I am having a delayed reaction sadface.
Remember back when I was all “OMG SAN DIEGO! OMG TIA! OMG KELLY CLARKSON!”?
Of course you do. That month where I looked and sounded like a cocaine-addicted hummingbird has been hard to forget for all of us.
Well, as it turns out, while I was basking in the afterglow and singing Miss Independent to myself in the shower, every single aspect of my life went straight to hell in a handbasket filled with Ben’s Life is Falling Apart and Banana Nut Muffins and I didn’t even notice…
You see, five days after I got home, my best friend Nick up and moved away.
MOVED. AWAY.
The last thing I remember is loading up a U-haul in his driveway and hearing eurotrash on blast as he drove away. And I was all, “Cool – I’m so happy that he’s doing something for himself. Isn’t this going to be great for everyone? No one’s going to be left behind to fend for himself in the suburbs – THAT’s for sure.”
Blogfriends? I was so wrong. I was totally left behind.
Fuck you, Toronto.*
Now I don’t have anyone to share clothes with. I don’t have anyone who knows that the correct response to “I feel fat today” is “You’re so thin. Let’s go get cheesecake”. I don’t have anyone who truly appreciates the wit behind my trick jaw jokes. I don’t have anyone who understands exactly how I operate and when I need to be built back up again. And most importantly I don’t have anyone who will put on oversized sunglasses and drive around with this song cranked without shame.
So what’s the answer? I don’t know but I’m pretty sure it will include national auditions and Sharon Osbourne helping me find a stand-in gay best friend. ‘Stand-in’ because I refuse to believe that Nick isn’t coming back at which point this new homo will be tossed in the trash like Mischa Barton after The OC.
Time is not on our side though. If I don’t have someone to watch Hocus Pocus with at Halloween and know EXACTLY what to say at key parts, you’ll have to scoop me and my sugarglazed tears out of the Krispy Kremes box with a backhoe and surgically remove the bottle of Xanax from my hands.
The stakes are high here people.
*It should be noted here that Toronto also stole my workwife from me.
That wound is still too fresh to even write about.