We sadly bid Adieu(ces) to the U.S. Open, raspberries are $12, I’m terrified we’ll be remembered as the Venmo Generation, and, well, Summer is more or less over; but hey, without heartbreak, we’d suffer a very dull life with bad art and boring music. And why end it there? I mean who knows? Maybe Thomas Edison’s ex-girlfriend sent him down such a spiral he discovered electricity??! Diet Pepsi is the only song you should Citibike to. Banana Laffy Taffy is the greatest culinary invention and I am incomplete without Urban Decay’s purple eyeliner (as I might have mentioned once or twice).
Three years have passed since we were last bubbling with the final fizz of back-to-school effervescence and yet somehow the whispers of semester cadence still echo in the ether: the reverberating breeze of the class call brushes past the helix of our ears as crisp September refreshes our senses like an exhale of Orbit spearmint in December, howling in the wind, it calls us home, though we won’t be returning (except you grad students and teachers<3); will we ever outgrow the rhythm of the academic year we so fastidiously resented for robbing us of summer?!! Like witnessing an ex tightly clutching another girl’s hand walking in your direction, nostalgia never ceases to haunt or test us. The chalked lines separating appearance from reality, one’s imagination, and the bounds of the physical realm smudge into a smoke of sawdust. The Truman Show. We bleed just to know we’re alive. Pro tip: if he’s making you a playlist on Spotify, stop while you’re ahead. I blow the proverbial dust off my biker jacket and free the namely September-through-April staple out from its loosely sealed vacuum bag of shunned captivity. We all love(d) Brat Summer (rip) but I’m damn ready for tights, apple pies, Halloween cookies, Kamala’s victory (manifesting), holiday jingles, Xmas trees, Love Actually and the four months left of this election year. 2016 and 2020 were bad enough. 2024, pull through for us.
All by Myself….Really? I swear the driver purposefully mocked me given his looping song choice. He totally knows I genuinely can’t justify nor afford this UberX from work on the UES back home to Greenpoint. See, I had such a bad migraine that in my fragility I couldn’t bear the thought of persevering in the steaming crypt of the Subway’s hot boxing heat; as I rolled down the windows of the Toyota Highlander over the Queensboro bridge, I knew Celine Dion’s suffocating wailing sufficed as fair punishment, the charge had canceled itself out…it was basically free (girl math)…
Bye for now. More to come soon. Have a great week everyone <3
the vamps get it<3
After seeing that tiktok of a guy measuring the temp of NYC subway stations I honestly don’t know how you do it