Winter Storm Warning

Every year I say the same thing...

"Man, I can't wait for Christmas break, I'm going to chill the fuck out at home. I'm going to write a screenplay, read a few books, spend some quality time with my family and then come back to LA completely refreshed."

My flight was at noon, Saturday December 20th. I stayed in Friday night, I charged my iPad, my laptop, downloaded a couple movies and purchased two non-fiction books. Could not wait to better myself.

I arrived at the airport 90 minutes before my flight (had I been traveling internationally I would have been there 2 hours prior to take-off) I breezed through security, grabbed a Gingerbread latte, texted my brother my flight info and then I took a seat near my gate prepared to spend an hour reading some Malcolm Gladwell.

Then there was an announcement that my flight was delayed by 2 hours.

And that was fucking it.

Lovely 2 week vacation out the window. Fuck the book, fuck the latte, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars, in fact spend 200 dollars on double jack and cokes until your plane arrives.

See I am what you would call a very volatile specimen, when kept in check, when things going according to plan, I can behave very rationally. But I become unstable when a set of conditions begins to change.

That pretty much set the tone for my winter break. There was no screenplay written (I'm really excited about this one guys, it's an action comedy where terrorists takeover the Universal backlot. The protagonist is a hungover PA and his sidekick is the star of his TV show that plays a badass, but is actually a pussy actor...it's going to have a budget of 300 million dollars and will make me the most famous writer of all time) Well alas, I didn't read, I didn't write, but I did do this.

As with all good stories, my winter break started at the Runcible Spoon in Bloomington. It was my first return trip to campus since I had left Little 5 2012 in a pool of my own blood, it was that day that I vowed I would never attempt to party like an undergrad again, but that didn't mean I couldn't come back to campus for a shitty December basketball game and get alumni wasted. So that is what I sat out to do.

I remember thinking, this is going to be the greatest trip of my life, everything is going to be exactly the way it used to be. Then with this triumphant attitude, I decided to use the restroom whilst I waited for my eggs. I went into that weird ass hippie bathroom, at runcible, you know the one with the bath tub and giant goldfish in the tub?

Well the goldfish is gone, I don't know if it died, or they just don't do that anymore, but it's fucking gone, and that would be a metaphor moving forward on this trip.

We go to the game and trounce some shitty Georgia Junior College or something and I actually convinced myself for like 5 minutes that the team wasn't awful. I was a tad bummed because I didn't run into anyone I knew at the game, but whatever, it's a Sunday on Christmas break. I know what it is, I bet everyone is at the bars! To Nick's!

Ghost town. A few people are watching some football games, but no bizz being sank, just a few locals watching the Colts. Well obviously everyone must be at Kilroy's.

Crickets. There wasn't even an old bartender I could share war stories with. The sad reality was that Bloomington was a place that has passed me by. No one there remembers my antics, who I am, I'm just a dude that graduated 4 years ago. A complete cycle of students have come and gone since I graduated. But that's fine, I went back to Nick's kicked back some cold ones with my fam and ate the shit out of a pizza. (Still really fucking good) A tad disappointing, but no worries, I have a week in Indy to rally the old gang.

My week in Indianapolis was as such, I slept until noon every day, drank whiskey in the basement and watched my cats fight. I would go to the mall with my parents and shit, and they hooked me up with the sickest new wardrobe and that was amazing, but save for one dinner with a friend, I didn't do a fucking thing in Indianapolis. That was realization dos, I haven't lived here since...high school. People have lives, they are busy with their own shit, just because my job gives me 2 weeks off, doesn't mean the world will stop to go get shitfaced with me on a Monday night. So instead I spent my evenings going to the movies or checking out a Pacer game, going to my favorite pizza spot or just laying on the couch watching Christmas specials.

Again, nothing too crazy...

But I still had one more stop left on my journey...Chicago! This is where we came of age, this was our crazy early 20's, this is where all my friends are!

I got to Chicago on a Monday (after riding a Megabus with a screaming toddler projecting his voice RIGHT into my ear. I cannot wait to have kids and DRUG THE FUCK OUT OF THEM during travel) and I checked into a hotel with 2 good friends and we proceeded to rage at a Zedd show.

Finally, this trip was gaining steam, the concert was amazing, I was drunk as fuck, we had an after party at my hotel room with some chicks, I felt like this is what I signed up for.

But then I woke up on New Year's Eve and we had to check out. I had a raging hangover and nowhere really to go. There is nothing worse than being hungover, with several bags and having nowhere to go...when it is negative 10 degrees outside.

I used to LIVE here, ALL my friends are here. Even after I left, for a while I had my old key and would just show up unannounced and my old roommates would be thrilled. But they don't even live in the fucking country anymore, and I am so bad at keeping in touch that I've lost everyone. I was in Chicago, on New Year's Eve without a destination or a plan.

I end up heading to meet a good friend and watch some IU bball, I drank away my hangover until somehow I was drunk and at a random house party and lo and behold, I celebrated the New Year by getting kicked out of a party, shortly after midnight.

By some miracle, I was able to find a nice hardwood floor to crash on that night, but alas I woke up on the 1st and had to go through the whole process again. I have to leave here now, my flight back to LA isn't for 2 more days. God dammit. Being the nomad that I was, I decided to head north, where somehow I was pressured into continuing my bender. I spent New Year's Day at a bar in Milwaukee playing drinking games with strangers and taking advantage of the Grand Prix, this is a deal that comes with a shot of whiskey, a PBR and a cigarette, all for the reasonable price of 5 bucks.

Wisconsinites are very well versed in drinking.

The 2nd I took a train back to Chicago, slept on a couch in Lincoln Park and woke up at 5am to take an uber to the airport. It's a miracle that I got out of O'Hare on the 3rd as Chicago was in the midst of one of the worst winter storms in recent years. When I finally landed in LA 2 weeks after leaving, I vowed that I would never leave again, at least for any extended period like that. I was bankrupt both morally and financially and I spent the 4th and the 5th laying on a couch. I didn't move once, and I was still hungover at work on Monday.

I was bitter for a minute about my trip because I spent the whole time in general discomfort and in search of something that I never quite found.

But that's the problem, my perspective.

The way I have framed my trip, it sounds like it was pretty miserable.

But also...
I saw the best team in the NBA, visited my college, saw the best dj in the world, visited 3 states, caught up with some great friends and most importantly, saw my family for the first time in a year (and oh the presents were pretty grand too) Man I went on a fucking adventure!

I've gotten past the whole, rage until dawn, fuck an ex and sleep on the floor thing. That's not what these trips are about. In fact, I'm turning 27 pretty soon, maybe that's a good age to just start planning on a hotel. It doesn't inconvenience your friends, and on the off chance you do find a willing piece of ass, it makes you look like a baller.

As eye opening as my trip was, I also learned that it's not home anymore. It's the place I grew up. Where my family lives. My life is here now.

I used to LOVE going home after college. It was like my place of solace that I could run away to and revert to an earlier, simpler time. I think that's because my entire existence from Jun 1, 2009 until about a year ago I was absolutely fucking miserable. I truly believed that everyone woke up every day wanting to kill themselves because of how much they hated their job, their life 5 days a week...but the only reason they didn't is because they were going to get super fucked up Friday night and it would be awesome until the Sunday night dread started to set in.

That's not true.

My life now kicks ass. I get paid shitty, and I'm an assistant and most of my Kelley colleagues probably make 3 times what I do in a year, but I don't fucking care. I wake up in the morning with a smile on my face, and I ride my bike to the beach. Then I drive my long ass commute to work, but I knock out a podcast and learn something interesting before I start my day.

I still get super hammered and put my dick places I shouldn't and Behave poorly but it's not because I'm running away from something. The idea of staying in on a Friday used to appall me because I was getting one step closer to what I perceived as a fate worse than death: Monday. Now, if I'm tired, it's Netflix and a whiskey rocks for me.

So ya, my trip home was fucking awesome. The midwest is cold as shit, but I did all my favorite stuff and I did it with some kick ass people.

My home is in California now. And I really do want my family to do a destination vacation for Christmas next year, because all of your instagram photos succeeded in making me jealous this time around, but I'm pretty sure I can find some contentment anywhere this go around.

I know it can be nauseating to hear people talk about how great things are going, because everyone has their fucking problems and they don't want to hear that things are perfect.

Things aren't perfect for me. My car constantly smells of gas, I think it is probably going to explode with me in it, sending me to a Paul Walkerian demise. At the going rate I will never have a relationship that lasts longer than a month, and my credit score is lower than Indiana Football's win percentage.

So my vacation wasn't incredible. My life isn't spectacular.

But it's good enough.