Okay, Midtown, I get it. You’re young, you’re hip, you can stay awake and blast music at 11:00 p.m. on Sunday night. You can get drinks and ride your fixie home at midnight on a Wednesday with all your friends and laugh loudly as you recount how ironically hilarious you all were that night. You can bbq and play flip cup on your balcony and get in screaming fights with your boyfriend over the phone as you walk home past my bedroom window. You’re so cool.
And I just can’t handle it.
I should explain that I have some responsibility in this situation too. I love midtown. I love that you can walk anywhere for anything. I love that there are local shops and farmer’s markets and artisan chocolates just a few blocks away. I love the trees and the Victorian houses and the parks. Shoot, half the reason I moved to midtown (when I was 22) was to be closer to all the bar action. I’m not saying I was never the girl laughing a little too loudly with my friends on the walk home at 2:00 a.m.
The problem is, I’m not in young, hip mode anymore. Last time I tried to party, I ended up sobbing in the bathroom at Press Club because, apparently, it was all just too much coolness for me to handle. And that was on my birthday…
I acknowledge that I just can’t hang anymore. My idea of a wild night is ordering a second Jameson on the rocks and staying out past 10 p.m. And believe me, I will pay for that lack of sleep when I automatically wake up at 6:30 the next morning. Surprisingly, I am pretty okay with the fact that I can no longer handle mid-week (or any) hangovers these days.
Problem is, I still live here. So how do I deal with all the radness of midtown when I have to be to work at 7:00 and therefore like to be in bed by 10:00? How do I fall asleep on a summer night with no air conditioning when I have to leave my windows closed because at least the single pane drowns out some of the girl power Katy Perry party blasting across the street?
I have to admit that this has been one of the more unexpected circumstances in this awkward shift toward adulthood. I figured my clothes would change, my make-up would tone down, my binge drinking would disappear, and my sleep would increase, but I did not consider the fact that, as I evolved, my environment might have to as well.
I thought the awkward stage ended when I had my braces removed. Who knew I’d face plant into a second adolescence while trying to be mature?
At any rate, I’ll be fighting through my half broken 50 year old blinds so I can close the single pane windows in my old Victorian midtown apartment tonight. My landlord can thank the hipsters when she has to replace the blinds after I rip them off the window in a post-10 p.m. rage.
And make up for my lack of applicable pictures on this topic, here’s the puppy again!