Sweet Home Alabama

We left at 9.15am and finally got back to Boston at 9.15pm. It was a nightmare. The East Coast has had really bad luck with terrible weather recently, lots of snow storms and fog blah blah. At one point on the highway we traveled 3 miles in an hour. I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING. Still, we had our Party Car playlist, Nicolai's 'Huskies gon' wild sunglasses, and his Celtics finger that he insisted on bringing. And, 
*cue lame boppy music intro*
-we had each other. There were sharing of hilarious stories about our teenage years, and we giggled as we shared stories of our adolescent angsts, tragedies and awkwardness. Numerous pitsops, it felt as if my life for the past week had consisted of the Backstreet Boys, foul public toilets, Nicolai's numerous stories about "this friend of mine..." (who seemed to get himself into all kinds of sticky situations but amazingly we never got his name *hint hint*) and fast food. Coming back to Boston was, once again, amazing. It's the little things about this place I'm going to miss, for example the BHOP fellas.

The guys from BHOP (Boston House of Pizza), know me well. My name. My order. They recognize me when I walk in. It's occurred to me that this is probably a bad thing. Wait no, I KNOW this is a bad thing.

"Weren't you here earlier today?" they'll exclaim loudly when I'm with Annie on our classic late-night BHOP run at 1.00am on a Wednesday night. I tried to hide it and say 'Nahhhhhh it wasn't me. You're probably confusing me with someone else' 
*looks away* 
But oh no, he held onto that thought and was like "Nah, you love this place! You're here all the time! You'll have a diet coke, yes?"

It was then I couldn't fight it and as I slouched over the counter I had to admit my love of BHOP and that I was leaving Boston in a mere amount of time and I just didn't know how I could survive without it. I forfeited tears as I cried over the pepperoni pizza slices that are bigger than my head and about how AUSTRALIA SIMPLY COULD NEVER MEASURE UP TO THE BHOP STANDARD. Despite all those things, I still wish I could go back. It was the best road trip ever, and we all miss it so we're having a sleepover this weekend, all dragging our mattresses into my apartment to hang out in our jammies and listen to Nicolai's 'DJ Revolution' party playlist, tell all kinds of secrets about ourselves and drink the flask of Canadian ******* we ******** across the border. (I'm being tricky for obvious reasons, hint hint)