Jeez, you guys.
I’m sitting here, by myself, getting quietly drunked on PVDD’s superdeluxefantabulous bomb-diggity holiday liqueur (mixed with orange juice) and watching The Family Stone.
I love this movie. I totally cry every time. And laugh, and cuss, and slap my forehead in despair when Meredith talks about how the mom must not have actually wished for her son to be gay, and I scream in laughter when the table with all the dinner fixings falls on top of the brothers. And I hope that when I’m all growed up, I have the same kind of family around me to make me laugh and cry and get all emotional.
I envy that, you know? I mean, I envy it. I mean, even with all the backbiting and yelling and crying, there’s still love there, a lot of love, and intimacy and closeness and togetherness and solidarity and all the kinds of things I never really had growing up.
So maybe I didn’t have them growing up, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have it as an adult, right? I mean, can’t I create my own family and friends and stuff and have holidays like that? Full of the fights only families can have, and the emotion that comes after, and the love and heartbreak and making up and making love and all that kind of stuff.
I always wanted a big house with comfy furniture and a huge kitchen and lots of bedrooms where I can stick people when they come to stay for the holidays. I always wanted to surround myself with friends and people I love and people who love me, because it seems to me that that’s what holidays really are all about.
I suppose it means I’d have to become disgustingly domesticated and ridiculously capable in the kitchen, and probably wear one of those shapeless house dresses plus robe while screaming at whichever poor sop forgot to run to the nearby Starbucks and pick up my morning mocha, but wouldn’t it be worth it? Wouldn’t it be worth it to spend your holidays with the people you love?
I’m such a fucking sap when I’m drunk. Even more so when I’m drunk around the holidays. Sorry to inflict this on you, but that’s what you get when you cross PVDD’s liqueur and emotional drama movies with an in-progress intoxicated 2N.
Next up: The Notebook, platinum edition. I wonder if that makes it even more cryable.
God help me.