A Big, Overripe Apple
Hating:
After turning 25 for the third time — yes, I know I look young for 21 — I’m wise enough to realize I don’t know everything. But I do know more than the millions crammed into the isle of Manhattan, people who apparently don’t — or do? — appreciate that their city makes its own gravy. Mhmmm, I’ve become one of those Los Angelenos who loves visiting to New Yawk City, but wrinkles her nose at the idea of living here.
Arts, drive, and straight talk culture a certain quality of life — but not like 365 days of 72°F and sunny.
Life has a constant, casual joy, knowing that if I actually step out of the controlled climate of my Porsche that my bed-head, burgundy bobbed hair won’t poof into a poodle’s.
Years ago in a conversational stream of consciousness I wondered if humans who needed to be near the beach were like amoebas trying to return to the ocean. But now, it’s like, so totally clear what’s important in life? And that’s sunshine, blinding white smiles, and wearing five-inch Giuseppes all day and only walking in them five feet.
Forgive me if I’m grumpy. I think I need a matcha green tea, almond milk latte…
