2 bad ass kids fill my heart with explosive joy. chicago sam does not sit outside. new york sam, however, drinks beer on a patio and eats her mister softee on a bench in morningside park. i also: 1 ate a fancy donut at a flea market in green point, 2 stood outside in the rain in harlem without complaining even one time, and 3 ate lamb off a truck at 2am in park slope even though i have an aversion to shit like that for real. VACATION SAM IS SO CAREFREE AND FUN. anyway, vanessa and i were sitting in the park with justin, watching a group of squealing kids splashing around under a sprinkler and pushing each other too hard on the swings. i was tipsy from lunch and feeling a little conflicted about my proximity to impressionable youth, but nevermind that. one kid, a little older than his contemporaries and not as conventionally cute (thick glasses; scrawny bird chest; a grating, high-pitched laugh that threatened to shred my eardrums), tumbled clumsily into my sightline and i was enamored of him immediately. the other children skidded out of the way as he approached, his baby teeth spaced like tombstones in his giant head. he had a plastic bottle that he would fill with water while dancing alone under the sprinkler then he'd race over to the slide, pour the water down it, then hop on and scream all the way to the bottom. he repeated this exercise several times, delighting in his genius. a couple unsuspecting little punks scooted down the slide in their dry clothes only to emerge at the end of the ride irritable and soggy-bottomed. our hero snickered as he watched them ruin their school clothes one by one, then bounded away to fill his bottle anew. one final time he ascended that staircase, his precious chalice held safely above his head, giggling to himself all the while. he sat down on the slide, his grin spreading wider. and then he pushed off, pouring the water down his body while shouting "OH YEAH!" to the heavens. he hit the awaiting pavement with a satisfied thud, laughing and laughing and laughing. BUT WAIT. a new kid entered stage left: tinier, cuter, and with a head full of bouncing curls that all of the mommies have heretofore been tousling. everyone loves this little guy. and he knows it, batting his eyelashes and blowing kisses to the abuelitas smoking next to the fence. our hero's face darkened a bit as he watched this adorable new nemesis skip over to the slide, his tiny swim trunks dripping wet, crying "watch me! watch me!" with every dainty step. i know what's about to happen, AND SO DOES THIS FUCKING DUDE, because we locked eyes and start cackling at the same goddamned time. FUCK A CUTE KID. he took forever to climb those fucking stairs, while glasses and i watched and waited with bated breath. when he reached the top he turned to make sure everyone was looking at only him, and all the ladies cooed and got their instagram fingers ready. "wait, is that slide wet?" justin asked. "YES," i breathed, barely able to contain my bubbling excitement. that boy shot off the slide like a bullet, landing (SPLAT) shocked and confused in the puddle of water left behind by our hero's underwear/swimming attire. he got up and staggered toward the crowd of women rushing to help, while glasses hid his crooked smile behind his hand. "are you available for adoption?" i called out to him, but he was already running to get some ice cream and fuck if i'ma go to jail for chasing a child in public.
3 kara walker is an exceptional human. kara walker is the most important artist of our time. we stood sweltering under the brooklyn sun in that long ass line outside the domino factory for half a goddamned hour, but it was worth it. i'm not an art person. i write butt jokes on the internet and can't speak intellectually about art in a way that doesn't make me sound like a fucking dummy but sugar baby was incredible so youtube it or read that times piece and pretend those are my words. just add some swears and they can be, shit.
afterward we went to this place called pies and thighs that at first i thought was a strip club but omg they had fried chicken made by white people there. BROOKLYN YOU CRAZY.
4 an aspiring american apparel model will charge you $25 for a 12 oz cup of juice with a STRAIGHT MOTHERFUCKING FACE. coming up out of a new york subway in the summer is like fighting your way out of a dog's mouth only to find yourself clawing your way through a sweaty human greenhouse. i am not immune to shiny toys and pretty things, or the pavlovian pull of an air conditioned sanctuary filled with food blending machines (see item 1), so when i rounded the corner to find a gleaming edifice constructed of sparkling glass and shimmering stainless steel it was futile to resist the urge to find out what was inside.
i should've fucking known when i didn't see a price next to anything.
i should've fucking known that "young thai water" wouldn't be cheap.
i should've fucking known that coconut oil and maca could potentially bankrupt me.
i should've fucking known that bee pollen is for rich kids of instagram only.
i should've fucking known that a cup of mushy juice that took fourteen minutes and three motherfucking people to make was going to literally be the most expensive purchase i made in a single day. AND THIS IS A PLACE THAT CHARGES $7 FOR A BUDWEISER, FAM. i almost choked when the girl at the register gave me my total. i closed my eyes and walked down the chelsea street making believe i was a person who actually had money for this kind of dumb shit, popping my eye out and unhinging my jaw trying to suck two pounds of spirulina and raw kale through a fancy juice straw the circumference of a needle eye. AND THE JAMBA GODS LAUGHED MERRILY.
5 new yorkers will stand idly by while a person appears to be having a complete mental breakdown as they look on. three hours walking around manhattan and my inner thigh meat looked like christmas dinner: HEAT-RADIATING NEON PINK HAMS. vanessa needed benedryl because we'd spent two days fucking with mother nature and that bitch bites back, and i decided it would be a prime opportunity to let some air conditioning caress my soft meats and also buy one of those chafe sticks fat girls need to carry with us at all times in the summer. we were circling around the park, past many tables of knockoff bags and counterfeit jewelry, when we encountered a man completely naked save for an afro and a tiny, dirty speedo. he was shouting the words to "old mcdonald had a farm" and moving his body in such a manic, jerky way that i thought he was either 1 having a seizure or 2 attempting to do the humpty dance. IT LOOKED PAINFUL, MY DUDE. i stopped in my tracks, sure that a police officer or ambulance would be rolling up at any second. not only did this not happen, there were dozens of people just lounging on the steps of union square park casually eating lunch and making phone calls, totally nonplussed by this dude with public testicles screaming ON THAT FARM HE HAD A DOG at the top of his goddamned lungs. i can't send a goddamned text message when it's raining. you dudes are fucking brutal.
6 animals > humans. so i spent one night with my friend mariyam in brooklyn and my punishment for not paying $572719824 a night for a hotel was a FIFTH FLOOR WALKUP AT TWO IN THE MORNING. or priceless friendship but whatever. here's why chicago is better than new york city: if i tell you that i live on anything higher than the third floor, you can rest assured knowing that you ain't gotta huff and puff your way your way up to my shit. hell, i live on the third floor now and my building has two motherfucking elevators. are they terrifying? YES. will you be out of breath and nursing a side cramp when you step off of one? A RESOUNDING NO. our laziness is written into the building code. after the forty-five minutes it took me to drag my bum leg up the stairs i was greeted by the most adorable kitten ever. "i thought you were fostering two of them?" i asked, as they were the primary reasons i had agreed to stay in her apartment. the black and white one bounced around like a ping pong ball, eating and jumping and sinking her little needle nails into the hem of my asos dress. we found the grey and white one lying hot and limp under the coffee table and my immediate thought was, "FUCK I JUST CLIMBED ALL THOSE MOTHERFUCKING STAIRS." that kitten was basically dying. after frantically cutting air holes in an amazon box and taping her inside i dislocated a hip following mariyam down to the car and we spent two hours in a dark, echoey emergency hospital being lectured at by a russian technician with an awkward sense of humor whose jokes i didn't understand because i had been awake for almost 24 hours. i spent the entirety of the next day falling asleep in the back of cabs, but that kitten goddamned lived. so i'm basically a hero.
7 THEIR PIZZA REALLY IS KIND OF GROSS. i say this as a person who doesn't really enjoy cheese in a breadbowl chicago pizza knife and fork goo: eating a folded oversized slice of soggy new york pizza is like shoving a used maxi pad into your mouth. and watching people do that open-mouthed licking-the-pointy-end-to-get-it-between-their-teeth-to-take-a-bite thing is motherfucking disgusting. DEAL WITH IT.
and there was still so much goddamned trash on the street. I HEART NY.
click here and buy this thing i made.