I’ve decided that this is the year I stop dragging my heels into summer and just steer into the skid.
This is my first summer in New York, and it’s every bit as disgusting as I expected. Everywhere smells like dog piss and Disneyland; I’m sweating buckets; my hair looks like shit; my sandaled feet are getting covered with trash; I found a two-inch roach crawling on my in bed last week.
And there is no fighting it. So I’ve decided to stop struggling.
I came home to find my roommate in an Aloha shirt. “It’s like we’re in a tropical paradise, only terrible,” he said.
“There’s something special about a New York summer,” my boyfriend said. “It’s kind of inspiring to watch an entire city try so hard to make the best of it.”
The three of us stayed up dancing in our living room until two.
So that’s it. If I can’t win I’m going to lose like a champion. I’m going to get a damn haircut. I’m going to keep my freezer stocked with popsicles. I’m going to go out and have a good time. I’m going to wear t-shirts with the sleeves cut off. I’m going to play catch in the park. I’m going to drink more Arnold Palmers than Arnold Palmer. I’m going to sweat it out instead of trying to stay cool.
I’M GOING TO GIVE IN, AND IT’S GOING TO BE GREAT.