i hate holidays

I did it. I made a blog. I've always secretly had this stereotype stuck in my head that bloggers think they're better than everyone else. They think they're enlightened or something. Kind of like atheists or people who listen to music that not exactly everyone else listens to. Unfortunately, I am guilty of falling into those three particular categories. But don't you worry. I won't bore you with my ideals and cynical views on everything. I won't drone on about the problems in my family and in my social life. I won't complain about how much I've royally screwed up my life or how insanley jealous I am of my own boyfriend, who I happen to love more than nougat (which I happen to love a lot).

But guess what? That's what blogs are for. So I'm going to anyways. But no one's asking you to lend an ear. No one's asking, forcing, or threatening you to read this. But you are. So hah.

Absolutely randomly ,I just typed in five little letters into the searchbar on flickr. "c...e...l...i...a..." It came up with 52,015 items. And it really got me thinking. 52,015 different people who have the same five (or on my case, seven, being that my full name is Cecelia) letters stamped onto their birth certificates. Perhaps accompanied by a pair of tiny footprints (104,030 feet, give or take a few Celias that were born without two feet, or any feet at all). 52,015 stories I would love to know. And those are just the 52,015 people named Celia who happen to have a picture of themselves on Flickr.

I think that I should be a reporter of some sort.

Ah, yes. I typed in the title of this post almost 20 minutes ago and almost forgot about it. What is it that I loathe so much about holidays, again? Ah yes, people. They stress me out.

It was nice and quiet at my house last night. Cam (my boyfriend that I mentioned before... something about nougat?) came over and we listened to dramatic symphonic versions Christmas music and conversed with my mom and dad (I'm an only child by the way, which I am incredibly thankful for, to say the least). Me and Cam were very G-rated the whole time, not doing anything more than holding hands. I didn't mind, though. The house was warm and smelled like cinnamon and felt like happy. This morning I pretended to be surprised when my mom handed me an iPod-nano wrapped in several layers of giftwrap even though I had come across it in her bedroom drawer last week--

--that sounds nothing like a shitty Christmas, you complaining no-good little bitch...

Waitwaitwait. Last night I was very happy, indeed, and didn't mind the company of the 'rents and the BF. But the night before was the night that really got me. Cam took me to a party on Wednesday and I pretty much had a panic attack. My parents were out at the movies and naturally I felt the urge to go out and do something exciting. It was at a house I had never been to, and it smelled like cigarettes and tomato soup. There were a lot of people there from my high school, celebrating the kickoff of winter break. A plethora people can be very stressful for me. Maybe they're not looking at me. Maybe they're not thinking about me. Maybe they don't even know I exist. But I don't know any better. No one offered me a single beer all night, so I can't say that it was peer pressure. But I downed as much liquor as I could anyways. I don't know why I did it. I don't know why I do anything, anyways. But I woke up yesterday morning in my bed with my pajamas on and a huge headache and a new text in my inbox from Cam: " :] ". That boy makes me as jealous as hell, but I can't help but love him to death.