I jump on the uptown 6 the other night on my way home from work. I only take it up one stop to Grand Central…if I’m feeling adventurous, I’ll walk the 10 blocks. Tonight, my feet hurt. I knew it was gonna be rough when I get underground and see 85,000 waiting for a train. Sure enough, I wait 3 trains before I can squish into one. Things are going splendidly; I’m getting to know everyone around me very well as their bodies are crushing up against me. The man behind me has his back glued to mine – I can actually feel his butt and legs molded to mine. Gross. Then, I smell it. It wafts around me and I wrinkle my nose as I look around as if to say, “Hey, it wasn’t me.” People do seem to be looking at me, though, and then I realize that the man molded to me just farted on me! His butt was literally touching me – and he farted on me!
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According to Gothamist.com, the Empire State building glowed green for Earth Day on Tuesday. It will be yellow on May 5th in honor of Project Sunshine, a non-profit org that offers children with medical problems free educational, recreational, and social programs. But the real meaningful light-up (hellooo sarcasm) will be today, in the lovely array of pink, purple and white in honor of Mariah Carey.

No, she didn’t cure cancer or donate millions to feed starving children in Africa. The reason is titled “Honoring a great New Yorker: Mariah Carey breaks records with E=MC2 album release”.

 Are you kidding me? (Boy do I regret downloading “Bye Bye” now.) This for the woman who reportedly cancels interviews because she’s “not a morning person,” brings 100 pairs of shoes with her on trips, and requires 11 bodyguards at a restaurant so no one can watch her eat? And like lighting the Empire State Building won’t add to  her ginormously inflated ego? What’s next? We erect a statue of the diva in Central Park? Oy.

*****This is so weird. About an hour after I wrote this, I was on my way to do a little shopping in the 34th Street area when lo and behold, who do I see getting out of a car with an entourage? None other than Ms. Mariah Carey herself. She (appropriately) was entering the Empire State Building and (predictably) wearing a shade of pink and purple. The irony of it all!! I didn’t bother to stop and try to get a picture. I had shopping to do!! 

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What??!! Did I really just say that? The idea of living in the suburbs is enough to make me shudder, to cause a chill to run down my spine. As summer approaches, though, I form a sort of gratitude for those cookie cutter neighborhoods with (gasp!) real grass. You’d think I’d be able to enjoy the warm weather spring has finally bestowed upon us in the city; however, my mind can’t help but race ahead to the promise of what is to come. June – August in the city = hell.  

While people in the suburbs are frolicking around in tank tops and shorts, enjoying weekends in their pools and air conditioned nights, the city is quickly becoming a sweaty, smelly, angry mass. The subway temp averages about 120 degrees, while my office requires a jacket at a cool 55 degrees. This creates a daily morning struggle in front of my closet that usually ends in a decision of so many layers I have to practically pack an overnight bag. Meanwhile, people are desperate to find someone who knows someone whose cousin has an illusive membership to a rooftop pool. (Think Sex and the City’s Samantha taking over a woman’s identity just so the girls can enjoy the woman’s access to a pool.) At night and on the weekends I sprawl out in my skivvies (thank god I live alone), desperately hoping for a cross-breeze through my windows (which will never happen seeing as they face an alley), too cheap to turn on the air conditioner because ConEdison charges people in the city 30% more than everywhere else.

I admittedly am one of the lucky ones who has plenty of options for escapes: my best friend lives in the Hamptons, my boyfriend in Connecticut, my parents in Pennsylvania, and there’s always my grandmom’s summer home in New Jersey. I, however, still manage to feel sorry for myself as I miserably sweat it out with eight million other people Monday through Friday. Whenever I complain about the hassles of living in the city, my mother always asks me in exasperation, “Then why do you continue to live there?” And my reason? Despite the agitation I feel almost daily, the bottom line is simple: I freakin’ love it here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. But, as I already think ahead with relief: thank god for the suburbs.

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