I checked last year’s post, and given the total neglect, I must have been unaware or, given the content of the post: drunk and/or high. November 17th is a pretty remarkable day. Hadn’t today been a Saturday, I probably would have taken the day off.
Day to day 4 years ago, I stranded at JFK, utterly alone and – yes – even a little scared, to meet New York City … to fall madly in love. A lot of people thought that it would be one of those holiday flings, where you spend days at the beach with that hot guy who dances the Conga in the Hotel bar at night and who entertains 60something women with morning aerobics in the pool, and where you cry a little when you have to say goodbye and go back to your normal life in your own country with work and without frozen margaritas’ at 9am, promising that you’ll stay in touch and you will never forget each other. Ever. Which would last about 1 letter back and forth (My summer fling days are pre-internet, people, give me a break!) But New York and I kinda hit it of big time, and although the long distance was pretty tough, I never stopped putting effort in this relationship, and then that kinda paid off. Tara! Call it determination.
most people my family my mom thinks I’m perpetually single, but my relationship with NY is the second longest that I had, so you can basically call me an expert in the field of anything long term, and if you never got beyond anything short term, I think you should come to me, and I’ll be happy to help you out with any advice. Prior to payment, obviously. If you have questions about dating assholes, scumbags, douchebags, boys who claim to be men but are actually still boys trapped in grown men’s bodies, comedians, stalkers, hipsters, Ryan Gosling wannabes and anything else that you don’t see on the list… read my book, I’ve met them all. (The trilogy coming to bookstores near you in 2018, but hopefully sooner).
Anywho. Yeah. I’m still in love with New York. The past 8 months have been crazy and I sometimes wish I could share all of my life here with you, but my mom actually reads every post and I wouldn’t want to shock and/or worry her. Or – since I actually tell her more than I write on here – I wouldn’t want to shock and/or worry ya’ll.
There be little physical celebration tonight. Because that would be impossible. Since there’s also no substitute around, I’ll just hang on my couch with the food that was brought to my door and catch up on Saturday Night Live episodes that I’ve missed.
And develop a Seth Meyers crush.
PS: The Republicans have not yet tried to kill me, but it’s most likely that Donald Trump will ask for proof sooner or later, so here it is.