it's not you...

...it’s the absolutely absurd text you sent me.

So actually it’s pretty much you.

Texting. One of my favorite things. It gives me the ability to keep in touch with all of my friends all over the country. It gives me something to do so I can avoid eye contact with weirdos on the bus. It’s so hot right now.

Lately a weird phenomenon has been happening to me. There have been a series of boys who have just absolutely BLOWN IT via text. This post might make me seem like a bitch, but let’s all be real: I’ve never been described as too nice. No, I don’t think I’m a bitch, but there are certain things that annoy me and once I have been annoyed I don’t like to deal with such things anymore. I’m human. I have pet peeves. These are my own opinions, and I’m not apologizing for them. Whatever.

Anyways, I wanted to share a few examples of this, and maybe they can serve as a what NOT to do guide. Or get a laugh, at least.

The first one I honestly feel kind of bad about now because in comparison to the last one it is nothing. However, my close friends will know that there was no way I could handle someone like this.

This kid had asked me for drinks. Why not, I thought. I might as well go. I love drinks. We were texting, and this kid had a peppier than normal tone. Like, I’m talking a BUNCH of emoticons. People who know me know that I pretty much hate emoticons. (Emojis are a different story. Emojis rule.) But, too many smiley faces…or a GOD FORSAKEN winky face and you’re gonna weird me out. It’s just not a thing I like.  (There’s a time and place for them…I am not outlawing them all together.)

So, this kid was already skating on thin ice due to excessive smiley use when we discussed his weekend. He had gone to a wedding. I asked how it was and he replied,

“It was a blasty blast!”

I think I audibly gasped. I hated it. I hated it so so much. I wanted to smash my phone I hated it so much. It kind of made my blood boil. Maybe I’m a psycho. I’m sounding like a psycho but BLASTY BLAST?!?!!? I just couldn’t picture myself with someone with that vocabulary. He seemed like someone who skips down the street. Someone who may have been or would be interested in being a puppeteer. Someone who would call me at 9am on a Saturday with a sing-songy “gooOOOdddDddd MOooORnNNning!!!!”

I hated it all. I didn’t talk to him again. It’s not even his fault, but he wouldn’t have liked me either. I guess you could say I’m not the “blasty-blast” type.

Next: the background on this one is that I run a Roommate Mixer for my current job as a community manager at a start up. Every week I host these events, and I text everyone beforehand to remind them, answer any questions, etc. I’m like Challen from Grouper.

The event was going well, and there was a kid there who had been chatting me up. Keep in mind: it’s my job to be chatting. At the end of the night, in front of everyone mind you, this kid says “So, I seem to be the only one here who doesn’t have your number.”

It was clever, I’ll hand it to him, but I wasn’t interested. But then I looked around and there I was, in front of the ENTIRE MIXER. I swear, it was as if the music was turned off and there had been no sound BUT him asking me that. Everyone had turned to look at us. It was like being proposed to on Good Morning America or some shit. I laughed. I laughed too hard. It sounded awkward and aggressive. My cackle reverberated through the room and then the silence settled again. I had no choice. I had to give it to him.

He texted me that night saying something along the lines of “A northeasterner, eh? Shoulda known. We should hang out some time.”

I didn’t understand where that text came from, and I didn’t answer. What does that mean "should have known?" It’s not like I had a thick Boston accent, was eating a boiled Maine lobster, and had a Cuffy’s sweatshirt on. Regardless, I had kind of been forced to give out my number so I wasn’t going to reply and lead him on. The next day he double texts:

“Hey, I would love to hang out with yah some time. Would really like to get to know yah.”

Don’t even get me started on the “yah”s. I hated it. I hated it all. Even if you pronounce you as “yah,” you do not need to put it that way in a text. My Boston-y accent dad doesn’t text me that he’s eating “tuner on a piter, ” he texts that he is eating tuna on a pita. I did not reply.

Day three, the worst one.

“Hey, I’m hosting a meetup this week. You should come. Would love to see your ass out there.”

EXCUSE ME? My ass? Please don’t talk about my ass. Not only do I not know you, I haven’t answered any of your texts. What would make you think I would respond to that? I’M A LADY, YOU KNOW. A lady. A lady with a nice ass (San Francisco hills, ya’ll) but, its too soon, random kid I don’t even know the name of.

By this point I had pretty much given up on texting boys. It seemed like all of them were weird whether it be excessive emoticon use, or absurd attempts at expressing an accent through text and coupling it with discussing the ass of a stranger.

But all of those would prove to be nothing. NOTHING. Compared to the grand finale.

I met this kid at another one of my mixers. Didn’t talk to him a ton, but my friends and his friends were hanging out all night and numbers were exchanged to try to make plans for a Halloween party.

A couple days later this kid texts me when I’m actually so hungover it’s affecting my motor skills. He seemed nice. The conversation was flowing quite well despite my occasional nonsensical texts because I was literally struggling to function as a human being.

We chat pretty much all day, and then he asks me if I want to get drinks during the week. I decide, sure, why not? This kid seems cool. Seems normal. He hasn’t overused emoticons. (A few uses in the right situation. He was passing the test.) He wasn’t discussing my ass, which was nice and normal.

So then I ask, “Where do you work again?” so we can figure out where we can get drinks. I’m actually going to go through with this.

But then it happens.

The text back reads:

“I’m in real estate investment, so I works where I want to n*gga”

UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

First of all, he hadn’t edited it.

Second of all, WHAT THE Z ARE YOU THINKING? What the Z are you TALKING ABOUT? What the z-ing z!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?

I literally gasped. I screenshot it and sent it to all of my friends. Same reaction. Horror.

But seriously, are you kidding?

This kid is a white kid. I am a white kid. What are you thinking using a racial slur in a text to me? More than that, what are you thinking using a racial slur in general?

I just met you. If you thought it was a funny joke, you don’t know me well enough to try to do that. Oh and p.s, I don’t think it’s a funny joke. I think you sound like a z-ing tool. I think you sound like an ignorant asshole. I think you sound like an idiot.

And I’m never talking to you again.

P.s It also annoyed me that he said “works.” But, in the scheme of things, that was nothing.

So, yah, I iced this kid. I just didn’t even feel like dealing with it. I already knew I wasn’t going to be compatible with a kid who throws out racial slurs in a first text message conversation. I don’t care if there was an explanation for it, because honestly, in my eyes, there isn’t an explanation that I would agree with.

This was a straight up dealbreaker.

An update is he asked our mutual friend what “my deal is,” tried to get me to come out a few other times, but the damage was done. I’m not interested. I’m super not interested.

I’m sure I seem like a cold hard texting-snob bitch….but the truth is I knew I wasn’t going to be compatible with these dudes. I'm saving all of us a lot of time. Sure, I'm sort of putting them on blast(-y blast, HAHAAAAA) here, but, this is my life, and it's much more fun when I get to share it with people.

The first one was just too damn peppy. I can be peppy, but never in a blasty-blast type way. It saved both of us. I would have hated him for being basically Buddy the Elf, and he would have thought I was Wednesday Addams.

The second dude was just a mess. Don’t try to type in an accent. It’s weird. Please don’t speak about my ass. It’s super weird.

The third guy…I mean, enough said. I can’t vibe with a guy who uses racial slurs. I can only assume it’s a word that is pretty entrenched in his vocabulary, and that’s just not my style.

As a person who loves texting: I do put a lot of weight on it. You can learn a lot about a person by what they text you…because it’s not a spur of the moment decision. You typed it out, looked at it, and pressed send.

Point is: I know I’m going to find someone who would laugh at blasty-blast, only speak about my ass when we have a good enough friendship to do so, and wouldn’t use a racial slur around me (or around anyone for that matter.) I really don’t think that is that hard to ask. And if it is, well then…

Challenge accepted.

xo, tay

an open letter to

Everyone on Craigslist who isn’t replying to me,

I don’t want to say I’m the perfect roommate.

But.

Like.

I’m the perfect roommate.

Sure, I may spend a, some would say excessive amount of time in large men’s sweatpants when I’m hanging around the house. But, honestly, that only makes you look better, right?

Also, I would totally wait like, a month to take those bad boys out. I’m going to show you that I have the capability of dressing normally while chilling at home until we establish a mutual understanding that I CHOOSE to look this way sometimes despite the capability of being pretty. This is an interesting and exciting part about me.

And, yah, I might be a crazy person about the ice trays in the freezer. But, I like ice in my wine, okay? I also like iced water. I’m sure you like ice occasionally and I’m just making sure that we don’t have that horrible moment where there is no ice when we really need ice. It doesn’t just freeze right away, you know? It’s a horrible, horrible pang of regret that I’m saving you from.

I also really like wine, and wine will make me really like you.

And, whatever, I’m 24 and I occasionally listen to One Direction. Sue me! I’ll play it with headphones in, okay? Or you could just give them a chance you know…I mean they are really talented young men., and some of the lyrics are really…. I’ll wear headphones.

Did you know I CLEAN when I procrastinate?? Oh you don’t? Because you won’t talk to me???? Well. I do. I find doing the dishes therapeutic. I find putting them in the dishwasher even more mind opening and soothing. (FYI this applies to the kitchen and pretty much the kitchen only. My room can occasionally fall to shambles, but, like, don’t worry about it.) I always take care of shared spaces.

I also cook. People like to knock me on the fact that they think I don’t, but they couldn’t be more wrong. I’m just really lucky that my last couple roommates have been excellent cooks that have cooked for me and I mean if they wanna cook me delicious meals who am I to step in amirite? I can cook though, and I will. Pinterest is my cookbook and I have a lottttttt of things pinned that are yet to be devoured. So, BON APPETIT, bitches!

Also, I’m the least passive aggressive person on earth. That’s a good thing. If you’re being a bitch I’m going to tell you and we’re going to have a nice chat about it. If I’m being a bitch I want you to tell me. If you’re passive aggressive with me I’m going to ask you “what did you mean, specifically, when you said that?” and we’re going to have a nice little chat about it. You’ll find I don’t like drama. It’s because I find it exhausting, and I don’t like being exhausted.

I love TV. You have to love TV, right? What should we watch? I’ll literally watch everything. I’m currently really into Investigation Discovery and Big Brother, but seriously, let’s watch some TV together. I think you’ll be really excited by my commentary on Breaking Amish: LA. It’s fascinating. Also, I’ll try not to talk during movies. I know you haven’t seen it either, but why would that girl go into that room when she just saw a ghost??? I have to ask.

I’ll also edit stuff for you. I write. It’s what I do. I’ll help you write emails, thank you notes, text messages to the opposite sex.

I’ll drink wine with you to celebrate something. I’ll bitch with you when you’re pissed off, and hell yah I’ll give that girl a dirty look. Oh you KNOW I’ll flip off that loser who never called you back, and I’ll pour even more wine if you need to cry. I’ll be your wingwoman.

For the boys: I’ll be your wingwoman. I’ll buy you beer if you’re having a rough one, watch sports with you (provided you explain some things to me,) cook you the occasional meal, and hell yah I’ll give that girl a dirty look.

I’m going to be your roommate and your friend. And I’m a really good friend, okay. I have references for this kind of stuff.

But why aren’t you answering me? Why do you hate me? Why are you not only picking me last for the kickball team…you literally aren’t picking me at all. I don’t even get to try out. I’m really good at kickball by the way. I have an almost terrifying competitive drive at all of those things.

Is it my Facebook? Should I not lead with that? Is my sense of humor not coming out in this? Am I appearing more like the crazy “Don’t ever leave me cause I’ll finddddd you” girl in Wedding Crashers?? (P.s I haven’t seen that in a while let’s watch that.) Because I’m not that girl! I’m actually really normal. Sometimes I wonder if I can get boring when I want to stay in on a Friday night but then I remember I went to happy hour the night before and I feel like I’m kind of somewhere in the good gray area.

But yah.

I don’t want to say I’m the perfect roommate…but I’m kind of the perfect roommate.

So, let’s get a drink and talk about it. I'll get this round, you get the next. We're gonna get at least two rounds right? If the answer is no, then, actually, maybe this won't work out?

But seriously.

Pick me, choose me, live with me.

xoxo tay

i'm sore.

I’m sore all the time. Literally all of the time.

These hills are a bitch, man.

I haven’t been shy about the fact that this moving around the world for a year thing has taken a significant toll on my work out regimen. I say work out regimen as if I had one and it was interrupted.  In actuality, moving around pretty much took my disdain for working out and gave me a 9 month excuse to ignore it. (Real talk though I can’t join a gym for 10 weeks and do I look like a person that runs outside for fun LOL)

Truth be told I have always LOATHED working out. It’s really a shame. I HATE running. My high school lacrosse coach called me “Wheels” because it appeared like I magically put on wheels for lacrosse games because I NEVER ran during practice.

Sorry I don’t see the need to exert myself unless I can win something. I was kind of psychotically competitive like that in the sense that during the game I was like Superman and any other time I was like Clark Kent if Clark Kent had an affinity for the couch, tv, and wine.

These aren’t qualities to brag about, by the way. But this is the hand I have been dealt.

The thing is that I like shiz like zumba and all that where I’m working out but I don’t really realize it. I walk on an incline at the gym so I don’t have to run.

That’s the ironic part.

Suddenly my gym workout is my reality. Walking on an incline. Walking on an incline everywhere I go. Walking on an incline against my will. Walking on an incline because it’s literally my only choice.

But at the gym I got to hold on to the top of the machine.

I live in Nob Hill right now.

Here is the description of Nob Hill in a very funny moving to San Francisco guide.

THE HILLS ARE TOO STEEP.

Every morning I make my way directly downhill to work. Sounds easy, right?

IT’S NOT! Somehow, downhill manages to hurt almost as much as uphill. After a few blocks it feels like you have little jello legs and there’s a slight tremble like at any moment they might just break into 100 pieces each and your upper half will just roll down to the bottom of the hill.

I see ladies with BABY STROLLERS and wonder why they are attempting to kill their child in front of me.

Then I finally get to work, sweating like I’m experiencing withdrawal from something. Something serious.

When it’s time to go home…I put on my sneakers. I bring my sneakers to work every day because it’s just not an option to get back up to my apartment any other way. Have you seen anyone climb up Mount Killimanjaro in heel boots? Don’t think so.

The first day I made the worst mistake of my life and I walked right up California street. This will mean nothing to most people but it’s probably the steepest way I could have gone. I have since maneuvered a very precise route that makes the hills manageable, but still.

I’m not cut out for this stuff. Halfway up the hill everything burns. The pain. The horror. I have to STOP! I HAVE TO! I have to as a 60 year old (obviously local) man passes by me with ease. But as every fiber of my lower body aches and I’m huffing and puffing and I’m just stopped on this block.

Obviously, everyone knows. Everyone knows I’m some kind of newbie that can’t keep up and I stare at my phone as if I’m lost or something and just NEEDED to stop and look at it to figure it all out but in reality I have stopped because I think my heart might pop out of my chest and onto this street corner.

Then I see a cyclist SOMEHOW pedaling directly uphill and all I can think is “You’re an asshole.”

That’s really rude but come on, HOW THE HELL is that happening.

Ass.

Then a cab pulls up because HE KNOWS! He’s seen my type before and he’s like a shark following a tired little seal and he wants to take me and my money up the two final blocks to my apartment.

I keep going. But now I’M SWELTERING HOT!

It’s 60 degrees out and I’m burning up so I take off my jacket and I’m the only girl in a tank top, jeans, and sneakers (seriously? ugh) and I have my headphones in but I am probably (definitely) heaving.

This. This moment. This visual. Is the exact opposite of cute.

Eventually I make it to my apartment and I fall on the floor and stay there until I’ve come back to life and now I’m cold.

Summer in San Francisco.

P.S This has a whole new element when you are walking home from happy hour. It’s one that I can only assume is bad for you. As my roommate Katie exclaimed one day as we huffed and puffed up the hill: “I feel like I have beer in my veins.”

Katie and I went exploring last weekend. We ended up walking 4 miles all over the place…up and down hills. We even stumbled across the set of The Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, which was very interesting.

All of this seemed fine at the time, but alas, in the morning I awoke and felt like I had been HIT BY A CABLE CAR.

We spent the day whining and crying and moaning and literally to even put one foot in front of the other burned like the fire of 1,000 fires.

It’s been a day and I’m limping at work. I assume people look at me and have that feeling like “Jesus. Put it out of its misery” like when you see half alive road kill.

But, thankfully, I’m fully alive. The first week living here I was consistently sore and I guess this is just the life I have signed up for until I finally get fit enough to do this with ease. I aim to be the person that everyone thinks is an asshole because I’m just jaunting up the hill having a casual little chat on my phone without sounding like a car in the process of breaking down.

The bright side of all of this is that I’m assuming this is why almost everyone here is in pretty good shape and in pretty good moods: everyone is literally, CONSTANTLY releasing endorphins.

Which is good news for all of us because:

Future husband: call me.

xo tay

i moved (again)

to San Francisco. If you didn’t notice. Which you probably did because I upload a stupid amount of photos of this beautiful city because I just gotta be real and say that I absolutely love it out here.

(beer is good too)

It’s not a secret that I wasn’t the biggest fan of New York City…and I have tried to assess why without being rude and offensive to the people that live there and love it. And, actually, the exact reasons why some people love that city are probably why I hate it.

In short:

1. I didn’t like that I could live in the same city as my college bffs and be a 45 minute subway ride from them. The place is too damn big. (Positive spin: city so big with so much happening that you can do literally anything, anytime. Like actually.)
2. The people were pretty mean, guys. Like, not everyone OBVIOUSLY. I made some incredible new friends while being in the city (hi roomies,) and some of my best friends live there and are not mean at all. But, in general, the vibe of most people around me was pretty damn rude. And when people are rude to me I get rude. When people bump me in the subway I get angry. Long story short: NYC makes me a pretty big z-ing bitch okay! (Positive: some people can just deal with this without it affecting their entire being. I’m not one of them.)
3. The work culture was very high stress. In my opinion, unnecessarily so. It’s kind of a city where people brag about how shit their lives are, and that, somehow, means they have won the conversation. (Neutral point: there are people like this in every city…but I have moved around quite a bit in the last year just felt it to be rampant in this one.)
4. I talked about the subway in my last post. And, like, come on. What do you want me to say. It’s hot and slow and people touch you like, a lot. (Positive: ………sorry. No.)

That’s the short of it…and it’s not like I’ve never been to NYC before. I’ve been many times, and I always thought I was going to end up there one day, and I was okay with that. But, something changed after I experienced San Francisco.

You all know I lived here in the Fall (October-December,) and I just fell in love with the place. I think one of the biggest things is that the people here ARE NICE.

They ask me what my name is (and remember it!!) They ask where I’m from, what my story is, etc etc. And I’m not talking about colleagues I’m talking about cabbies, and people in line for a grilled cheese. There’s a cable car guy that waves to me every morning on my commute. The vibe here is just…nicer. One of the closest things to an on the street argument I have seen thus far is when two people bumped into each other and they BOTH profusely apologized!

This is not to say there aren’t mean people…and I will probably yell at one one day, but by my third week in NYC I had probably yelled at 35 people and tweeted a snide, offensive remark about 40 others. (Only a slight exaggeration.) And I’m celebrating week 3 here and all I want to do is see more, do more, and talk more.

So, I think living in San Francisco was just the nail in NYC’s coffin. All I could do was compare, and in my mind there was a clear winner. I think if I never came out here I would have been okay in NYC (maybe a tad bitchier,) but I think I would have been happy eventually.

But, I’m back here. Across the country from my friends and family, which is definitely the worst part of this whole situation. But, I wake up in a city I want to explore and if luck will have it I’m hoping to stay.

This is my last quarter. My last internship! Mid September I will graduate and finally emerge into the real world after my extra 2 years of school. It’s so weird, but a very welcome idea for me.

I want to settle! I want a bedroom. I want a bed and kitchen utensils that are MINE! I want to break a wine glass and not feel the guilt that I broke someone else’s wine glass but instead just the crippling sadness that I broke my own beloved nectar of the god’s glass.

So, send me some good job hiring vibes people.

I’m going to keep updating. I’m sorry this one was kind of a snooze but it’s just my reintroduction back into the ~city by the bay~

I’ll soon be tackling topics such as San Francisco’s Summerless Summer and the fact that these hills might actually be the death of me. Also: garlic fries. What is the z-ing deal with garlic fries.

Until then,

xo tay

i haven’t blogged.

Omg. I know. It’s horrible. I’M HORRIBLE!!!! FIRE ME!!!

You can’t haha I don’t have a job ha haaaaaa.

Really, though. I’m sorry. I’m the worst and I really meant to keep blogging but now I’m here in the big apple and I’m IN THE THICK of the rat race. (Legit. Rats. Like, lots of them all over the place not just under the subway platform but also on the top part of it where the humans are and also late night on the street. I chased one. They are fast.)

Also I feel like things aren’t as wild and different here as they were in Amsterdam. Less material to blog about. But, I mean, actually, that’s the ironic part: there’s a ton of stuff that happens here. There is actually too much stuff that happens here. It’s a pro and a con.

(You’ll notice the name change. No longer an international tay, sadly.)

Oh and coming off of my 24^th birthday resolution with an update: I’ve kept it up. That wasn’t just a burst of inspiration and happy thoughts. It was real life, and it was REALLY time to do that. I’ll reiterate by saying if something makes you miserably, self-loathingly unhappy: kick it to the z-ing curb.

Don’t keep the trash around. It’s only going to hurt you.

Back to NYC. A lot of stuff happens. A lot of stuff is happening all of the time but the problem is that I never see it. My schedule here is wild. I work 9-6 at the earliest. Then I have two 3 hour night classes on Monday and Wednesdays. I 100000% knew the schedule I was signing up for when I decided to come here…but it doesn’t make it any easier.

So, instead of adventuring around Manhattan and trying new restaurants and dancing in various unknown and very known expensive clubs, I mostly work. And then work some more and then I go home and I think about work and I sometimes eat and sleep.

I send and receive roughly 1 trillion emails a day.

I’ve had a lot less wine these days. I could cry thinking about it.

But I do see some things. It’s mostly weird stuff. Like there’s so many people here that A LOT OF THEM ARE REALLY Z-ING WEIRD OKAY!!!! Not to mention that seeing drug deals is pretty much the norm here. Although, I also lived in Miami so I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff like that too. But man, the people here are good at drug deals!! I saw one at 10am! I’m just impressed by that! Way to greet the day guys! It was also a smooth hand off. But, I mean, I saw it so it wasn’t thaaaatttttt smooth but then I immediately looked away so I didn’t get stabbed or something.

By the way I’m convinced at every moment and every second that someone is going to push me in front of the subway. This I 100% contribute to watching too much Law and Order and other crime shows. Nevertheless, I stand like 5 feet back from the tracks and I think all of you should too.

Oh and then being in the subway car is probably one of my least favorite things in the world. Hi strangers, welcome to every single part of my body. Yes, nice to meet yours too. Let’s squish together and make sure to breathe audibly out of your mouth.

Or my favorite when I get in but everyone is blocking the bars so I can’t hold on to anything so I somehow try to hold on to the flat ceiling slash use pure will in an attempt to stay standing up straight.

Then when we get out. My favorite part is when people start moving towards the doors before we’ve even stopped and they’re trying to get past me and I’m like IM GETTING OFF TOO WHERE DO YOU WANT ME TO GO??

Then we all get off and stomp up the stairs like stormtroopers.

Oh also this is all assuming that the subway train has even come because sometimes it likes to not. Police investigation means someone jumped/was pushed. Probably pushed. I BET YOU PUSHED!

By the way the reason I say I sometimes eat is because it’s nearly impossible to go grocery shopping here. There is a line to get into Trader Joes, and then a line that wraps around the entire store once you’re in it. It’s anxiety producing, and in my old age I have developed a heightened sense of immediate anxiety.

So I mostly order in. I’ve literally never ordered in more than I have in these last 8 weeks. (Sorry Mom and Dad and my Credit Card.) I also blame this on my roommate Trevor who might single handedly be keeping Seamless in business.

But the food is pretty good. Not gonna lie about that.

Also notable is that I can get my eyebrows done for 7 dollars here it is both wonderful and terrifying.

It’s also really z-ing big here. Like how is it that my friends can technically live in the same city as me but it takes me 45min-1hr to get there? That’s something I just can’t deal with/accept/not complain about.

Oh and I THINK I had a celebrity sighting. No, it wasn’t Amanda Bynes I WISH!!!!!! I’m pretty sure I saw Jeff Goldblum and I’m even more sure it was him because I looked at him and obviously made a face of recognition and he looked me in the eyes and he shook his head no as if to say “don’t do this.”

So I didn’t.

I think it was him.

But yah, I work a lot. And I really like my work. I really like my agency, JWT. It’s a place I could definitely see myself. I really like the fact that on Thursdays the agency gives a free keg of beer to everyone. This happens in the bar that’s in here.

Yes. There’s a real live bar in here. It’s pretty sweet.

But, alas, the biggest problem with me being here is that it makes me a bitch. It makes me a really big bitch and I hope to get into that in my next post entitled “NYC makes me a (bigger) bitch.”

Get excited. I’ll write it soon. I promise.

But, okay. It’s Thursday.

I have to go drink beer.

xo tay