When I was a fetus encased in my mom’s womb, I remember thinking about the world. I remember philosophizing, speculating, daydreaming, debating and longing to have the chance to solicit some advice. There was also a lot of reflection. I was a baby think tank perched on top of my tiny, wee little high horse.
I mean, nobody EVER asked me where I wanted to live. Not one person reached out to me to find out my geographical preference. I would have had a bunch of ideas! I would have had a jackload of choices! Anything but one-trick Central Florida! I might have had a ton of ideas, but I did have a favorite. A very special, dreamy, love-induced favorite.
I really wish someone would have broken the detrimental news to me: Listen, sister: This is NOT NYC.
I put a lot of thought into the concept: What I wish someone had told me before I lived in Central Florida. Of course, my thinking started back in the day. But, it should have! It’s an important topic. It’s certainly no secret that I HATE the heat. I love going to the beach and going on cruises, and maybe a select few summer activities. But, those are far and few between, that I could cruise and beach for a vacation while living in NYC! If I had a swimming pool, then the chances just increased by 20% that I would be more content living in this hell fire climate. Not huge strides.
I mean, I get sick of re-applying deodorant every 1.6 hours. I don’t enjoy running into Target from the parking lot with pit and bunghole stains. It ain’t a blast! Clammy is not my favorite.
I have visited my favorite city a few times…I love EVERYTHING about NYC. The buildings, the walk ups, the weather, the history, the arts, being there during the holidays, the homes, taxis and the restaurants. I love the people, the hustle and bustle of the fast paced lifestyle, the fact that it never sleeps, specifically because my brain switches channels every mili-second, and I love the scent of the atmosphere. I sorta feel like a transgender, only, this is a tran-city type of situation. I’m perplexed, and mis-located, misdirected and was so very wronged!
But, instead of asking me where I want to live, I get poop chuted straight onto Humidity Highway, located right off of Sweat Speedway. And that stagnant atmosphere lasts for a multitude of 44 years. GAH. I have to live with the hand I’m dealt! I’m all out of options!
I’m bitter! I’m bung puckering because I would not have chosen this. I do not appreciate this sadistic, funny joke.
After everything is said and done, I guess I’ll admit it. Florida is my home. Maybe my infatuation with NYC is that it’s easterly furthest away from the steam pile where I live, and my obsession could possibly be because I simply do not live there. Like, the grass is always greener sort of thing. Believe me, I get that part of my personality. I tend to take things for granted that I have. I was born here; I have embraced it and I am not going anywhere any time soon. (or ever). But, a bitch can sure dream.
And, I’m definitely going to dream about you, NYC. <Sigh>.