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.

ARGH: A Story About Forgiveness.

This morning, like most of my unemployed mornings, I woke up super late and watched Seinfeld for an hour while getting dressed and ready. While applying crap-tons of makeup onto my face, I thought about purchasing bus tickets to see the Vans in Boston, moving the black shirt I have sitting out in the dining room to the hamper, having breakfast at N&Wu, needing to text Lauren about dinner at some point, buying new liquid eyeliner, figuring out what NARS stands for if it stands for anything at all, finishing the last 527 pages of that Franzen book later, charging my laptop in case I decide to go to Hungarian, and for all you labor department people out there, finding a job because that is also very important, if not the most important of all the things that I need to be doing, yes--my brain is just full of thoughts on everything all-the-time-always-about-everything-all-the-time like nobody's business.
But then suddenly, breaking my usual routine, a smell... I was in the dining room when struck with a pungent, noxious stink. I checked the litter box but it was clearly clean and empty. I walked around sniffing the air, wondering, "where the fuck is that smell coming from?"

Like a hound dog I scampered all over the apartment determined to identify the source of the offensive odor. For a moment, I entertained the idea that it was a metaphorical manifestation of my unemployed uselessness. In an overly dramatic manner, the universe was trying to tell me that my lazy-ass lifestyle is deplorable. Then, I crept toward the hallway leading to the front door. Suddenly, there it was... next to my precious shoes... my precious, precious shoes...

Bio-terrorism!

I screamed for Josh to come "help" me clean it up--or if we are not speaking in code, "clean it up entirely". A LOT OF POOP!!! EW!!! I knew exactly who the culprit was, no doubt about it. Luna-cat is far too concerned with hygiene to ever do such a thing, but Sri-cat, well, Sri has a history of vile shenanigans. Without any signs of remorse, Sri watched me run around the apartment, my arms flailing with anger and repulsion (like those wacky advertising wind dancers in front of car dealerships). Perfectly aware of the limits to his intelligence, I lectured anyway. I was so mad! It was obvious that he was trying to poop inside my brown heels (Oh, Sri, you are a clever color-coordinating schemer) because both shoes had fallen over, most likely from his attempt at squatting on them. I have some baller detective skills.

Once I said everything I had to say and made all of the ridiculous groundless threats I had to make--"What's wrong with you? I'm going to put you out on the fire escape! How'd you like that? Why did you do this? Are you mad at me? ARGH! There are plenty of cats out there who would kill to live like you! I fed you a can of tuna in addition to dry food two nights ago! CHUNKY TUNA! Next time I am going to spray bottle you! SPRAY BOTTLE!!!"--I gathered my things in a rage and left. The walk to N&Wu calmed me down a bit. As I schlumped down Broardway, Sri was probably lounging in his usual spot behind the door in the bedroom without a clue that I was furious.
I suppose having a cat is a lot like having a kid. He does major-crazy-ballz things, but you suppress the urge to spray him with water from a squirt bottle, and instead, get some coffee, have some sympathy for his cluelessness, and move on because unemployment is short and 527 pages of Franzen is long.