makeover time

So here we are.

Everything you are doing is wrong. 

You are driving the wrong car. It is not as fun as a car can be. Or it is just not good enough. You need a new one. We are not giving you a new one. We are just telling you that you need a new one. And get a new bike, too, so you don’t have to drive your new car so much. You drive your car too much. Shame on you.

some people

So here we are.

Some people will do whatever it takes to get our attention.

beep

So here we are.

New York City apartment living is one of those things that people who do not live in New York City apartments somehow seem to know about, via sitcoms and movies and folklore. It’s expensive. It’s cramped. There are wacky neighbors across the hall. Peepholes and buzzers are involved. Leaks and peeping toms and thin walls. Nutty landlords, and uh oh, the rent is due. Really, that’s any apartment anywhere, not just in New York. But because of sitcoms and movies and folklore, when suburbanites think “apartment,” they think New York. 

But sitcoms and movies and folklore never capture everything. They rarely do. It’s just because sometimes things happen in apartments that are strange but mundane, annoying but not fascinating, eventful but not enough for a plot line.

con

So here we are.

Did you ever imagine a place so fabulous that you can’t get in unless you agree to spend shuckloads of money and leave your pride at the door and succumb to mob mentality? And even then you still might not be able to get in? 

Did you ever want to stand in line forever? Over and over again?

speaking of

So here we are.

Let’s see where a single thought takes us today:

exclamation point

So here we are.

It only makes sense on this Fourth of July, the summeriest day of the summer, to write about the fact that I am very concerned about my root beer’s self esteem.

Now, now. Calm down. I am fine. I am not hearing voices from my foodstuffs. The apple pie is not telling me to kill people. But I do think that my root beer needs to be bucked up.