Posts tagged Froyo
Posts tagged Froyo
A friend of mine recently told me that the key to living in New York City was managing your vices. He didn’t realize that, as he was relaying his incredibly sound advice to me, I was sitting in the nail salon right below my apartment getting a manicure from a Vietnamese women named Phuong.
Obviously, a year of home-cooked meals, a late-night pick-up service and the Bank of Mom and Dad makes my dramatic entrance into the city the human equivalent of Sassy from the movie Homeward Bound. (…Not that I relish comparing myself to a cat, because cats suck, but I dare you to watch that video till the end and not cry like a pregnant woman.
So I’ve compiled a list of funds-sucking vices, some of which I already fall victim to, while others I could see myself adopting in the near future ‘cause it’s the New York way. If we are being realistic, the chances of me heeding the following advisory list are about as good as a Star Wars fan having sex with a female human…and then I can expect the result to be a week’s worth of financial dilapidation and, subsequentially, unintentional starvation, where I wake up gnawing on my bedsheets like they’re a tortilla.
1. Let’s start at the very beginning. Fucking BRUNCH. If you are a New Yorker, you brunch like someone pays you in stacks of hundreds and cocaine. I don’t care how hungover you are, you always feel the need to drag your dehydrated, city-berated ass out of bed just to order a mimosa and some fancy Eggs Benedict with your friendz you saw the night before. So there you have it people, you’ve just spent enough money to feed me rice and beans for a month (see below). Oh, and side note: Mom and Dad, when you come visit, DO NOT CALL IT BREAKFAST. It is BRUNCH and you will EMBARRASS me in front of my friends.
2. Froyo. Every girl knows frozen yogurt holds the power to end the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. Walking into 16 Handles or any other frozen yogurt dispensary takes practiced self-control to not suction your mouth to the nozzle like the frozen dessert version of Two Girls One Cup. These places charge by the ounce, and you think you are being all restrained, grabbing just a little taste of everything, until your thing weighs as much as a newborn baby. Sorry ‘bout it.
3. Eating in general. Oh, you thought eating was a necessity? Nope, sorry. Eating is a luxury. You’ll come to find that the first time your parents come visit and take you out to dinner, it’s going to look a little something like Katniss stuffing her face with lamb stew at the Capitol, and it won’t be cute. (Yeah, I just made a Hunger Games reference. No, I haven’t seen the movie.)
3. Drinking. This point is certainly not about giving up drinking so much as reevaluating your drinking habits. I am not a huge drinker, but I have the misfortune of enjoying whiskey, and only whiskey, when I like to get toasty. And do you know how much whiskey costs in comparison to a nice PBR at bars? A fucking lot. And I know it’s extremely fun and cool to be seen frolicking around New York’s elite at places like the Boom Boom Room, (I’m still not sure what this is, but I think it’s some underground sex cult that you have to be initiated into by Tom Cruise), but I’m willing to bet they don’t even offer good ‘ole Pabst there. So take some lessons from your college days, funnel an entire fifth of liquor before you go out, and stick to brewskies at the humble bars. Remember, liquor before beer—you’re in the clear.
4. Smoking. Blame it on the months living with two squares (the people kind) in a picket-fenced suburb, but…people in America still smoke cigarettes? HOW DO YOU AFFORD TO IGNITE THOSE MONEY STICKS TO SUCK DOWN INTO YOUR LUNGS?! That is all.
5. Shopping. Because I formerly got paid to basically just shop for large chunks of time and then reinvest my money back into the company that employed me, living in one of the commercial capitals of the world will prove to be difficult. And plus, I MUST HAVE FIVE PAIRS OF TOMS AND RAY BANS OR ELSE THEY WILL KICK ME OUT. I’m not even going to try here. Same goes for mani/pedis.
6. Cabs. When the sun goes down, we all become lazy as fuck. This is where the remainder of your pay check will be going—when you are out at night and can’t figure out which subway line will get you home or which way is north. Strangely enough, I can’t figure these things out sober. But this is the worst financial offense; so from now on, come 3 AM, if you need me, I’ll be in the dregs of the metro with Manhattan’s creatures waiting for the 1 Train while the homeless guy on heroin tries to crawl underneath the rotating door.
There you have it. Certainly this is just a starter list, and I’ll rapidly stumble over more of the dumb shit that’s going to make and keep me poor in this amazing city.
Here are some hipsters drinking PBR. You can be just like them!