“How extra should I dress this eve?”, is the question I just answered in one of my many group chats.
We’re in our 30’s now, so of course I said to be responsible. Avoid wearing anything you’d care to lose/ruin with vomit.
Being home for the holidays is a special time to catch up with the oldest and best of friends, while regressing into the more adolescent versions of ourselves that we know and love. I never have more fun than when I’m closing down a mostly empty bar on a Wednesday night, yelling at/with Shane about who knows what and generally making a fool of myself. It’s pure bliss.
This year is bittersweet because although I myself moved away, I’d like things at home to remain the same when I come back to visit. But now, my best friend Shane is leaving for good. Our few more days of familiar debauchery on the streets of Whitehorse are probably it for the rest of our lives.
To me, that means two things. One, make the absolute most of the time we have and take lots of blackmail videos. No staying home because of your hangover; push through the suffering. And two, start coming to terms with the change that happens when people move on.
At this point, I’ve moved so many times and had so many good-bye party weeks that I should have accepted the second one long ago. But it doesn’t get any easier.
Friendships can stay great and strong, but sometimes distance means they don’t, or that life moves at a different pace and you end up on different wavelengths. It’s possible you won’t enjoy the same kind of fun the next time you meet.
I’ll remain optimistic about me and Shane, because realistically we’re both children and that’s unlikely to change. I don’t mind flying to the East Coast for ridiculous drunken escapades.
For now though, I’m going to be as extra as I want, put on some red lipstick, drink too much champagne, fill a log-cabin themed cocktail bar with balloons, and forget about growing up for at least one more day.
Rita Davie 