I don’t like to travel.
I don’t fucking like it, okay?
It’s too much trouble.
I know – “But oh, the things you’re missing!”
I’ll tell you what I’m missing – I’m missing packing a bunch of shit and praying that I have enough socks. I’m missing the stress of planning everything out so that I “hit all the good spots” which usually entails going to see Something Important But Boring.
When you travel you have to Do Things. I don’t like to Do Things. I like to sit on my couch. I like to watch sports. On my couch. In Brooklyn.
You can have your Fun Experiences.
I don’t care about them.
You can tell me all about the things you did and show me pictures of the many things you saw, and I’ll nod and act like I care, but in my head I’ll be saying, “Man, am I glad I didn’t have to do that.”
It’s not an easy thing to tell people that you don’t like to travel either. People are utterly shocked when I tell them. Like it’s some big fucking crime that a person can not like to travel.
They tell me that I’m missing out and blah, blah, blah.
I want to miss out.
I want to miss out on the Eiffel Fucking Tower. I get it. I’ve seen pictures. It’s a big fucking metal pole. Great.
But I hope you had a good time looking at that metal pole sticking the ground! Sorry I missed that! You know we have those here in New York too? They’re called street lamps!
I think this is one of the reasons people find me Hard To Get Along With.