Dear Serena, Blair, Nate, Dan, Chuck, and all those other pretty people you share that TV/computer screen thing with,
Something happened to me two weeks ago. A transformation of sorts. You see, friends, co-workers, and strangers on the subway introduced me to you all in 2009. “They’re just SO gorgeous,” I remember one preteen saying as she straightened the gaudy headband intruding on her golden locks. (In retrospect, this accessory was totally a Blair Waldorf homage.)
“I, like, feel like they’re my virtual friends,” my friend in the real world (that’s where I live!!!) once said.
In 2009, you also
filled hogged the sidewalks around NYU, transforming my classmates into paparazzi while en route to class. (See picture below. And while I have you in this parenthetical aside, is it cool if I refer to “you all” as “you” from now on? I don’t mean to compromise or deny each of you as individuals. It’ll just be fewer words for me to type!) In any case, your presence at my school made me mad because 1) you’re distractingly pretty and 2) I really wanted to get to English class to talk about our readings from Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia but instead found myself thinking about how you’re, well, so distractingly pretty. GAH.
You still with me? Good.
So when my roommate started Season One on Netflix two weeks ago, I claimed a seat next to her on the couch with a dramatic scoff. We already had a history, you and I. “There’s no way this can be good,” my brain place told me as the familiar helicopter shots of a buzzing Manhattan flooded the screen. Then the Kristen Bell voiceover began, and I, along with a gaggle of privileged prep school teens onscreen, learned that Serena van der Woodsen was back in town. And damn did she look better than ever.
My infatuation had been born.
Over the past couple weeks, you
filled snatched my treasured free time each weeknight after I got home from work. You filled stole several Saturday nights, Sunday mornings, and Sunday nights with your texts, underage drinking (YOU’RE ONLY 17 EVEN THOUGH YOU LOOK 27!!!), and childish fights that were always the same but had me gripping my roommate and shouting things at the screen like “BUT SHE DOESN’T LOVE YOU, NATE!” (And while we’re on the subject: Nate, you’re so above Jenny. Glad that’s over can I get an AMEN, what what?!!!) I think these screenshots from my phone sum our recent relationship up well.
Case Study #1, a text to my roommate on September 29, 2012.
I didn’t go out later. And finally, Case Study #2, a tweet sent just minutes after the aforementioned text on September 29, 2012.
I really don’t want to drag this on, but I just…well I just felt compelled to write to you to tell you that I finished Season 2 this weekend and…deep breaths. Deep breaths. I’m over you. All of you. I’M SORRY. I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.
I’VE GOTTA be released from your sugar-coated grasp. You understand, don’t you? It’s important (read: necessary) that I reclaim some semblance of normalcy and stability in my free time. It’s a need, not a want, you know? Do you know the difference between those two things? Like, you need to pay your credit card bill each month, but you don’t need to buy that $120,000 Hermes Crocodile Birkin Bag. That’s called a want. Ugh. I fear I’ve lost you. Basically I’m saying it’s me who has the issue here, not you.
I know you’re probably pouting at this point in the letter, Blair, but please don’t. Dorota is baking your favorite pie tonight!!! All will be well soon.
Now that that’s outta the way, I feel like there’s only way to close this post.
Spotted on a couch in San Francisco. An emotional young twentysomething brings a Netflix addiction to an end. Did you think this would go down without a fight? JSH gave it a chance, but he’s moving on.