air conditioner

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Good news for all you kid and rich people haters!

Any day now, you’re going to have the sidewalks, burger joints and bars of Brooklyn to yourself again. I know you are breathless in anticipation because, yes, it’s almost time for the annual exodus of affluent breeders and people with cars. We may say we love summer in the city but anybody who can will be jumping off this sinking ship like… Bruce Ratner and his rats.

Before you start hating me too much for my summer plans at my palatial summer estate, I just want you to know that I will never be able to afford to travel further than Sullivan County, NY again. Ever.

But while I’m poolside with Norman (who donned an extra small speedo this weekend in honor of gay pride this weekend) and my kid (who spent an hour on the pool jet, having discovered its joys when placed strategically), YOU lucky Brooklynites will have the joint to yourselves.

Let’s take a moment, shall we, to discuss all the great shit that I’m going to be missing out on in our great city this summer…

Okay, that’s all I’ve got at the mo’. Weigh in with your top five on what makes summer in the city so great.

And as an added bonus, I’m sending you off with my two new favorite road trip shots, which I came upon while malingering on this post for longer than was strictly required…

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Even the beast is looking aghast at the sheer unmitigated gall of my taking photos of this blessed event instead of helping.

There is no excuse except… I care about this new blog of mine. I care about YOU two dozen or so people who are taking time out of your busy days to stop here.

Yes, this is perhaps the FIRST time in 20 years that my wish has been my man’s command but, honey, I will never doubt you again. Now, you are going to install it too, right?

And yes, mom, we’re fine, we’re not sweltering, we are cool as cucumbers. No need for undo concern. Or any more concerned calls. We’re good. See above.

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via Gothamist via somebody’s flickr page

I don’t know how I got talked into throwing out the old air conditioner TWO falls ago before I had actually gotten an iron-clad guarantee that there would be a new one in place when the time came. That time is, uh, NOW. And where is my AC? At PC Richard or maybe Drimmer’s priced approximately two hundred bucks more than it was last week.

Yes, I’m the dumbass who heads out to buy an AC on the hottest day of the year. And I have a history. That’s the really sad part. Hell, my man and I once schlepped one home on the fucking 2/3 train circa 1995.

As of now, I’ve gotten as far in this venture as renewing my Consumer Reports online subscription and spending many fruitless hours looking for a perfect picture for this post. And now it’s too late because I’ve got to pick up the kid and it’s all over but for the crying.

I will take this as a lesson that my a) my penchant for poor planning b) ineffectual honey-do list management and c) deeply-engrained sense of denial and entitlement WILL NOT STAND.

 

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