The disgruntled look on your face as you mutter this under your breath or scream it at the top of your lungs is especially important.
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Last week I went to Harlem to go see about a room that I might be interested in renting. (PS: HEY does anyone want to move in with me? I have all four seasons of Arrested Development on DVD, I cook and bake and I have impeccable taste in everything, but anyway.)
I took a right onto Amsterdam Ave and to my absolute horror saw that I would have to climb a hill, something I haven’t done in about five months since I left San Francisco.
No one told me there were hills like this in New York. I got through it by thinking about the fact that it was Thursday and I need to be out of my current place by next Wednesday. I would climb that goddamn hill if it killed me, but first I Tweeted the picture with the caption “WTF IS THIS WITCHCRAFT.”
I finally made it to W.134th st and walked passed a gaggle of scary dudes, rang the buzzer, then realized that this building was a walk-up and the apartment was on the sixth floor.
That day a little part of me died. The part that always thought NYC was cooler than San Francisco and also the part where I willingly go to Harlem.
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How a California girl dealt with her first hurricane. (She didn’t, she just drank.)
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