Sunday, May 24, 2009

I have the legs of a seven year old - I keep them under my bed. BA DA BING!

Summer is a good look for a lot of people. They get tan, they flaunt some skin, everyone is happy. Summer is not a good look for me. (I know it's not summer yet, but it's feeling like it.) I am shiny. I am red. I am breaking out all over the place. I have a pimple on my chest. My hair is the size of Kentucky. This is not cute.

Other people Tan. I get tan on my shoulders but every other part of me will only stick to two shades red and white. There is no in between. And it sucks, because there is something very flattering about summer clothes on tan skin, something I will never really understand. And fake tans and spray on tans look exactly that - fake. So why bother? I think I'd rather red than orange.

On top of the sexy that is my shiny red visage - last night my sandal caught the curb and I faceplanted - skinning both of my knees, the palms of my hands, and (somehow) my left ankle. RAD. I'm limping around today in pain with my right knee covered in band-aids and my left turning a lovely shade of purple. I look like a small child. And the fall was just so shocking. I haven't fallen like that in YEARS and it brought back so many memories of being a city kid and the bumps and bruises you get running around on concrete instead of a lawn.

People always ask me what it was like growing up in downtown Manhattan, and I always tell them the same thing - that I only grew up one way, so I have no basis for comparison, but it was great. I had run of the neighborhood, everyone knew me, it was FUN. I had my friends from around the corner, and their siblings, and we left home in the morning and came home at night. I hate people who say that the city is no place to raise children. It's a crock of shit. I mean, I turned out pretty okay:
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