Summertime Adventures

 

Much has happened in the last few months. I learned that my armpits are all screwy and that one perspires more than the other (the left). I learned that pelicans are able to thrive in business parks. I learned that I should not wear high wedges while walking down a steep slope. Declivity is a game reserved only for the advanced perambulator. Central Park has poison ivy. Poison ivy is disgusting--especially if you had my reaction (fluid bubbles!). Cats do not enjoy long car rides.

However, it is important to note that I have moved to Boston. You might be thinking, "didn't she do that already?" The answer is, "sort of," but this time I mean it for realz. I have officially moved to Boston. I got rid of my old studio in the North End and finally moved all of my New York things into a real grown-up apartment with my manfriend and cats.

I felt emotions. Ugh, so many stupid emotions were felt on the day I left--a gallimaufry of inner-happenings: sadness, ambivalence, happiness?, thorns, confusion, stress, warmth (super hot that day), anticipation, dread, hunger... I don't know. At first it felt like I was making a mistake. I was leaving my friends, home, neighborhood, security guard, supermarkets, beloved house-helper, restaurants, bars, subway rats, 24-hour public transit, dog crap-smeared sidewalks, crosswalks that do not require pedestrians to push stupid buttons, Harlem miniature trash tornadoes... so many things! But when we drove up to our new home, Bostonian friends were there to greet us and carry all of our heavy stuff up to the apartment. Some of the Bostonian friends did not even live in Boston but Buffalo! Nothing demonstrates love more than voluntary manual labor. Nice work, New York and Boston Teams! I love all of you too!  I felt much better.

After the moved I immediately flew to California for one of my best friend's wedding. I was a bridesmaid (and soon my cats will have shiny new vests fashioned from a dress that looked great on camera... just kidding, Monique). In addition to wedding festivities, I got to visit dear friends (HI VANS!) and hang out with fabulous cousins. Although the overall California climate disagrees with me, there is place that melts my heart--in a good way. A place where the air smells like churros, nacho cheese, and Crocs plastic. A place where a person can show off hand-crafted family-matching T-shirts. A place where animals wear clothes and do not have disgusting butt-holes. A place where nature is carefully landscaped. A place where waffles are made in the shape of rodent heads--and you can eat as much of it as you want! A place where you can buy a bucket of popcorn. A BUCKET.

Toward the end of my trip, study buddy Olivia flew in for some fun! 

We lost...

but won in quality friendship time.

When I got back to Boston it was time for another wedding, so we drove to New York to pick up three friends--Kavita, Celeste, and Marcus--and headed out to Washington D.C. On the way to D.C. we stopped in New Jersey for lunch, prom jewelry, and lady socks. Aside from my friend John and his wife, New Jersey has little to offer. Correction--not only does Jersey have little to offer it TAKES. New Jersey is the land of poor city planning (what the hell is wrong with all of the roads?), suburbs, those orange people from the TV, sneaky behavior, and thievery. While paying a visit to one of Jersey's many shopping malls, a little panda-eating fart nugget that fell out of one of Jersey's poop ducts and his mother stole one of our friends' super important camera!

To make matters worse, the imbeciles that "secure" the mall were all like "uh, whatever, our job is to eat boogers... so... your business is out of our jurisdiction or whatever... whatever... I can blow thick Jolly Ranchers spit bubbles while watching Maury at the same time! That's how I got this job. What were you looking for again?" The gormless security idiots left us with few options... so we took justice into our own hands. Unfortunately, it resulted in Celeste harassing random people with fat children.

I suppose I covered the highlights for this summer so far...

Oh, I recently turned...

Yup.

What have I been doing?!

My 25th birthday is coming up this Tuesday, as most people might know from of my constant reminders and messages and emails and texts, and now, this post. A whole quarter-century has passed and what the flip have I done?

Ugh, twenty-five, that is an actual grown-up age. When I was a kid I thought by 25 I would be working as a glamorous pharmacist, married to either Freddie Prinze Jr. or Prince William or Jonathan Taylor Thomas, and buying stuff with my own money, like land and patio furniture and a laserdisc player and the Spice Girls album and corduroy overalls. I also dreamt of purchasing an old power plant and living in it because I had so much money I needed to be humbled... JTT and I would sew our own clothes and I would say stuff like, "did you bring home coal from the coal forest to heat our stove for dinner?" Whatever.

Our neighbor's tortoise used to get lost in our front yard... tortoises live longer than people. I don't know exactly which species of tortoises, but there are definitely certain kinds out there that can outlive humans--up to probably 150 years or something. Our neighbor's tortoise was probably not one of these super tortoises, and if it were--it was too adventurous, so it's most likely dead now--or lost, or soup, who knows. I think many people, particularly Josh, Kyle, and Radim, have heard this complaint. It makes me sad that I cannot live as long as tortoises. Tortoises are not worthy of such long lives! Death is--oh my god, Sri (the cat) is trying to dig a cheese puff out of my loafer, so cute!--death is going to happen one day and it makes me sad that I have already spent 25 years of my life. If I am lucky, I will live up to 95... or up to whenever I completely lose control of my bowel movements, which will probably be around 90 or 95. However, there are crap loads of things that can kill me before old-age.

AND to make matters worst, I do not have an afterlife or a religion to calm my nerves (disclaimer: this is not an invitation to convert me, people). It is straight into the ground after all this! Crap! I refuse to be compost! Something about becoming 25 is really making me think about my own mortality. Some people will argue that I am being ridiculous and that 25 is not old... well, I am not saying that 25 is old, jerks. I am saying that it is the beginning of adulthood (none of this 18 year-old business, no one is an adult at 18 or 21! That's nuts!) and adulthood leads into geriatricism, which leads to death. Major companies now agree that I have gathered enough sapience and real-world experience to rent a car... a whole flippin' car... a machine as big as a rhinoceros. People trust me with rhinoceroses!

 Well, on that note, I look forward to my birthday party Tuesday. And if I have not said it enough... there is going to be

a pinata to distract me from the fact that I am getting old and will die in 70 years if I am lucky enough to avoid assassination, disease, freak accidents, and dangerous animals/insects.