Summer in the City

I’m living in the city this summer.  Normally, I go away to a distant place where trees exist and people go outside without a destination in mind: the countryside.  Honestly, the countryside is just a place for people who aren’t strong enough for the city.  As I always say, if you can’t handle the city, you should  get the hell out of the city.  However, you could also consider going somewhere a little quieter and more peaceful so that you can gather yourself and get back in the game.  I have faith in you.  I say that all the time.

Living in the city is actually pretty fun.  I’m living alone for half the summer and no, my house isn’t available for you to throw a “rager,” even if you offer to bring girls.  Actually, we’ll talk.  Anyway, living alone means that I’m independent, or, as I like to call it, a “big boy.”  I shop for my own food, go to the gym (see previous post) and, to be completely honest, wear nothing but my underwear 90% of the time I’m home.  I enjoy myself but that isn’t to say that it’s always easy and fun.

1.  I’m late to everything.  With no one to make me leave the house, I do things at my own pace, meaning an hour later than I originally planned.  I once left the house to get to my internship, only to return because I wanted to watch an episode of TV that I’d forgotten about.  It’s ok though.  I’m finessing my apology skills.

2. There is so much sweat everywhere.  For some reason, summer in the city is so much hotter than the countryside.  It could be because there’s eight million other hot people surrounding you but, whatever the cause, it’s miserable.  Every day, I come home with my shirt feeling like the Everglades.  Once, I got a text from someone asking to see me (happens all the time, no big deal, definitely not my mom) and I had to refuse because I felt like “a man who has just eaten a piping hot bowl of wanton soup and then decided that running a marathon through Death Valley while in a mobile sauna would be a sound idea and a terrific way to clear out his pores.”

3.  When I say that I cook my food, I really mean that I microwave it.  I refuse to buy anything from the grocery store that isn’t microwave-able.  I’m sure I have radiation poisoning already but the day someone actually sees me cooking will be the day that I share my secret scrapbook of topless Channing Tatum collages.

4.  There are so many tourists.  Look, I think tourists are great.  They inject New York’s economy with capital and keep me up to date on the new European fashions.  That said, I  hate them with a deep, fiery passion hotter than the city during the god-forsaken heat wave.  I’ve been a tourist every time I’ve visited a foreign country but there’s something about New York visitors that just allows me to feel no empathy.  They stop in the weirdest and worst places, take pictures in the oddest positions, and have a really terrifying obsession with three-quarter length pants and clogging up the whole sidewalk with their similarly clad family.  I just can’t handle it.

I hate this city.


About julian822

This blog is informal to say the least. It's almost like an online journal, filled with stories that I find funny, interesting things/links and anything else that comes to my mind. Enjoy.
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