Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

You know you've become the worst sort of cantankerous dilettante when it takes longer to order your cocktail than catch an Uber in the suburbs. I told the waitress I wanted Jameson with baked-apple bitters and a citrus zest. Not a splash of juice. No juice. None. I tighten the eye contact and spell all this out with my finest enunciation. I do this because I’ve learned the cold hard truth about mixologists. They are coy. They slip in a splash of their peche or aperol or bespoke walnut liqueur or their spiced honey whatever. And I become unhappy with my evening. If the establishment does not have Jameson, no one should offer me bourbon and they should not offer scotch and they should not offer rye. They should expound upon the virtues of another brand of whiskey for Christ’s sake. Furthermore, and let’s be clear on this: I want my drink in a rocks glass and I want it on the rocks. I do not want sad little chips of ice. And I do not want a...

1) If you take the key to your gym locker into the sauna and set it on the bench next to you, when you pick it up on your way out, a brand of a key will be burned into your palm flesh. 2) If you go into a Williams and Sonoma retail store to buy a contraption to elegantly shred parmesan cheese, you will realize your mistake almost immediately. The salesgirl will approach you and ask if you need help. You will say, “Can i use this flat grater thing here to shred parmesan cheese? Or how about this cube one?” and she will say “either one,” and walk away. Next time, just go directly online where there are paragraphs to guide such important cheese-oriented life decisions. 3) If you google search terms like “medical cost of  thiazolidinedione induced edema” for your job, ads for high BMI sandals like these will pop up in your Facebook feed: 4) You will always, 100% of the time, forget to take your computer power cord on a trip. You must set up a meeting on your outlook c...