the bar, sans her friends. This is where things get a bit blurry.
I'm a little mortified, because I think I told her how she's always made me feel like I'm not really her sister and how I've been trying to run but can't do more than ten miles a week so far because I am lazy and have been too embarrassed to tell her and about how I've been dating all these boys but didn't want to get judge by my family and- um. The point here is I needed someone to duct tape my mouth shut. Most of my memories revolve around my sister telling me that I am painfully shy (true, as far as she's concerned, which I told her) and that I LOVE YOU YOU'RE MY BABY SISTER YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL which, um. I'm hoping I didn't cry anywhere in there. I can be weepy sometimes, when I have more than ten drinks. Which I did. And there are parts I'm confused about, like how I ended up with a cigarette (I feel like I bummed it off some homeless dude) or how I ended up with scrapes on my elbows- I remember my sister falling at some point, but not me- or when exactly she conned me into spending forty bucks at the bar. There's like, an hour and a half missing from my life. Which isn't actually bad- back in the BU days it was always waaaaay longer. But fuck man, I've been reducing that blacking out shit from my life because I hate drinking that much- but my sister is apparently good at fucking me up.
So, if you were around Davis Square on Sunday and saw two ridiculously tall, ridiculously giggly, ridiculously drunk blondes wandering around, I'd really like some details. 'Cause the time between the irish bar and Anna's Taqueria are painfully blank. And possibly after that. I vaguely remember getting in the car (BAD IDEA MY SISTER IS AN AWFUL INFLUENCE FOR DRUNK DRIVING) and I remember being in her kitchen and her telling me she'd be right back.
And then I remember being like, no she won't, and talking to my boyfriend until I got bored of him laughing at my slurred speech and deciding it was night night time.
I hope I did not cry or tell her about when I lost my virginity. Those are my main hopes.
Also that I did not offer a homeless man a kiss for a cigarette.
I feel like I'm going to get so much karmic payback for this weekend. But I did proceed to drive me and Dora and Dora's stuffed animal Fluffy home in the rain yesterday. And I managed to sit in Super 88 and stare at my old dorm across the street without getting all nostalgic and teary eyed. That should honestly count for something.
This weekend. Yeah.
Remember how I was stressed? So stressed that my brain felt like it was going to explode into a million tiny pieces? Like, this was me, every minute of every day?
I feel better now.
This was my weekend:
My mom dropped me off in Newark, where I played a rousing game of pick out the crack addict at Penn Station and stared at the horoscope globe like I'd dropped some LSD until I realized if I didn't have coffee, I might actually pass out in a corner. Then, I got on an Amtrak train and leisured my way up North. Then I stood in front of South Station like some kind of crazy person, looking for a clock (that I was standing directly under) going, no worries, I'll figure out where I am. I only lived here for like two years. Got picked up, watched Cougar Town with my sister (never saw that show before. But the blonde reminded me of someone. Namely, me.) while she downed like, seven glasses of wine. And then there was sleep. No big drama. YAY.
In the morning, I woke up and heard that my nephew had apparently woken up, called his mom, and yelled HI MOMMY. In other words, he was trashed. On the morning of his college graduation. My sister kept telling anyone who would listen and punctuating the story with I'M SO PROUD. Kind of sarcastically, but kind of not. We sat through his ceremony, which was super classy UNLIKE THE STATE UNIVERSITY OF NEW YORK, AS MY DAD POINTED OUT THROUGHOUT THE DAY and then, because we are a classy family, we brought our own beer to the reception. Or more accurately, my sister and nephew dragged me to get beer from some random girl's apartment, and then while we were there my sister proceeded to coerce a sixteen year old boy into taking tequila shots with us.
Then we headed out to Rockport, because apparently my nephew was too drunk to actually eat a real meal. Even though he proceeded to order a three pound lobster because he is ridiculous. He also told me I could put my hands all over his hot football friends thanks T, but I'mma pass on that shit and asked me if I weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. Which is kind of win, and I'm sure he figured out different later (I'll get to that) but shit, man. I don't think he was being sarcastic, so- COMPLIMENT. I'm five foot ten and haven't weighed one twenty since I was like, eight. Like, I think my bones shredded of all my skin (nice image) might weigh that much. But even when I was fucking ana I couldn't get under one thirty. His mom's the same height as me and still fucking anorexic, and she's like, one twenty eight.
Anyway, okay, my family's body issues are not the point (although my nephew was harping on it all night- he lost like forty pounds since he broke up with his girl and now has a body like James fucking Maslow. It is ridiculous). So then he proceeded to take me and my sister and my SEVENTY FOUR YEAR OLD FATHER to a party so we could do KEG STANDS. And T's friends proceeded to tell us that they loved our family, could we adopt them, etc, etc, etc. I smoked a cigarette in front of my dad, which I'm sure pissed him off, but he kept being disgusting and hitting on high school girls, so. I bummed one off T and was like, suck on that.
T kept saying how much he loves his Cali family, but I'm not sure if I'm included in that, because he kind of refuses to admit that I lived in California wayyyyyy longer than he did (he left when he was three) and even said that night, "You're from Jersey, which is kind of trashy."
I was like, I'mma punch you in the face, college graduate or not. My nephew is kind of an obnoxious, arrogant, cocky bastard. But I love him, so. Plus his mom is way more trashy than me. She decided she needed to pee on the way home- I also did. She got out in front of the SUV, in front of me and my dad and the HEADLIGHTS in front of some poor person's apartment and just like, popped a squat. I went to a gas station, because I'm a classy bitch. not
The next day, I wake up to the sound of BOYFRIEND on the Plasma TV. I walk in, see Kendall's face, sit down beside my five year old nephew, Evan, and tell him, he's hot. Because I'm inappropriate that way. He goes, That's Big Time Rush. I go, oh honey, I know that. no shame here
I end up driving my dad's ancient Mercedes which was very obviously built for short people to Maine for the day, where we proceed to go to...Applebee's. Because we had to be back in Boston by five. So. I was kind of pissed about that, because I wanted to go to this awesome lobster shack up in Northern Maine, but whatever, I was supposed to go out with my sister to a movie theater that serves beer and wine. Which is obviously the greatest thing ever.
And then, because she is my sister, we went to a bar first. Where I felt a little inadequate amongst all her freakishly skinny Boston Marathon friends who get off on running two hundred miles in a weekend (not actually lying, they just did some two hundred mile race on Saturday) but beer helped that sitch. Then we watched Bridesmaids, which is hilarious. Or maybe not, but I'd had at least five beers at that point, and I also missed huge sections when my big sis kept sending me out to get her more wine.
And then after the movie, we went back to the bar, sans her friends. This is where things get a bit blurry.
I'm a little mortified, because I think I told her how she's always made me feel like I'm not really her sister and how I've been trying to run but can't do more than ten miles a week so far because I am lazy and have been too embarrassed to tell her and about how I've been dating all these boys but didn't want to get judge by my family and- um. The point here is I needed someone to duct tape my mouth shut. Most of my memories revolve around my sister telling me that I am painfully shy (true, as far as she's concerned, which I told her) and that I LOVE YOU YOU'RE MY BABY SISTER YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL which, um. I'm hoping I didn't cry anywhere in there. I can be weepy sometimes, when I have more than ten drinks. Which I did. And there are parts I'm confused about, like how I ended up with a cigarette (I feel like I bummed it off some homeless dude) or how I ended up with scrapes on my elbows- I remember my sister falling at some point, but not me- or when exactly she conned me into spending forty bucks at the bar. There's like, an hour and a half missing from my life. Which isn't actually bad- back in the BU days it was always waaaaay longer. But fuck man, I've been reducing that blacking out shit from my life because I hate drinking that much- but my sister is apparently good at fucking me up.
So, if you were around Davis Square on Sunday and saw two ridiculously tall, ridiculously giggly, ridiculously drunk blondes wandering around, I'd really like some details. 'Cause the time between the irish bar and Anna's Taqueria are painfully blank. And possibly after that. I vaguely remember getting in the car (BAD IDEA MY SISTER IS AN AWFUL INFLUENCE FOR DRUNK DRIVING) and I remember being in her kitchen and her telling me she'd be right back.
And then I remember being like, no she won't, and talking to my boyfriend until I got bored of him laughing at my slurred speech and deciding it was night night time.
I hope I did not cry or tell her about when I lost my virginity. Those are my main hopes.
Also that I did not offer a homeless man a kiss for a cigarette.
I feel like I'm going to get so much karmic payback for this weekend. But I did proceed to drive me and Dora and Dora's stuffed animal Fluffy home in the rain yesterday. And I managed to sit in Super 88 and stare at my old dorm across the street without getting all nostalgic and teary eyed. That should honestly count for something.