Living in a famous city is so surreal sometimes… *running errands, lost in thought* ‘Man, I could use some more of that medicine that dries up mucus. I think there’s a Duane Reade somewhere around here on Sixth… hey, I’m near Rockefeller. I should go see the tree!’ *has a magical moment seeing the tree, then immediately after buys mucus medicine* — at Rockefeller Center.
Doing an ab workout this morning:
“Get into plank position.”
Alright. Got it. On it. Done.
“Make sure your back is straight.”
Oh, right. Good call. I forgot how hard this is.
“Now take your dumbbell”
“Turn to the side so that…”
…”lifting your arm overhead until…”
*attempts. topples. man overboard.*
WHO CAN DO THESE THINGS.
Home is where, in the course of a day’s errands, you drive by more than one building that you can point to and say, “Hey I’ve had sex in there.” <3 <3 <3 Pittsburgh
Like everyone else, I have a lot of opinions about what’s going on right now, but more than anything else, I want to contribute to an atmosphere of reconciliation and healing, not division. So I’ve made sure all the porn I’m watching is interracial. But it doesn’t feel like enough. I woke up this morning, and our country is still torn apart. So any single, attractive, non-white men age 28-42, PLEASE give me a call. We can talk it out, or, you know, maybe just think of some…physical…act…we can perform – I mean it doesn’t have to be anything showy and public, in my bedroom is fine – that would demonstrate harmony among all people.
Let’s love it out.
My mom’s already out of surgery! The doctor said no obvious signs of cancer spread, but we won’t know for sure until lab results come back in two weeks. The surgery was able to be done laparoscopically, and they may even let her go home tonight.
Okay, you know, first on the priority list, I’m going to drink a bunch of three dollar beers. Some Yuenglings, maybe, none of this $12 for a pitcher of Bud Light New York bullshit. And I’m going to go to Giant Eagle and buy a pumpkin roll. I want to go to a park that’s not so fucking crowded it looks like a parking lot and for some reason everyone thinks that’s normal and enjoyable and actually nature. And I’m going to drive a CAR. And I’m going to see friends who I feel like have known me forever, and I’m going to see my family, and it’s going to be great.
Going to Costco while under the ravages of SAD is not particularly recommended. I went to buy family-size packages of starchy food for the three dinners I now find myself eating, and when I went in I couldn’t help but notice that the greeter smiled at everyone but me. This made me think of how I realized that sometimes friends hang out without me, and I started mentally cataloging every time this has ever happened to me in my entire lifetime in an effort to prove to myself that no one really likes me. While walking around the store I saw a girl with a stuffed animal, and it made me think of these cute baby animal pictures I looked at this morning to cheer myself up, and there was one of an orphaned pony whose best friend is a teddy bear, and the idea that this poor lonely pony’s best friend is an inanimate object was so bone-crushingly sad I started crying in the Costco. Then I bought a four-pound package of brie because even in that sort of desperate emotional state I can recognize a good value on cheese when I see it.
Living in New York City may have done something to you if you see someone laying on the subway platform who you are pretty sure may be dead, and you stand there and actually mentally debate what you should do:
‘Whoa, is that guy dead? No, he can’t be dead. Look at all these people around. Someone would have done something if he were dead.’ *stands there and unsuccessfully does the slow look around thing to try and catch someone else’s eye*
‘Everyone else sees this, right? Yeah, no. He can’t be dead. I think. *does a slow amble away, punctuated by occasional glances back, I guess in the hopes the guy gets up and does a jig or something*
(For the record, I told the booth attendant but did not attempt to touch the dead man myself.)
I suppose I’ve gained a reputation for being a bit of a misanthrope. But don’t feel bad.
There’s no one I hate more than me.
I think I need to call the doctor.