In my youth I did truly believe August was the best month of the year to be in the city. And I guess that would make a way more interesting post.
The whole island clears out of grown-ups and the young idiots in their early twenties have their run of the place. They can walk into any trendy restaurant or show up to a 6:30pm SoulCycle without registering and they can go out all night because the bosses are all on Long Island and there is no need to wake up before mid-afternoon.
But Jesus, I am too old for this shit.
At the ripe age of 27, all of my friends have moved back to California (and the remaining 3 are in happy relationships and don’t count). The nights that were once full of surreal late night revelry with my cool ass crew are now nights when I lie alone on my floor on a pile of week old delivery containers saying “oh no oh God, how did this become my life.” My apartment this month is a literal garbage pit and I am desperately hoping this is relatable. If it’s not, someone please come rescue me from this pigsty and place me in some kind of assisted living home.
And ninety-nine degree days are no longer acceptable. There was a time that I was a self-proclaimed lover of the heat and all of the great things it did to my usually dry ass face. But I just spent July in California and I have seen the light, this soup outside is unacceptable. Plus I am getting to the age where wearing crop tops to the office seems a little desperate and it turns out that was the only thing keeping my organs from melting.
Maybe my biggest beef with August is that there is just not enough new TV to fill the gaping holes in my soul. That sounded way more dramatic than it really needed to but look, when you are old and tired like me you can’t go to the bars six nights a week and what else am I going to do with all of this August time, go to the gym every day? I got so bored over the weekend I almost adopted a tortoise (which would have been very noble, and is a thing everyone should do, but again, I am living in this trash heap and no reptile should be subjected to that).
And I know, I know, be a human and get some fucking work done. But it’s hard to be a human in New York! It is a city made up of partial humans. No one can do anything for themselves and that self sufficiency muscle starts to atrophy.
So I guess this is why people get their shit together and get fiancés and country houses and hobbies.
But at least I’m not in the Hamptons. Nothing, NOTHING is as bad as the Hamptons.