I almost don’t need to mention The Bikini, but here it is anyway.
What song, 20 years from now, will transport me back to my 28th year?
In July, I moved to NYC from my hometown of Boston, and the move prompted my mother to do a major cleanup of all my old shit.
Boston is small enough to feel really comfortable, but it’s full of neighborhoods to explore. Like a pop-up book, Boston is wonder contained.
For much of the time, I sat next to him in the car as we slogged through LA traffic, fantasizing about a life without him.
Even one drink, combined with the food mentioned above, has the capacity to ruin any life-progressing goals you’d had for the day.
So many of the normal gym-going anxieties — looking hot or not looking hot, knowing how to work the machines, having appropriate workout attire, fearing the judgment of other treadmill users when you slow down to a walk after two minutes — are largely non-existent here.
I always look forward to these traditions, and then I always dislike them while they’re happening.
Start drinking. Start dancing. Somehow be in the hallway and then the kitchen and then hugging someone in the bathroom.
I recently turned 27. Isn’t that something? For those of you younger than me, it definitely seems like something. And for those of you older, I know: it’s nothing.