Cheap thrills that make me love this city

New York City is a money sucker. Two dollar ATM fees at places that don’t take cards. Five dollar boxes of graham crackers. Six dollar well drinks–I could get the same taste and effect for cheaper with a bottle of Windex. I occasionally get resentful that groceries and the subway cost money, usually the week when rent’s due. I hear people on the real estate porn channel say they pay $1,200 a month for a mortgage on an actual house, and get a little bit jealous. Then I remember the homes featured are usually in the boonies of Montana, Wyoming, and other states where there are less free concerts in parks.

And despite the high cost of living, there are still so many things that make me want to yell “I love New York” at the top of my lungs, like I’m on some cliche poster of a cityscape set in Times Square. Drop-off laundry service is number one on my list of loves. I set my overflowing bag on the scale, and it’s in a neat little, huggable cube when I pick it up the next day.

They even match socks and put underpants in stacks…I would never do that on my own.

“What a lazy sod,” you might say to yourself. “Wouldn’t having peopled do your laundry be more expensive than washing your own damn clothes?” It’s not! Drop-off service is the same price! Laundry has always been my least favorite household chore, and it’s worth every penny spent to avoid waiting for towels to dry while sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair while watching E! News.

Why I don’t eat Lucky Charms anymore

Flip flops provide little protection against blades meant for chopping wood. I was camping at the beach with my family, and rolled out of the tent with the mission of foraging for food in the trailer. My family’s trailer wasn’t so much a trailer as it was the back of an old pick-up with boards on the sides and a trailer hitch, but it hauled supplies that wouldn’t fit into the Jeep just fine. I reached over the side in my half-awake daze to feel for the box of Lucky Charms. I didn’t see my dad had left the ax propped up against the wheel, uncovered, blade side out, and the side of my toe grazed against, cutting out a sizeable slice. My mom bandaged up my toe while I stared into my paper bowl of marshmallowy bits.