Image courtesy of Dean Ward. Licensed under CC BY 2.0.
This unceasing shitshow of a winter is finally, finally over. Y’all, I knew going into this year that it was going to be the Worst, but my issues managed to dovetail quite nicely with a winter that just Would Not Quit. It was like the MRSA of weather, teasing us with the potential of spring every Saturday only to be cold and grey and miserable the rest of the week. And it went on like a freshman comp student who doesn’t understand that maximum page limits exist for a reason.
Spring has sprung, and my fellow residents of the Ent city are ecstatic. Piedmont Park is full of families with lawn chairs and picnic baskets, Grant Park has bikers on their way to the farmer’s market, everyone’s patios are finally opened and I can only imagine that no one in Cabbagetown will leave their porches for the next three months. Driving through Midtown today, I saw two cute young dudes (one in a belly shirt and skinny jeans, the other sporting a v-neck and shorts) recognize each other from across the street—one ran and no-shit leapt into the others arms, and he carried the dude into Blake’s.
Thanksgiving is over and done with, huzzah! It is absolutely my favorite holiday (stuffing + sweet potatoes + getting slightly overdressed without traveling), but this one was a doozy. High points this year included the truly ridiculous cherry pie that we impulse-bought from Southern Sweets, which I swear to god weighted six pounds. Low points included the fact that my dad tried to get us to go to Cracker Barrel instead of cook, which… no. Plus two members of our four-person party were sick, one couldn’t eat, and things were generally Not As Usual.
Still, though: pie.
As I was noting with a friend a week or two ago, this has been a memoir year. It sucks while it’s happening, but you get the sense that in a few years you’ll be able to spin something out of it into your memoirs.
I know this will happen, because most of my favorite stories (the time I headbutted the piano, the time I got dumped via GChat and then had to go to a birthday dinner, the time I turned 20 on a roof with a giant inflatable nautilus and a bunch of people from the internet) actually involved me crying at some point during them, despite the objective hilarity of the proceedings in retrospect. Continue reading →