Tuesday, December 7, 2010

And now for your weekly emo post: The Ghost of Christmas Emotions. Alternate Title: "I'd know that vagina anywhere."

I'm sorry I've been so ... emo ... blegh ... lately. Part of this is probably because of the lack of running. And part of it is certainly because of the holiday season.

Round these parts, the Christmas lights went up before the Thanksgiving dishes were even clean. It's still the first week of December and I feel like we've been in full holiday swing for weeks. At first I was totally into it. This will be a big year. We've got a house to decorate! And room for a tree! I have Christmas cards to send out! And presents for everyoooneeeee! It should be noted that I've been Christmas shopping since before Thanksgiving. That's a new record for me. I've been like everyone's favorite holiday elf ... on crack.

But just as quickly as the holiday spirit enveloped me, so did the Ghost of Christmas Emotions. It's just like the Ghost of Christmas Past only instead of wearing a cloak of chains, he's got spikey black hair, black nail polish, and thick black eyeliner.

Over the past week, I've swung back and forth between Christmastime euphoria: pretty lights! cheerful music! happy people! family fun! And holidays doldrums: I miss the pretty lights in Philadelphia! I miss the cheerful music in Philadelphia! I miss the happy people in Philadelphia! I miss my family!

Here's pretty much an example of the way my thought process works when I'm in "a mood:" The house looks beautiful lit up with Christmas lights. -> It looks just like home. -> I wish my parents could come see how we decorated the house. -> They won't be able to see it this year. -> Mommom and Poppop might not EVER get to see it. -> That's because you abandoned your family when you followed your husband to Boston. -> Boston is not the same. -> Boston is cold. -> Boston is horrible. -> HORRIBLE. ->You have ruined Christmas for yourself and your family forever because you are selfish and unloving and nothing will ever be the same and you will freeze in Boston forever so you might as well just die.

As such, I've alternated my free time between furiously Christmas shopping, decorating and writing cards and drinking too much wine, listlessly staring out the window and listening to the Garden State soundtrack.

I think I've snapped myself out of it though. It took some tears, approximately two bottles of pinot noir and a few punches thrown at B, but I think we've climbed the hill. Life, after all, is what you make of it and I have decided to wipe the snot from my face and act like a normal fucking human being for chrissake. It took me more than a few days to get this post out the door because I was still emo-ing. And no one likes an emo at Christmastime. BUT EVERYBODY LOVES AN ELMO! BA-DUM-BUM-CHING. Get it? Because everyone goes apeshit for Elmo things at Christmastime? Right? Do people still do that? It's been a while since I've paid attention to the latest toy craze. I've been too busy tickling my Elmo. And my emo.

Anyway, I think that sufficiently explains my absenteeism here. Because unlike high school, I haven't actually been hiding out in the cafeteria and planning attacks on rival gang, The Nipple Cutters, with my fellow Sandy Vaginas. Snip snip, bitches. And now I have a totally non-emotional story for you! Which also may or may not include my vagina!

I've been meaning to write about this for about a week but, you know ... emotions. So last week I was at a meeting for work at a very fancy company. I even dressed up for the occasion. The usual skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors were at home. This was a black pants day, bitches. The meeting included a number of other representatives from non-profits throughout Boston. At one point during the event, I stood up to say a few words about a current program we have at my organization. Afterwards, I chatted with people as I made my way to the door. A few people had questions about what we do and how we do it and I was happy to talk about it. As I was heading from the coat room, a man about my age stopped me and asked, "excuse me, but do you have a blog?"

I froze. Thoughts raced through my mind: Is he talking to me? Does he look offended? Am I about to get punched in the mouth? I eyed him up and down assessing my threat level.

"Yeah ..."

"Is it Yellaphant?"

OH MY GOD RUN YOU ARE TOTALLY ABOUT TO GET PUNCHED.

"...Ye- n- uh ... yes?"

He immediately smiled. "Oh that's so funny I thought it might be you and then when they said your name was Bridget I thought it definitely was. I'm sorry to break the fourth wall and all, that's probably totally freaky."

Okay relax, this guy does not want to punch you in the mouth. Threat level zero.

"Ah, the fourth wall. I can honestly say this has never happened before."

"Yeah, well I live in Braintree so I totally got all the public transportation stories."

"Yeah! So you can relate."

"Well my commute isn't nearly as bad as yours. Because if you're taking the Silver Line then you're really out there. I mean, that bus isn't easy."

"I know, right?" And as those words left my mouth, it dawned on me. OH MY GOD THE SILVER LINE. HE'S TOTALLY REFERRING TO THE TIME YOU SHOWED THE ENTIRE BUS YOUR VAGINA. YOUR VAGINA. HE'S TALKING ABOUT YOUR VAGINA. YOU ARE STANDING IN THE HALLWAY OF ONE OF YOUR BIGGEST CORPORATE SPONSORS TALKING ABOUT YOUR VAGINA. VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA.

And that's when I got awkward, like I tend to do. "AH HA. Heh. Oh yeah. The bus. The office is way over there. Like, far. Heh. Yeah."

"Okay, well I don't want to keep you I just wanted to say hi."

"Hi. Thanks. Okay goodbye. Good luck ... with ... it."

And a week later I still feel a bit awkward for being a total spaz. I've NEVER had a reader recognize me in real life. I'm just happy that my friends recognize me in real life. It was ... really, really flattering actually. I should have gotten his email address. I should have made him be my friend. Hell, I probably should have made out with him. IF YOU'RE READING THIS BRAINTREE MAN, THANK YOU FOR SAYING HI. It was really nice. Even though we were referencing a story about my vagina while standing in a corporate setting. That part was weird.

Sometimes, it's really hard being totally fucking famous.

4 comments:

L said...

Oh my god, why haven't i found your blog before? You just made me literally laugh out loud, more than once. Love it!

Becky Mochaface said...

Now that you're famous it won't be long until you're going to all the A list events and are in People magazine (or is it Us Weekly?) in the "Celebrities, they're just like us!" section. Just don't forget us little people when you're walking the red carpet and avoiding paparazzi.

Bridget said...

@Becky Mochaface Yeah! And mine will be "Just like us ... they pick their wedgies in public!"

Deidre said...

Wow - you're totally famous. I think that would totally freak me out, being famous that is.

Sorry about the homesickness. It sucks doesn't it?

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