My Life in New York City. Please don't show my mom

A cynical lifestyle blog after 10 years living in New York City.  Work. Life. Relationships. Just an observer in a crazy world. And yes, I know my site face sucks.   Facebook: www.facebook.com/justinthecity        Instagram: justinthecity_       email:...

[justinjohn]

1.12.23

Well -- hi there. It’s been quiet a while... I don’t even know- I think a pandemic has passed. I’ve definitely gained about 15 lbs, and when I look in the mirror at age 38, I feel like a sea witch stole my beauty, or a domestic abuse victim who has to pull it together for the day, but my abuser has been, well, life. 

But I’m okay. In therapy- Mindy is her name. She’s a Jew married to a black man, so I love her, and I agree with her most of the time, but, for instance, last session she suggested I join the gay man’s chorus or a church, so I re-think occasionally if she’s in her right mind, or if in fact, she knows me at all, because I’d rather lie down in front of a moving car than sing in a formal choir or become a member of a church.

I have a dog now. Theo is his name. You know how in life some things just click? Some things feel like a little “life lottery,” like, “I almost feel guilty because I shouldn’t have gotten so lucky with this [insert thing], but here I am.”? That’s Theodore Barnaby. Tom got him for me probably because he thinks I’m suicidal or having a break down most of the time- which is probably true- but God did he really hit it on the nose. I’ll never tell him that because I don’t want him to have a moment of self-congratulatory indulgence, but this dog is sent from a higher power. First of all, every time I look at him in the eyes, my heart melts. It’s frequently annoying because most of the time, I just need to get the fucking jelly out of the closet to make my PB&J or am passing by the couch to grab the clicker, but then he is just perched on top, watching me, with his coal black eyes and button nose, adoring me for no reason other than being me, and I oftentimes say out loud, “I love you so much I could squeeze you until I crack your lungs.” Which Tom neither finds funny nor sweet. 

Work sucks. I’ve literally had more jobs at age 38 than most people will have in their lifetime, but I can’t help it. Everyone is terrible. Companies don’t know how to run themselves. Bosses think they know how to manage things and they’re incompetent and inept. Not saying that I have some kind of insight on any of this shit, but I’ll tell you who doesn’t: most companies and people. I just have a rule that as soon as I hate it, I leave. So that generally offers me a 6-8 month runway before I’m back on LinkedIn. I am fairly certain you’ve gotten my resume. Like, check your inbox, I’m probably at the bottom with a cover letter.

Our neighbor came over the other night for dinner. Celeste. She’s a realtor. I love her because, at age 70, she’s a not-so closet smoker and has a daughter whom she can’t stand when she visits from Utah, but with a thin veneer of decorum, pretends to enjoy it. She;s from Portland and moved to Chicago with a degree in Journalism and spent some time in Italy. An educated world traveler, I’ve always had my suspicions she did a lot of drugs in the 70s. While she practices consummate etiquette at the dinner table and she is always sending a thank-you card after some favor. So it’s funny because when we had her and her daughter over for dinner, her daughter decided to tell us about her new sex toy chest business.

“Most girls don’t even know what they look like.” She said at one point, and it took me a second to realize she meant their vaginas. And then I realized for her to be telling me this, she must have -  I suddenly pictured her leaning over with a hand-held mirror looking at her own.  “..And that many more never even orgasm.” “Right.” I responded, glancing at Celeste with a weak smile painted with red lipstick disguising her personal horror.

“People don’t have places to store their toys,” her daughter remarked. “Right.. I guess they just put them in drawers..?” I asked. 

“Yes, but for instance, I have 5 toys. I need a place to store and charge them.” God, your vagina must be a cavern, I thought.  “Oh, so the chests have chargers?” “Oh, yes..” “That’s a pretty good idea,” I replied. “You can’t tell anyone about this-” Celeste chimed in, mostly, I assume, out of embarrassment. 

“Who am I going to tell?” I said. 

--

Anyway, so it’s 2023. Everything is clearly off the rails and I’m just trying to get by.

I’m getting back into the swing of things and just wanted to say hi. I’ve missed you. Sending some love. Hope to talk again soon.

[justinjohn]

Monday 5.18

As I sit here drinking from my fishbowl-on-a-stick of red wine while eating a rice krispie treat I got free at the store because it was expired already three days ago, I think to myself: this feels fitting for today.

Can we talk about this morning? Seriously- I know every Monday morning hits you in the head like a baseball you didn’t know was coming, but today in particular, it was, like, not only was disorienting, but - now I’ve gotten in the habit of rolling over and opening the news on my phone, which, I clearly know is the wrong decision, but it’s like I need to wrap the cascade of job losses, death, retail closures around me like a blanket to feel in proper Covid-covered malaise.  It’s like I wake up to the sunshine and think to myself, “I think this could be a good day..” as I reach over to read the most devastating news I can find to incite a rapid heart rate, which usually reminds me I need to make coffee. 

I’ve either started grinding my teeth every night to the point that, as the dentist put it, “they’re splitting like sidewalk concrete,” or, since I’ve stopped regularly brushing, rapidly accumulating cavities, which is fine except when I eat anything crunchy and it feels like a jellyfish attack. I just substitute Listerine because I’d rather just scald my mouth for 15 seconds in an inadequate attempt at hygiene than have to brunch for 2 entire minutes. I have so many better things I could be doing, like sitting in the same chair I sit in for 8 hours a day for another two minutes. Or scroll on my phone. 

My general appearance has really taken a hit. I woke up this morning and shaved (I only can shave once a week because 1. my skin is sensitive and 2. I don’t care to put in any additional effort), and I missed a spot and was just like, “literally who cares; they can’t see this on camera.” It looks like a dirt smear. I put on the same outfit I wore for four days last week. My boyfriend was like, “That again?”  To be honest, I was shocked- he never notices when I wear a new outfit, so I was impressed he actually noticed I hadn’t changed my clothes in a week. 

Anyway, everyone seemed so over it today. I feel people have gotten to the point where they’ve just decided, “Look, I know I am ‘working,’ but I am just not going to respond to your Slack for 3 hours because I literally don’t give a shit about anything you have to say.” Luckily for them, I’m the type to just continually send messages over and over again until I receive acknowledgement of my message. I think people probably hope I get laid off. 

 I didn’t see Jean today-- for anyone who doesn’t know- Jean is my depressed neighbor-- we call her ‘human rain cloud’-- who likes to peg people down outside the building and tell you she’s going to kill herself.  “I think today is the day,” she says.  I used to be so nice about it- told her to call and text me, made sure she didn’t do anything crazy- until people in the building told me she’s been doing this for years- you know, telling people she’s going to off herself. Last time I tried to turn the other way down the street, and she called out my name and chased after me with her dog, Max, who she dragged behind her on the leash. And then she says it so declaratively, like, “I just don’t want to live anymore,” and then she pauses and just stares at you in the face waiting for the shock and sympathy. Before I would play into it, “Oh Gosh, don’t say that- it’s so beautiful, go for a run on the lake.” She’s 65 and about 65 lbs overweight mind you so I don’t know why that was my response, but.. Now, when she says, “I think I’m not gonna make it.” I’m just like, “bitch me neither, what you got in your bathroom mirror?” 

Anyway, it seems she got someone to do her hair the other day so she’ll switch from that script to taking off the knit winter hat she wears year round to her matted hair and say something like, “What do you think of it? The stylist told me he went a little more walnut this time. I think I like it. What do you think?” And it is literally the same exact color it always is, but I usually say, “You know Jean, I think it’s a little more gold- I like it,” just because I feel that’s the response she’s hoping for. I hope when I’m old and suicidal someone does that for me.  I will say that for not showering for weeks on end, she does an amazing job of always applying her same signature pink lipstick before she leaves the building.

I find people like that so enigmatic, you know? It’s like, “What, you can’t change that sweater that’s had a stain on it since last Tuesday but you won’t leave the house without a fresh application of spring-blossom..”  I don’t know, who am I kidding, we are probably both in the same boat. 

Anyway-- okay-- bout to finish this wine and watch Too Hot to Handle-- because might as well watch other people have sex when I am to disgusting to do it myself.

[justinjohn]

11.3.19

I’m sad today. 

I feel aimless. Like, existentially. 

I’m always cold. It’s that time of year in which you feel like you are ‘coming down with something’ even though you’re probably fine just because of the change in the weather. And, what’s more, the holidays are coming, which is just anxiety and depression rolled into a ball and hung on the Christmas tree.

I got into a fight with my partner today. He said I was a narcissist and that living with me is like living with a raincloud. Both seem opposite sides of the spectrum but hey I guess I’m diverse. I was strong the whole fight until that point. And then I ran into the living room and I cried. Not softly but inconsolably. I shook from the pain. He came out and tried to talk, but I ran into the bathroom Then he came in. So I ran out and thew myself onto the bed and buried my face under the pillows, trying to clench my eyes shut and disappear into the sheets. It was the only escape but not even a good one. 

 I haven’t cried that hard in years.

I don’t know what 35 is supposed to be. Is it a time for career to take flight? Is it time for me to settle down? Is it time for new chapters in which I reclaim the singledom I’ve abandoned for the past 6 years? 

Life - so fucking annoying. Society/social media wants you to think you can (and should) have it all, but no one has it all. But we like to brag about it like we do. Human beings are just the absolute worst. But it’s like this:

If you have career, you likely don’t have a family. If you have family you likely don’t have a vibrant social life. If you have a vibrant social life you likely don’t have a relationship. It’s not a rule, of course, but you know what I’m saying. We all are awake around 16-20 hours a day. We have a lot of the same things to accomplish in that time. No matter how rich or poor, social or not, well-traveled or agoraphobic, the disparity can only be so far. We all want a good meal, warmth, loved ones, restful sleep. 

I look at the richest people in the world and see how life equalizes us-- Enya lives alone in a castle in Europe. Jeff Bezos- caught sending dick pics. CEO of McDonald’s losing his job over his work relationship. I have a friend who, due to life circumstances, is now a millionaire before 40. All he ever wants is the affection of another person to make him feel loved and validated. I feel he’d give it all up if someone asked. 

No matter if you’re Kim Kardashian flying around the world or my next door neighbor who barely leaves the house, the things we spend time doing are our identities, but it does not necessarily equal fulfillment. There’s a difference. 

I used to think having a relevant fashion job in New York meant everything. I felt like my family and friends were outside looking in, impressed by my accomplishments, rooting for me and supporting my success.  Literally, no one was doing that. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. And I was putting aside my love life and friends for a career that I felt ‘defined’ me in my small, myopic mind.

When I left that job, I was still just me. As are you. It’s strangely obvious but also hard to imagine. 

Self esteem is a funny thing. Validation is addictive. And when we don’t get it at home or from someone else, it’s surprisingly welcome anywhere it can be found.

But you still have to go home at night and look yourself in the mirror and find contentment in what you see.

And that’s what I am going to try to do today. Well, maybe not right now this exact minute, but this week: to understand that my job doesn’t define me; my relationship doesn’t define me; my house and my clothes don’t define me. I alone, as a human being, define who and what I am. 

And I want to figure out what that is. Because sometimes I feel like I’m not sure.

[justinjohn]

Just Nuke It.  Follow me on instagram @justinthecity_

[justinjohn]

I mean.. it’s true. Follow me on instagram @justinthecity_

[justinjohn]

Follow me @justinthecity_

You guys-- I’m moving the tumblr closer to instagram because it’s easier to post more often and maybe with less long-form text.  Follow me @justinthecity_ for timely updates and psts. 

[justinjohn]

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[justinjohn]

[justinjohn]

Thanksgiving a laborious undertaking for mother once again

[justinjohn]

I would like to tell you my story about my cranberry bliss bar from Starbucks today. Please watch, comment, and share <3 . -Justin

[justinjohn]

I made my first video. What do you think? I felt like there was no better way to explain this than through a small movie.

[justinjohn]

Went to the doctor this morning. 

“Why don’t you throw in that STD panel just in case.”

[justinjohn]

I am going to brag right now, but I just want everyone to know that @fuckjerry has posted my instagram / twitter  @fuckjerryf. And I am loving that people are commenting on it, like, “Maybe you have adrenal fatigue.”

I’m fine. It’s literally just depression. Chill out people. Jesus. 

Follow me: on instagram: justinthecity_ <-- click

[justinjohn]

Western Lowland Gorilla Born at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute

For the first time in nine years, primate staff at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo are celebrating the birth of a male western lowland gorilla.

Be still my heart.  When I watch videos like this I think to myself, “How is it possible that human beings don’t think we are related to apes?”  But then I also remember how NRA donations tripled after someone shot up a school in Florida, so nothing surprises me anymore.

Anyway, if you want to cry today at your desk (aside from any crying in the bathroom), watch the video and zoom 3/4ths in. It will just take your heart and make you remember that nothing matters in life other than cradling a baby’s head and maybe a kiss from mom.

[justinjohn]

Uncle Ben. Weds, 2/28/18

Well, the government is falling apart and the country is on the verge of a civil war regarding guns, so all in all, it’s been a typical Wednesday. The newsfeed on my phone needs a goddamn break. I mean, I am well-aware it is an automated process, but I actually still feel bad for it, like, every time I go to my phone feed all the articles change again, and I’m just like, “I know your algorithms must be so tired. Please, have a rest.”  People who got into media are going to come out of this administration like it’s the journalistic version of the Iron Man. They’re going to be able to type 300 words-per-minute, follow six stories at once, and interview two people with one microphone and use their comments interchangeably in both republican and democratic-slanted articles. They are doing the equivalent of holding a bucket and running around trying to catch verbal gaffes being spewed by the human misconduct sprinkler and publishing them before they hit the ground.  Or, they will just quit journalism altogether because their will is broken. 

It was one of those days that had been forecasted to be 58 degrees but then, in a sudden turn of events, the clouds didn’t part, and the the temperature never rose above 32. That’s actually the worst kind of day because you get yourself all jazzed up for a long-overdue dose of spring weather, maybe put on a lighter coat and a smile, only to go outside and find it’s still depressing-winter, and everything you hoped for will never materialize as you envisioned, just like your dreams. 

On a positive note, the office finally replenished the chocolate supply. I went and took three pieces today, sat down at my desk and ate them, and then promptly got up and went back for another three. And then a final two. I was careful to not let all the crumpled foil sit in little balls on top of the trash because I didn’t want anyone walking by a judging me- not only for being fat, but for my devil-may-care with the company candy. That’s the thing about junk food / office food in general; you can never go into the communal supply, like, “I’m just going to take this entire bag and put it in my desk.” You may plan to eat the entire bag, but you have to do it in installs, in shifts, lay the planks a few at a time without flagrant intention, until you can look back and see you’ve built a bridge. Or in this case, throwing away the empty bag. And if you’re smart, you can even take the last one and hold up the empty plastic to whoever is in the kitchen (ideally an influencer on the grocery order) and say, “Ugh someone ate all the chocolate- can you imagine?” Knowing full-well you’re possibly a sociopath but cunning because maybe that person will be able to find or order more. And people won’t know you alone consumed 95% of it.

I ate one of those 90-second Uncle Ben’s rice things for lunch. First of all, there’s nothing more embarrassing than whipping out one of those packets at an office, like that is somehow a grown-up option to bring to a corporate lunch environment, or even suffices as an entire meal. It’s something you eat in college because you had $3 and ran out of Easy Mac and this was your ‘healthy meal.’ Except I’m 33 and I’ve been in the work force for a decade so there’s that.  People were unpacking their kale salads with fresh hard-boiled egg, chopping up vine tomatoes to pair with their avocado slices, and here I was with my fucking bright orange packet, ripping off the top and dumping the contents in a bowl, which fell out with a big ‘thump,’ amongst the din of conversation, like I publicly defecated on the kitchen counter. But when people looked over there was nothing to say aloud other than, “hard times?” Or “that’s nice you put it in a bowl.” It felt like I was feeding a dog, but then I sat down with the bowl, and tried to carry on conversation, but it was hard knowing I was eating a large pile of overly-fragrant bagged rice amongst a table of pine nuts and radicchio.

Alas, I survived. I skipped working out because as I stated in yesterday’s post, I’ve given up on doing anything beneficial for my health until this weekend, other than drinking alcohol. When my co-worker asked, “Why arent you working out today?” I didn’t even have an answer other than, “I literally just don’t want to.” Success always tastes sweeter when you’re at rock bottom.  And then I left the office with a headache and when I got home, before I took my coat off, I poured a heaping glass of wine. I was like, “This is precisely why people get nervous about alcoholism.” But, I swear, it was just a rough day.

And now I am going to bed for a solid 10 hours and if anyone wakes me up, other than to tell me you like my blog, it’s curtains for you. I’ll come over and wake you up for an otherwise unpleasant reason and see how you like it. And with that, sweet dreams and adieu.

<3 Justin

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[justinjohn]

Winter Body. 2/27/18

It’s nearing that point in the winter where I’ve begun to realize I’ve let go completely. First of all, I need a haircut-- my hair has gotten to the point that it no longer follows a direction anymore, but rather now is just growing in an ‘outward’ direction, like the top of a tree. Or a sponge animal. Second, I have to groom my chest. Not dissimilar to a girl’s legs, I’ve let it grow all winter without tending to it, so now when I take off my shirt, I look at myself in the mirror and can see the direct link between humans and apes. Me at the end of February is proof of evolution. I’m disgusting; if I wear a white shirt, my chest hair comes out of the top like a hairy tissue paper. If I were to don a gold cross, I could go by ‘Jimmy’, wear a pinky ring, and steal the hubcaps off your car without setting off the alarm. Furthermore, I just have tits now. I stopped exercising altogether a few weeks ago due, likely, to a combination of depleted stores of vitamin D and seasonal affective disorder, but I’ve gained at least 10 pounds, which coincidentally, has gone directly to my breasts. I could fill out a B-cup bra right now, no problem. When I run they bounce up and down and I have to regulate my stride so it doesn’t feel like they’re going to rip off my body and fall like coconuts. And also so construction workers don’t whistle. People don’t even look at my face when they talk to me anymore. I’m like, “Eyes up here.” “I have a brain, you know.” My skin has turned a color that most closely resembles a vegetable that’s been left out too long- sort of yellowed and stale-looking. Sallow. You kind of study it and think to yourself, “that doesn’t look right.” You think there might be some underlying disease. And you say, “this isn’t good anymore,” as you throw it into the trash. I, too, am going to throw myself in the trash. And finally, my body in general has just lost a defined shape. I feel like an amoeba with feet, like, I know there are cheekbones in my body somewhere, but I couldn’t tell you where. And my abs are floating somewhere in between my stomach and my back, but I haven’t seen them since August so, they may have also just dissolved altogether. When I talk or smile, I have to make an effort to suck the waddle of my chin into my throat, so I don’t have a flap hanging down, like the roof upholstery of an decrepit, old car. And the circles under my eyes have become portals of depression; like, when you look into my eyes too intently, you are immediately reminded like, “shit, did I take my prozac this morning?” I do not want to look like that.  I didn’t know skin could turn dark brown like an old banana, but here we are and March is upon us and I’m like a cave person who’s reemerged into public after years of darkness. And appetite wise-? I just trudge around grabbing at things and devouring them whole, like entire cans of things- I just put the entire can in my mouth and swallow. Like the entire steak with the T-bone still in it- one swallow- and then I pull out the naked bone like in a cartoon. I eat whole cakes with the candles burning on top, one gulp.

So I decided that as of Saturday when the sun will officially rise at 6:30 AM, I am going to start working out again, so all of this goes away and that when I smile, the bag-of-nuts that have become my cheeks don’t actually give the impression that I, too, have been storing food for winter like a forest animal. When I talk, food falls out.

And so if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to take my B-cup tits and black-portal-to-hell undereyes and carry myself to bed, wearing a pair of fleece drawstring pants and a beer t-shirt because that’s what life has become for me, and think about marching into March. ..Except I’ve forgotten what it’s like to exercise without panting or having to hold onto a rail to regain my breath, so more like ‘leisurely stroll’ into March.

Goodnight.

<3

Justin

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[justinjohn]

This is a totally appropriate amount of money for a cup of coffee.