Tag Archives: New York City

Adults Who Party…

party

So, question for everyone… At what point is someone too old to party like they’re in college? For example, if you’re in your late 20’s and into your 30’s, is it ok for you to throw a raging house party in the middle of a residential neighborhood until 5:30am?

And, I’m seriously asking this.

For me, I would say, “Of course it’s NOT OK. It’s a residential neighborhood, full of people who might need to be up for work in the morning, and people who might have children.”

You see, this happened last night. Raging house party in my neighborhood. All adults. Blasting music. All their windows open. Yelling, screaming, drama, just like undergrad all over again.

But what’s weird is when I’ve asked other people about this today, so many are saying, “I mean, they’re allowed to party…”

Which, yes. Go to a bar or a club. Williamsburg is literally loaded with them. Why disturb  other people who are trying to sleep in their own homes with your bullshit?

party 1

Humans are such trash. Trash that never matures. Trash that never considers other people. Trash that’s just looking for the next cheap thrill. And Williamsburg is the epicenter of this. Liberal hipsters who think they’re at the forefront of the world – But in reality, they’re just mediocre sheep following the herd, doing what they need to do to get heir rocks off.

In my rage last night (and since I had nothing to do but lay in bed and listen to the rager next-door) I came across this song, which is so insanely true:

“Brooklyn’s a death bed, for clones of the same kid.
Stuck in a party that was lame to begin with…”

 

Oh my sweet lord. I have a new crush. These guys clearly saw Williamsburg for what it is: Desperate trash, congregating with other desperate trash, in order to live within a bubble of their delusion.

I need to move.

~ The Dark Horse

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Things Overheard in a Brooklyn Coffeeshop

brooklyn

So, recently, I made a post about how annoying coffeeshops in NYC are. And today I’m here to give you a great example.

Ok, so… It is currently 11am on a Wednesday. I am writing an article for the magazine, doing actual work. A sloppy “woke” gay with dyed bleach blonde hair and a girl (both looking late-twenties) sat down right across from me.

 

Here is what I’m now listening to.  Please keep in mind, NONE of this is made up. This is verbatim what I’m hearing right now as I’m trying to do work….

So, the gay guy started telling her about how great his career as a hair stylist is going. He’s apparently doing really well. His husband is also doing well. What does his husband do? He sells PrEP (the anti-HIV drug) on the streets. Good for him, right? A real entrepreneur…

But, ugh oh… drama was right around the corner. This guy and his husband met a 3rd guy for a “thruple.” However, his husband wasn’t getting along with the 3rd guy. So this guy kept hooking up with the new guy on the side. You see, that’s how mature people handle problems…

But ugh oh…. Big shock here! A few months into the affair, the 3rd guy revealed that he’s a heroin addict. And he started pulling this guy away from his husband, demanding more and more of his time to help kick his addiction.

drugs

But the stress of all this was too much for this guy, and he couldn’t handle cheating on his husband with a heroin addict, so he turned to the only thing that was ever there for him… alcohol. And he then he relapsed and his health got bad.

So now he’s looking for alcoholic support groups, but HOW IS HE GOING TO TELL HIS HUSBAND ABOUT THE AFFAIR WITH THE HEROIN ADDICT? 

So now, he’s like, totally stressing out with this girl, pouring his absolute heart out to her, telling her ever gritty little kinky detail about his life.  And what’s weird, is that they sound like they’re enjoying it.

OH MY GOD now she’s crying. Now she’s got boy problems. She literally just said,
(sniffle) I’m sorry, today is supposed to be about you, but this is making me think of what’s (sniffle) going on in my life!”

crying

But back to what I was saying… these two seem too happy. They seem to really love loudly blabbing about their lives. They keep talking about these horrible things, while also seeming like they’re kind of enjoying it. It’s like the gossip is so juicy that they’re happy to have it in their lives…. even though it’s tearing them apart.

So, for anyone who was annoyed with my last post and thought I was being dramatic…

Nope.

This is literally what Brooklyn is. Rich kids with nothing to do and nowhere to go, self-destructing because, why not? They have no real problems, so they have to willingly walk into them.

Fuck Williamsburg.

 

~ The Dark Horse

 

Why I Hate New York Coffee Shops

coffeeshoppe

So, there are many reasons to hate coffee shops in New York. The first two are annoying, but don’t make me want to murder people like the last one… (more on that later)

 

First off, they’re always so busy. New Yorkers all get to work from home a lot (as do I, so I shouldn’t judge) so cafes and stuff are always full of people who don’t have to go to their offices. Annoying but manageable…

MORE ANNOYINGLY however, is that, unlike me, most of these other people who are “working form home” seem to have very little work to do. Especially now that I’m here in Williamsburg. To most people, “working” is opening their laptops, then sitting on Instagram. I imagine in their heads they’re like “I’m a social influencer, so checking my followers is my job…”

instagram

 

Even better is when they have drama. New Yorkers in coffee shops have SO MUCH DRAMA. When you’re wealthy and unemployed you literally have nothing to do but fight with your other bored rich friends. It’s the only excitement in their day. I’ll be sitting there typing up an article when suddenly I’ll hear:

“No. No you can’t do that. Look, I need this time for me! I’m very busy, I’m allowed to have some time to myself! No. No, three of my credit cards aren’t working, and I’m not sure why…”

(I think I may know why…)

“Well Jennifer is just manipulating you! That’s all she ever does. And I’m sorry, but you’re going to listen to her then there’s nothing  I can do. I’m at work… YES I AM. I’m busy working. I don’t have time for your childish problems!”

(Yes you do…)

drama

It’s hard to work when that’s going on all around you.

 

But, making everything SO MUCH WORSE…In fact, THE ABSOLUTE WORST is the shitty fucking music they play. Listen up people, long gone are the days of the coffeeshop soundtrack. No more Sheryl Crow acoustics, no more light jazz. No more peace. No more quiet.

Coffeeshops are the new clubs, don’t you know that? And you will be forced to sip your morning tea while Ariana Grande blasts all around you.

ariana

Listen America, and please, government or police officers reading my blog and keeping tabs on the public, FEEL FREE TO USE THIS AS EVIDENCE. One day, I will lose my mind and kill everyone. And the culprit will be the awful music they play in coffeeshops.

It’s like the telltale heart. It’s maddening. It eats away at me. It all sounds the same. All songs bleed into each other now. Rap and hip hop have have merged with trance and house to create the new era of pop, which has, in turn, influenced country. And now, it’s just atonal thumpa-thumpas, meaningless and mediocre lyricisms, and repetitive nonsense.

Can you even tell when Halsey ends and Sean Mendez begins? Can you tell when Charlie XCX turns into Post Malone? I can’t. I literally can’t. 

I can't

 

AND to top it all off. They blast it as loud as they can. One coffeeshop in Williamsburg called The Butchers Daughter even has a DJ sometimes. Imagine this people… a DJ at a vegetarian cafe. I’m sorry. But, desperate. Pathetic. Overdone. so old hat. Is this 2005? When Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan declared that they were now professional DJs? 

Who can even be a DJ these days and not be embarrassed? It’s so passé. By now everyone knows (or should know) that DJs are just desperate spun-out drug addicts. Just ask Avicii.

Anyways, so that’s my problem with New York coffeeshops. They’re fucking annoying. They’re trying too hard. And the people within them are also trying too hard.

Thanks New York for ruining one of my favorite spaces to go. May an asteroid come down and obliterate you all.

true blood

~ The Dark Horse

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m Living In Brooklyn Now!

brooklyn

So, this is a follow up to my last post, which chronicled the completely insane week of July 31 to August 7.

I’m happy to say, I survived. And I’m now living in Williamsburg, Brooklyn… and I don’t hate it. That’s right! I don’t miss the Upper West Side at all, because Brooklyn is

so.

damn.

cool.

Yep… totally happy. Wow, I love all these obnoxious cafes, and ugly fucking hipsters who have too much money and no jobs! HOW COULD I POSSIBLY HATE A FUCKING PLACE LIKE THIS? 

In Williamsburg, people are still wearing fedoras. MOTHERFUCKING FEDORAS! 

brooklyn1

This photo should tell you everything you need to know. I want to punch that girl in the face.

I went to Whole Foods yesterday and they have an oat milk vending machine…. Humans of planet earth… please, let me repeat :

OAT MILK VENDING MACHINE.

oat milk

If there actually was a God, he would obliterate this fucking hellhole into oblivion.

Right now, Im at a cafe and there is a guy next to me with glasses, pierced ears, shaved head in the back, spiky hair up front, in a gross tank top, with tattoos, wearing a fanny pack cross his shoulder, black jeans rolled up to his knees, with white tube socks, and Adidas sneakers that looks like they’re from the 80’s (AKA: He bought them for $100 from one of the many insanely expensive “thrift” shops in Williamsburg. He’s drinking an ice coffee that he ordered with, of course, oat milk.

Remember when hipsters loved soy milk? Then they hated it. And then it was almond milk, but that too wasn’t the miracle cure they had been hoping for. Then, there was that brief fad of “raw milk”. But now, it’s oat milk. Williamsburg smells of the greasy farts of too many hipsters who consume nothing but oats.

OH MY FUCKING GOD. I’m not making this up. Now a group of 3 hipsters just walked in to order and this was their conversation:

hipster 1: Yo, dude, we need to get a shot of you on the train. It will be, like, great for the vlog.

hipster 2: Man, this is going to be such a great collaboration. I’m so happy that we connected.

hipster 1: Yeah man, we’ll call the video something like, Freestyle in Manhattan, or like, Brooklyn, or whatever.

Hipster 3 remains silent. Probably knowing deep down how completely meaningless his life is.

hipster

But like I said, I’m not upset. It’s a great neighborhood. Everyone here is totally cool. Like, the coolest. They’re so trendy, self-obsessed, and glued to their social media that they’re honestly the best people in the world.

How could you not like this neighborhood?

My Life Went To Hell In 1 Short Week…

hell

So, let’s flashback to July 31st… Ah, I was so young, so naive. So innocent.

I thought I was about to move to an apartment on the Upper East Side. I was packing up my things because we had to vacate the apartment by midnight.

But then, at 3pm, my new roommate texted me to say that he decided to go with someone else…

CAN YOU FUCKING BELIEVE THAT?

And I was losing my apartment 9 hours later…..

AND THEN I WENT INTO MELTDOWN MODE.

rampage

***Actual Footage of Inside My Soul on July 31, 2019***

 

I was scrambling.  I was desperately messaging apartments and texting everyone and anyone I knew saying I needed a couch to sleep on.

The hours went by and no responses came.

It was now 11pm. I went into critical meltdown mode. I had to realize that it was possible I might have to hop in a cab and head to the airport. I had to accept that this could be the end of my time in New York.  The thought of a hotel for a night crossed my mind… then I saw the prices for last-minute hotels in NYC during the summer months, and I quickly discovered that wasn’t an option.

I had to get serious.  I said, “What can I carry on a plane home, and what can’t I.”

My lamp. My desk. Had to go

My pillows, sheets, blankets. Had to go. 

All my books. Magazines. Notebooks. Had to go. 

Clothes I hadn’t worn in a while. Had to go. 

les mis

I was near tears, throwing my entire life onto the curb of 82nd street.

THEN, FINALLY AT 5 MINUTES BEFORE MIDNIGHT, a guy I had slept with a few times messaged me. “Sure, come over.”

I couldn’t believe it. I was still in the game. But, I needed to pack light. This random guy was already doing me a favor, I couldn’t bring my entire life over to his place. I needed to accept that all the stuff on the curb was gone. Out of my life.

 

I stayed with him for 2 days. I worked during the day, and visited apartments at night. And oh man, once I lowered my standards…. the places I found…..

There was the Indian guy in East Harlem who wanted me to share a twin-size bed with him. There was an apartment of Korean guys who had walled off a section of of their living room with plywood to create a “flex bedroom” (AKA: A small, windowless box made of plywood) and they wanted $1,300 a month (not including utilities) for it. And there was another place on the Upper East Side I found on Craigslist. It was a super tiny room in a 4-bedroom apartment for $1k a month. I thought, ONLY 1k A MONTH??? I’d living in a closet on the Upper East Side for that!

amy sedaris

The broker wanted first, last, security, and a 1k broker fee.

I asked, “You want a broker fee for an apartment I found on Craigslist?”

…He stopped responding to my texts.

Then, the guy I was staying with goes, “So…my boyfriend is staying over for the next few days, and he gets really jealous so you have to go.”

I texted my friend and didn’t even ask to stay with him. I simply said, “I’m coming over.”

I got to his place and fell asleep on his couch, I was so dead. The next morning  I woke up to visit an apartment in Williamsburg, AND BAM! That was it. The neighborhood was great, my roommate was fuckin hot, and super nice, and we clicked instantly, and then he said, “But, I just moved in and need to set up the apartment, so move-in isn’t until August 10. I couldn’t pass it up though. So I instantly gave him the deposit.

I get back to my friend’s and he goes, “Look, I have to go out of town for a birthday, and I don’t really feel comfortable with you being here when I’m not.. so, you have to leave.”

I went on Orbitz, booked a flight home for that night and called my mom from the taxi to JFK.

“Hi Honey! What’s going on?”

“Hi mom. My flight is going to land at about 9:20pm, I need you to be at the airport to pick me up.”

(silence.) 

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

“You’re coming home tonight?”

“Yes.”

(squeal!) “Oh ok!!! We’ll be there! I can’t wait to see you! Do you need me to pick up anyt….”

(Click.) 

I didn’t have time to speak to her. I had to call work to arrange being gone for a week.

airport

So, after a plane ride, and a ride home from the airport. I hopped in bed, safe in my childhood bedroom.  Little did I realize that I had been running around so much the past few days that I hadn’t been eating or drinking.

The next morning at 9 a.m. I shoot out of bed. I had a massive Charlie horse in my right calf. I jumped up, and instantly get woozy and light-headed and collapse. My parents are both at work already. I try to stand up again, and I get woozy again, and collapse. I try a third time, and start losing my vision when I stand up. I collapse again.

I decide that maybe I need food and water. I try to walk downstairs to the kitchen and again, I can feel my vision blurring and my head getting all wobbly. I collapse. Then, with no other option, I call 911 and literally have to say the lines, “Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”  I’M NOT EVEN 30 YEARS OLD! 

 

Long story short. They come and tell me I seem dehydrated, but my blood pressure and sugars seem fine. I go to the doctor just to be safe. I get bloodwork done and a cardiac test. Everything comes back fine. It was just exhaustion and dehydration.

So, that’s how, all within less than 7 days, I lost my apartment, stayed on 2 people’s couches, had to fly home, and even call 911…

But. I’m not giving up. I’m still in this. I head to back to New York tomorrow. I won’t give up. New York won’t win. I let Australia take me down and I’ve never forgiven myself. New York City and all you cuntfuck New Yorkers who live there… you’ve made a powerful enemy. game on.

 

~ The Dark Horse

(this post was way too long to proofread.  Sowwyz!)

 

 

 

 

 

I Hate Endings

folks

So, I move out of my Upper West Side apartment tomorrow, and it’s killing me.

Yes, I hated my roommates, and I can’t believe I somehow accidentally ended up living with a Trump supporter… I hope he chokes on a Freedom Fry in his new apartment in New Jersey… actually, now he lives in New Jersey, so he’s basically already dead.

BUT STILL, despite how much I hated my roommates, I still feel like I’m losing something. I’m losing my neighborhood. My cafes I’ve come to love where the baristas know me by name. I love walking in and having someone scream out, “What article are you writing today?!?”

I’m going to miss my corner Bodega. Shoutout to the West 82nd Grocery! I’m even going to miss my gym, where the equipment was old and crappy, and there was no AC, and old gay men would jack off in the sauna. Classic Manhattan, I say! And again, despite the fact that I hate old gay men jerking off in public, something about losing that makes me sad. It’s like, who, besides the people in my neighborhood who also gym there, would ever believe that the basement of our gym is a 24/7 jerkfest? NOBODY! 

And that’s community.

OH MY GOD. AM I GETTING OLD?

AM I STARTING TO LIKE THE IDEA OF…. SETTING DOWN ROOTS?

Sweet Jesus Kill Me.

old

old1

 

But then again, I suppose 30 is right around the corner. Perhaps I should embrace the failing kidneys, trick hips, and arthritic knees,

Oh, god, all before I’m even 40 I’m sure…

Or perhaps I need to think of it this way – I’ve only been in NYC for 5 months. I’m still just a newborn New York baby.  Maybe having to move to the Upper East Side isn’t an ending…maybe it’s just a beginning?

Maybe this first apartment was my “starter” apartment. Maybe I’ll actually like the Upper East Side? (cringes…) I mean, maybe, right? Maybe I’ll learn to love my new roommate and make a new best friend?

POINT IS – maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe this is the start. The start of a new adventure. The true beginning to my life in New York!

 

Let’s hope for the best?

~ The Dark Horse

(#NotProofRead, #DealWithIt)