On My Need For a Plan...

I wish I was one of those people that could just get up and go without thinking things through first.

You know, YOLO is still pretty popular these days.

But I'm not that type of person. I've certainly taken chances in life, but not without thinking it through first.

This is why I'm currently restless. I don't have a good plan for the next phase of life.

You know, you go through high school knowing that college comes next, and everything you're doing is to get yourself ready for and into college. By the time I hit my senior year of high school, I was so over it. Graduation couldn't come soon enough. The fact that I started looking for colleges during my sophomore year didn't help. But I needed to get my future planned!

Then you go through college, all the while trying to figure out what your career goals are. You know that once college is over, your plan is to get a job. Again, by senior year of college, I was completely checked out. It's probably a good thing I spent the second half of that year in New York City doing two simultaneous internships (talk about multitasking to get your mind off of things).

So then you get a job that allows you to do what you went to college for...and then what? How do you make yourself better from there? Do you take on second jobs to diversify yourself? How long do you stay with your job? How do you get the required skills and experience needed to move up in the world? When do I decide it's time to settle with what's in front of me?

WHAT IS THE NEXT GOAL.

For starters, my next goal is to get in the same city as the boyfriend. It will likely be a new city for both of us, which is pretty overwhelming. How do I figure this whole job thing out in a landscape I'm not familiar with? Is the job search going to be super terrible the second time around when it eventually comes about? What if I can't find anything?

In high school and college, I had answers for my future questions for the most part. Some people get excited by uncertainty, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't internally freaking out everyday about this. It's the kind of thing that keeps my mind going when I'm trying to go to sleep, and it's the thing that creeps into my brain during a run that can completely derail it.

Maybe I just need a hobby. Who's got a beer brewing kit?

An Open Letter to Destiny Hope...

Hey girl. Sup? How's the performance hangover treating you? You were on something, right?

I'll cut the crap, let's get down to business like you got down on Robin Thicke last night (what did Paula Patton think of that, by the way?). Being 20 is rough. Like the pop princess Britney Spears once said, "you're not a girl, not yet a woman," and you're just trying to find yourself. I'm four years out of that phase, and I couldn't be happier.

When you're 20 you're supposed to do stupid things. You're supposed to pull all nighters and pay for it the next morning. You're supposed to spend all your money on stupid things and sell your textbooks back in order to buy groceries (something I witnessed on a recruit trip, not something I did myself). You're supposed to experiment, knowing that the biggest consequence if you play your cards right are a few embarrassing photos on Facebook that you make your friends take down within 10 minutes of them going live (those jerks).

You've got it a little differently than the rest of us. You're famous. You have cameras in your face all the time. And they can't wait for you to really screw it up. I won't lie, I awaited last night's performance hoping for it to be a train wreck, and damn, you really pulled through on that one.

Because you have everyone watching you, it doesn't mean you can say, "Screw it, I'm just going to be crazy!" It means you have to be careful. I remember tons of little girls looking up to you as Hannah Montana, and they're probably still looking up to you as a role model. I know for a fact my niece will not be seeing what you did last night, because our family does not want her even jokingly imitating what you did. You're only twice her age.

I get it, you want to show the world you're different. I went through that when I was 16 and started shopping at Pac Sun, refusing to wear anything that wasn't Roxy/Element/etc and making jewelery out of safety pins. You were probably on tour when you were 16 and didn't have a chance to go shopping at Pac Sun and show the world who you really were.

You know what else I did when I was 16? I would say things like, "I don't care what anyone thinks about me, I'm going to continue wearing these jeans that haven't been washed all summer even if someone is offended by it" and "I don't have to listen to you, I'm an adult." When I look back at those times, I realize those moments are when I was most childish.

So here's a little bit of advice. A little bit of "What I Wish I Knew When I Was 20."

Put Your Tongue in Your Mouth
Ok, I didn't have this problem at your age. But I do have a face that's been deemed my "photo face." It's a goofy half smile that I do when I'm not sure what else to do in a picture. It's super unflattering. I've grown to hate most photos in which I'm doing it. Kind of like you sticking that Gene Simmons tongue out an alarming amount of times. No but really, honey, I wasn't bothered by it the first time you did it when you walked out of the bear, but then you did it at least 20 more times before you started "singing." Less is more.


Sexy Can Go Trashy Real Quick
When I was 20, I bought pleather pants. Yes, pleather pants from Rue 21 (because that was one of the few "fashionable" stores available in my small college town). I wore them once with a cute top to my friend's birthday party. I thought I tooooootally rocked the look. And then a close friend at the end of the night told me they didn't look good on me. At first, I chalked it up to him being jealous, but he was right. Don't get me wrong, you've got a slammin' bod that could probably pull off the pleather pants. In fact, I kinda wish you would wear pants more often. A leotard is called for on occassion, as well as some booty shorts, but let's make sure they fit properly (particularly if you're going to be "twerking") and let's not do it every damn day? We're all used to it now, and the only other thing that will shock us at this point is if you're straight up naked...which you almost were last night.

Respect Yourself
For me at age 20, I had about zero respect for my own body in that I always thought I was fat, constantly worked out, and didn't eat a lot. It was a great way to lose weight, and a great way for doctors to tell me I had to gain it back so I wouldn't get stress fractures. You know what it wasn't great for? Getting a boyfriend. Guys only bothered to get to know me because I was skinny, and I thought I had to maintain that image in order to get them to like me. That's no way to be. Just like how you, little missy, do NOT have to be vulgar in order to show you're different/tough/mature, or to get "respect." In fact, the way you acted with that foam finger last night was pretty much at the same maturity level as a bunch of adolescents sitting around making fart jokes. And come on, grinding up on a married man? I think you broke the heart of every feminist out there. Don't get me wrong, Mr. Thicke wasn't exactly pushing you away and deserves some of the blame. But with how young you look and how much older he is...you made us all really uncomfortable. I mean, your dad didn't even address it on Twitter. He decided to focus on Syria. He chose Syria over you.


Admit When You're Wrong
Us millennials have a reputation for placing the blame on others when we make a mistake. I know I used to make every excuse in the book for why I handed in homework late in high school. I was a pretty busy kid, but not THAT busy. Now that I'm an adult with a real job, when I screw up, I own up to it, and I find a way to make it right. I don't pull a Don Draper and say things like, "No, you do like this idea, you just don't know it yet." I don't blame someone else for something where I clearly dropped the ball. And I don't tweet out quotes from Rob Sheffield's review of the VMAs to say, "Hey look, everyone loved what I did." I'm sorry, but most people did not like what you did. The reason your performance was the most tweeted about thing was because people couldn't believe you were being so...gross. I personally didn't find the performance "shocking," I just found it disgusting. Women have come a long way from the image you portrayed last night, and it made me sad to think that the next generation could spend their time gyrating on strangers rather than finding a way to cure cancer. Can you at least give a quick, "I'm sorry if I offended anyone."? You did start an uproar, and I wouldn't call it good press, and ya gotta address it some time.

Lay Off the Drugs
I can't speak from first-hand experience on this one, but as a child who was "born in the wrong era," who would give any amount of money to see The Doors, The Beatles or Jimi Hendrix in their prime, I can say that drugs really don't help. I can't even suggest that you have a responsible amount of alcohol, because you're not 21. But look at the examples of the past. Most of these guys either lost their money, ended up looking haggard as hell before they were 50 (sup Keith Richards?) or died at 27. Do you really only want seven more years to say what you feel you need to say? Calm down. Drink responsibly when you legally can in a few months, and don't smoke pot or cigarettes because they're gross.

What I'm trying to say is, stop acting like the girl who shows up to the party completely intoxicated before anyone else has started drinking. We don't want to have to worry about you and check your pulse and make sure you're laying down on your side. We don't want to make sure you don't get too close to the fire pit or have to constantly get you in a chair that has a back rather than that stool you keep gravitating toward. You're 20 years old. You have soooo much potential. And you have an enormous audience before you. Don't waste this moment by trying to be "urban" and offending everyone in your tracks. Shock acts have very little shelf life, and we rarely have time for them anymore. Focus more on doing stuff like this:



And stop being "that girl."

Sincerely,
A girl who's four years older than you, and really doesn't want to see you under a 5150 hold when you've got a mother that's just like Amy Poehler in Mean Girls

On Song Lyrics...

I've been on a nostalgic music binge, lately.

There's this pretty awesome Twitter account called @YourAwayMessage that tweets examples of what you probably used as an away message back in high school when you lived on AOL Instant Messenger, aka, AIM.

I love it.

The girl who created the handle also made an excellent Spotify playlist with the songs we typically quoted and loved during those days. So that's what I've been listening to.

So I'm on the train home yesterday when Usher's "U Remind Me" comes across the playlist. I'm immediately transported to 2001, 12-years-old, 6th grade, middle school. I received his 8701 album for Christmas that year, and I played it pretty much all the time. That song, "U Got It Bad" and "U Don't Have To Call" were my jams.



I'm listening to the lyrics, and the situation goes a little something like this:

You remind me of a girl, that I once knew

See her face whenever I, I look at you

Aww, Usher! I look like someone you knew once? You're actually talking to me? ~*~swoon~*~

You wouldn't believe all of the things she put me through

That bitch, how dare she hurt you!

This is why I just can't get with you

Excuse me?

Am I the only one that thinks Usher is making some lame excuse not to commit? You can't "get" with me because I look like a girl that did you wrong? There's no way I look exactly like her. And you don't know me. YOU DON'T KNOW ME. Honestly, you're better off using the typical, "I'm just not looking for a girlfriend right now," excuse.

Guys, I used to sing every word of this song thinking Usher was hitting on me. Apparently I had some selective listening/interpretation skills.

This got me thinking, what other things have I missed in the songs that I loved? Let's take a look...

"Crash" by Dave Matthews Band

Obviously, when this song came out I pretty much knew all the words. Or at least I thought I did. Apparently I made some of them up? For example, let's look at one of the last parts of the song:

Hike up your skirt a little more, and show your world to me

Why was I going around singing, "Hack up your skirt, little boy"? And what did I think that meant? Why was this boy wearing a skirt? And why was he "hacking" it up? And why was I actually singing about a girl lifting up her skirt?

And what exactly does it mean to "crash" into someone? THINK ABOUT IT.

"The Sign" by Ace of Base

So this song was one of my favorites in maybe, kindergarten? This is what happens when you have two older sisters that you want to be JUST like. You listen to their music instead of the childrens' music you're supposed to enjoy.

When I first heard this song, I imagined the singer seeing an actual sign. Like, a billboard. That later evolved into seeing a peace sign in the sky because, you know, I was five and had a great imagination. To this day, I still think about the singer seeing a peace sign in the sky, and how it opened up her eyes. And then I actually listened to this song, and it's empowering?

I, I gotta new life

You would hardly recognize me, I'm so glad

How could a person like me care for you?

Why, why do I bother, when you're not the one for me?

Seriously, every hormonal teenage girl should heed the advice of this song. We've all seen the signs. He's a jerk. He's not returning your calls. He's flirting with other girls. Let the damn thing open up your eyes and move on with your life. Thanks, Ace of Base, for making this mantra so catchy.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something

I had not seen or heard of the film Breakfast at Tiffany's before hearing this song, so naturally I thought this band was referring to that one time they had breakfast at a place called Tiffany's diner. And then I learned that Tiffany's is a jewelery store and I thought, "Well that's stupid."

I have since seen this movie and consider it my favorite of all time. But let's look at the lyrics of this song:

You'll say that we've gotten nothin' in common, no common ground to start from

And we're falling apart

You'll say the world has come between us, our lives have come between us

Still I know you just don't care

And then that chorus we all love to shout...

And I said what about Breakfast at Tiffany's

She said I think I remember the film

And as I recall I think we both kind of liked it

And I said "well that's one thing we've got"

Dude, you are so pulling at straws here. First of all, you've already acknowledged the fact that she doesn't care, and she's clearly making excuses to break up with you. Let. It. Go. I know a lot of people who love Breakfast at Tiffany's just like me, but that actually means nothing to me, because I usually don't like the girls who love Breakfast at Tiffany's because they actually haven't seen it and just think they like Audrey Hepburn and all things glamorous. 

"Too Close" by Next

When I think of this song, I think of doing my homework in my old bedroom, windows open to let a warm breeze in as the school year is winding down. My little nine-year-old self had my radio on next to me and I bobbed my head as I sang...

Step back you're dancing kinda close

Feel a little poke comin' through, on you

Wow. WOW. Seriously, I had no idea what I was singing about, and then someone dropped some knowledge on me last year and I listened to the lyrics and thought, "Oh dear god, I was singing this before I hit double digits." I suppose I should've known when the chorus starts with...

Baby when we're grinding, I get so excited

Ooh, how I like it, I try but I can't fight it

In my defense, we hadn't learned about such things in health class yet.

That's all I've got for now. I'm glad I still managed to grow into a somewhat normal adult after all these subliminal messages were pushed on me through my radio, but really, I wouldn't have it any other way.

 

On What Goes Through My Mind On a Daily Basis...

Throughout my formative years I was known as the kid that would go with the flow. My parents could tell me to get in the car and I would just do it, no questions asked, no trouble caused. My friends would decide what we were going to do on a play date, and if I didn't agree with it, I usually just went home without causing a scene.

And then I think high school hit me along with (probably) hormones and my calm, cool, collected mindset disappeared.

Don't get me wrong, I put up a pretty calm front most of the time. And it's usually very genuine. But when something gets under my skin, I maintain that front and internalize all the stabby feelings I have, and it's probably not good for me. My blood pressure goes up, my hands get cold. My breathing gets shallow.

No place has been able to do this to me more than New York City. Within the first few months of moving here, I thought I needed to see a doctor because I kept getting really lightheaded and dizzy. And then I realized that this place was giving me anxiety and that it went against social mores to confront those who were making me crazy.

So let's take a trip inside my head on a regular day...

Like today. Get on the subway. I'm wearing high-heeled boots, carrying two bags and an umbrella. At the first stop, a seat opens up. I don't normally take a seat (because sitting is killing us all...and it's what I'm doing now), but I should've known the boots would be an issue, and so I took it. It was an old school F train that has some forward-facing seats, so I took one next to a window to avoid being the person that takes the aisle seat and refuses to move in. I thought I was doing the world a service. And then an oblivious older (but not old) woman sits next to me. Puts one purse on her lap, puts her iced coffee between her legs, plops her other (open) bag between us...when there really isn't any room between us (really, Bloomberg, the width of the subway seats is enough to discourage us from drinking soda and being obese), and that's when the instant anger hit me.

I hate when other people or their stuff is touching me when it doesn't need to be. Like, feeling it on me seriously infuriates me. It's the worst if it's their hair (disgusting), but just them or their stuff does the trick, too. So this woman's bag is all up on me. I try moving over more, but I can only go so far over without clinging to the wall of the car and getting my legs all up on the person in front of me (who was minding her own business and not putting her crap all over someone). So I did what any typical New Yorker does. I shook my head. I glared. I gave out a loud sigh. Nothing.

I thought for sure she would eventually move the bag because, common sense, yeah? No. Some people are actually just that oblivious. She got on one stop after me, and got off one stop before I did. And I was furious the entire time.

The anger built up inside me to the point where I actually thought I might say something. But when you say something, suddenly you're the asshole. I couldn't be like, "You know it's really rude to put your bag on someone," because god only knows what scene she would've caused. She practically caused a scene getting off the train as she poorly carried her open bags that were begging for a pickpocket. And why were her bags all over the place? So she could read The New York Post. Hey guess what, I was reading a book (getting more than anyone will ever get from the Post) and was able to put both of my big bags on the ground AND prevent my umbrella from injuring anyone. NO EXCUSES.

During my lunch break, my lunch buddy and I hung out at the fountain at Lincoln Center. This was probably the most calming moment of my day. Water has always been something that completely mellows me out. I closed my eyes (because I was trying to look at the top of the water and the sun was blinding me) and the sound made me want to be at the ocean. I can't tell you the last time I was at the ocean. Oh wait, I can. It was 2010 with my college field hockey team in Bermuda. It was a great trip that I can't stand seeing pictures of because I wasn't all that field-hockey-ready and someone decided it would be a great idea to take a team picture in bathing suits. Jerk.

Actually taking in something like this in New York makes me think, "this place isn't so bad." And then I go back to my desk and check my bank account and go, "LOLYEAHRIGHT."

I guess I can give it some credit for being a free attraction. Some kids wanted to go in it too, which would've then provided free entertainment.

After work, it was time for a five mile run in Central Park. I dread my run all day, and then I change into my workout clothes (aka my badass look) and suddenly I'm ready to go.

And then I get to Central Park and the frustration sets in again. As a runner, I realize I need to share the road with cyclists and walkers. But they also need to share the road with me. Don't bike in the run/walk lane when there's a wide bike lane right next to you. Don't go speeding through the narrow bike lanes due to the addition of car lanes (what??? Yeah, it's a thing. Ugh.) and then slalom into my lane as if to scare me. You'll get the arms-spread WHAT?! look and make me run faster when I shouldn't be. If you're walking at a leisurely pace and not for exercise, it's probably a better idea to use the walking path that's right next to the run/walk path, because no one is moving fast on those. You know, let's be smart. C'mon.

And for the love of god, don't just stop dead in front of me. And if the crosswalk doesn't say you can cross, and I'm running through it, don't play chicken with me. I know my rights and my right-of-ways, jerk. And there are run/walk, bike and car lanes in the park. I don't see any skateboard or rollerblade lanes. This isn't the '90s. And you're all going too fast! Oh, you want to go around the reservoir? Too bad, bikes aren't allowed, and there's not enough room for them, plus there's so much dirt on that path it's like running on the beach. You wouldn't bike on the beach, would you? And that sign? It says you have to go around the reservoir counterclockwise. You know, because it's narrow and we allow tourists and walkers up here and us runners need to pass them because TIME MATTERS DAMMIT. And don't take forever to take a picture here, because I'm gonna run through it.

And seriously, if you cut me off as I get to the top of the hill, I will contemplate tripping you or calling you a name, but I probably won't actually do it because I'm not wearing a bullet-proof vest, and I'm too tired to use any self-defense skills on you.

Guys, I would make such an awesome Central Park ranger.

So then my run is over, and I'm in much better spirits as calories have been thoroughly burned. I get back to the office and feel like a superstar and pick up my stuff. And then I get on the subway again, sweating like a pig, because there isn't any A/C on the subway platforms. Seriously, Bloomberg, this would be more important than a soda ban. Get your act together, sir.

I get on the train and refuse to take a seat this time around because I'm considerate. I'm literally dripping sweat despite how much I've attempted to dry off, and despite the fact that I've changed out of my running shirt, and I don't want to get the seats sweaty for other passengers. I mean, I would be pissed if I saw someone doing this.

I take my usual standing area by the door that's opposite the side that will open the most. The train isn't too packed, and there's plenty of other standing areas. Yet a woman decides that right next to me is the best place to stand. Not even against the poles on the other side of the door, but right next to me. At this point I can't feel bad. She's the one who has to smell my sweaty self. And I know I smell bad, because one time after field hockey practice, my mom picked me up with my then 3ish-year-old niece in the car and she said, "Auntie B, you stink." Kids don't lie. So I can't really care if this woman smells me at this point, but I can be annoyed that's she's within a foot of my personal space.

The rest of the ride is uneventful as the woman, luckily, gets off at the next stop. I get home, take a shower, then get to my laundry that needs to be done. One good thing about training for a race? It forces me to do laundry more than once a month, since I run out of running clothes after a week.

I get down to the laundry room in my building and all the machines are being used. But they all only have about 10 minutes left, so I decide to wait and play on my phone. I get caught up on all the games I've neglected for weeks, because I'm the worst person ever to start an app-based game with. One washer finishes, and no one is there to empty it.

Ever since college where if you weren't there to get your stuff within five minutes someone would leave it out for the world to see, I make sure I get to my washers and dryers at least five minutes before their cycles are done. Apparently I'm alone in this thinking, because three more washers finished, and no one was there to get their stuff.

I think the college shaming of touching someone else's laundry (a task that always skeeved me out and I only did once and got caught doing. oops.) is probably inappropriate in the adult world, so I sat there fuming at someone thinking they're the only person who needs the laundry room on a Monday night. Don't do this to me, person. Mondays are usually my golden laundry days. I think about how I'm going to say, "Hey jerk, I was waiting here for 15 MINUTES, which is practically a year for a millennial like myself. WHERE. WERE. YOU."

And then a little middle aged woman came skittering in, apologizing for not getting there sooner, and of course I donned the sweetest smile I could muster and said, "It's ok, it happens!"

[via tumblr]

Not to me it doesn't. That woman used four washers and commandeered the laundry room as her own folding factory. I could never live in an apartment complex without my own washer and dryer if I have enough people living with me that I need to use four washers.

Thank god for cats as therapeutic animals, otherwise I would've blown a gasket by now in this city. How can you not be stoked to come home to this:

[Budstah Malone]

So those are the thoughts that go on in my head during the day. It's not a pretty place to be. It's pretty exhausting, actually. But it's also something I can't help, and it's the reason I sometimes get lightheaded and stop breathing regularly. So if you're ever around me when this happens, help a sister out and get some chocolate or an iced drink or something to me, stat. Thanks?

On Killing the Job...

During the summers before my sophomore and junior years of college, I had the best job ever. I worked for my high school's tech department, working on computers, uploading software and prepping new laptops for teachers. Sounds boring, right? No. There was a lot of waiting involved, so I played DJ with Pandora radio stations, colored pictures and did crossword puzzles. And I was paid for this.

But it didn't start out this easy. The first few days I was there I finished every single assignment given to me - in record time - and then had nothing to do. Or I would be given a terrible job that no one wanted to do. So one of the guys I worked with told me I was doing great, but I was killing the job. And if I kept this up they wouldn't have anything for me to do all summer.

I've been killing jobs since I became an overachiever in pre-school and could read before anyone else in my class. It's just kind of what I do. It probably has something to do with the fact that my mind is always on the future and the tasks in front of me are just obstacles preventing me from getting there. Or maybe it's because the jobs I kill are things I don't want to do and want out of the way ASAP.

For example, I killed two of my runs last week. Granted, they were fueled by frustration and stress, but I managed to run four and five miles well under a 9 minute pace. What?

I really just wanted those runs to be over so that I could go home and veg and not think about anything. But in killing those runs, my legs were dead for the rest of the week, and then I could barely finish out my required training miles. Lame.

Binge watching has also allowed me to kill many a job. Like when I finished House of Cards in less than a week. Then followed that up by finishing Orange is the New Black in less than a week. And then I had nothing to watch (everyone keeps telling me to try Breaking Bad again, but we'll see).

[via thatscarolyn.tumblr.com]

And then I killed the job when I finished the last quarter of Bioshock Infinite in one night, and then cried because I was overwhelmed with the ending, the game being over and suddenly having free nights to socialize.

[image via forbes.com]

Guys, I was born to kill a job. Pretty much the only jobs I can't kill involve writing, because if I did that they would turn out terribly.

The result are weekends like this past one where I do pretty much nothing. Where I want to do something (preferably that doesn't involve money) but I can't think of what I want to do.


So now it's time to start a new project. I've got about seven books waiting to be read. I've started learning HTML. I'm still training for a half marathon (and some weeks are better than others). I've been given other games to play. Oh yeah, and I have a vacation to sort of plan :)

Which job am I gonna kill first?

On Making Plans in the City...

If you're an avid Buzzfeed reader as I am, you may have seen this:

The 16 Stages of Canceling Plans

I'll admit I'm pretty guilty of doing this, but it wasn't until I moved to the city that I even started doing so. When I lived at home I had a car and I loved driving, so plans were a great thing to have, particularly if I got to drive into the city of Buffalo and show off my parallel parking skills (no but really, I was really good at it). It usually only took about 20 minutes to get anywhere and I was always up for whatever.

And then I moved to the city where the train dictates how quickly I can get anywhere. And everything seems to take place in Manhattan and I live in Queens.

For example, tonight I'm going to a show in Manhattan that's about 11 miles away if you were to drive. It will take 45 minutes to get there by train. I could drive from Buffalo almost all the way to Rochester in that time. But I'm not going to cancel these plans because I said I would go and want to support my friend.

But if I had made plans myself today to go to the Met or try a new Frozen S'more from Dominique Ansel, I would've instead said, "nope!" and continued to watch Orange is the New Black on my couch. That's a recurring theme: me watching TV on my couch.

Seriously though, if you get sucked into House of Cards or Orange is the New Black, say goodbye to every plan you've made for the week. Thirteen hour-long episodes will probably only take you a week to finish, don't worry.

When plans get canceled, ordering in also happens. Normally this involves me eating a lot of french fries or pizza, and sometimes Thai food, but today I played it healthy and ordered from Ripe Juice Bar. I also got a free juice from there (actual juice made from extracting the juice from fruits without any added sugar) thanks to GrubHub's yummy rummy.

I digress.

Living in New York has made canceling plans so much easier, and gives me great excuses for not saying "yes" to plans in the first place. "Oh yeah I would totally go but, you know, I live in Queens and the F train is just TERRIBLE at that time." "Oh you live along the G train? Sorry, it's currently not going all the way to Queens so I just can't."

New York makes it soooo easy to be lazy. Granted, it also makes it easy to be active given how much walking you generally do here, but overall it makes it easier to be lazy. Because you would rather stay home than deal with the train or pay money for anything.

All this being said, I have to go get ready.