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An Average Day Home For The Holidays

You wake up hungover with a semi on your boy’s basement couch. You have to pee like an Amazon employee during the holiday season, but you refuse to get up until this semi situation sorts itself out, so you open up Twitter and type in @LenaDunham. Last night, the boys met at your local bar to watch the Sixers-Hornets game escorted by your friend’s little brother in the Nissan Altima he’s been posting on his Snapchat story for the last two months. The personal pitchers started flowing, and your ninety percent sure that you guys got asked to leave, which, by the way, is A LOT different than getting kicked out. 

Guantanamo Bay prisoners haven’t experienced shit compared to the interrogation you get from your friend’s Mom before you get a chance to grab your keys. Getting your fingers broken while a guy is screaming at you to answer questions is really nothing compared to a neurotic middle-aged white woman asking you about summer internships. You get in your car and listen to music about murder and strippers as you give the classic-white guy wave to your fellow suburbanites walking their dogs. The culture shift at your house is a weird one. It’s weird seeing your parents enter the empty nest syndrome stage of their lives. Between the talk of a new puppy and recent infatuation with pickleball (a sport made up by white people who refer to Target as Tar-gé), You can tell they are a little bored and confused without driving a bunch of snot-nosed kids to sports practices. It reminds you of watching Vince Carter on the Hawks. Sure- your Mom can still make an antipasta that slaps harder than your Columbian neighbor at school after she found out her fiancé fucked someone else, but the prime of her career as a Mom has passed. 

It’s pretty impossible for you to go back to sleep after the stare you get from your Dad as he’s working outside while you’re actively a hungover piece of shit, so you fire up the old PS4 and remind Raymond Felton on the OKC Thunder that you still own his ass. At four, you grab a shift at the joint you used to work at during the summer in high school, with the same manager that loves you and has visceral opinions about the #MeToo movement. Your biggest challenge at work is finding out how many poops you can take while scrolling Tik Tok with bars of sound before your boss asks me for medical proof that you have IBS (you don’t). 

After two hours of your life, which you’ll never get back, you catch up on what’s happening in your group chat with your friends from home. Because it’s Tuesday, it looks like it’s going to be an easy night at your friend’s house, who happens to live relatively close to me. I could play the same drinking games You’ve played with the same friends you’ve had for the last seven years, ORRR, you could get back into binging Lost on Hulu and see if they’re doing anything better than playing King’s Cup over a few boxes of Twisted Tea. 

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