A Yelper’s Guide to Crying in Manhattan

Chelsea Piers Sports and Entertainment Complex

62 Chelsea Piers

New York, NY

Elite ‘13

Sarah D.

Review: **

The people at the concession stand are not very nice to you when your face is covered in mascara from crying and for some reason they have a completely unreasonable restriction on how much nacho cheese they’ll put on your chips which is bullshit because sometimes a girl just needs more nacho cheese, okay?

Would be better if it were cold enough to actually freeze tears onto your cheeks as you cry. That would give off sort of an “ice queen” vibe that could probably be kind of sexy and make teenage concession-stand boys give you as much nacho cheese as you want. As you need, even.

Bubbly

125 Hudson St

New York, NY

Elite ‘13

Sarah D.

Review: ****

This place has amazing comfort food. The bacon macaroni and cheese is perfect to cry into. The smoky meatiness is excellent at masking heart-rending sobs and the cheesy gooiness perfectly camouflages all of the snot that builds up in the back of your throat when you’re weeping silently into your fork. For desert, the crème brulee really pairs excellently with the briny tears of bottomless, never-ending despair.

I guess you could come here on a date but some of us don’t exactly have “dates” just waiting to “take us out” somewhere “fancy” where we can “have a conversation” and “please stop sobbing everywhere, I’m really uncomfortable.”

Docked a star because the waiter cut me off after six glasses of chardonnay.

My Apartment

62 Bedford St #11

New York, NY

Elite ‘13

Sarah D.

Review: **

Jesus, this place is tiny. Seriously, it shouldn’t be legal for people to live in a place like this. The oven door can’t open all the way because it hits the opposite wall and when I stand in the living room I can a) stretch both of my arms out and touch both walls at the same time and b) hear my roommate having sex with her boyfriend because they are in a happy, loving and functional relationship and if they weren’t I literally wouldn’t believe such a thing even existed anymore.

Anyway, there is no privacy in this place. For every moan my roommate makes, I return a choked, semi-sneezy sob that I’m sure makes their love-making incredibly awkward. Then, later, we are awkwardly stepping around each other in the kitchen while she tries to arrange a beautiful cheese plate with crackers and antipasto and I open yet another bottle of beer by jamming the cap into my eyesocket and twisting. Then I return to my cave of hopelessness, where I pretend there’s any reason for me to go on living.

I’d give this zero stars but it gets two because most of the time there’s pickles in the fridge and also, I have a Netflix subscription here.

The Stoop Across the Street from My Apartment

63 Bedford St

New York, NY

Elite ‘13

Sarah D.

Review: *

Goddammit, is there no privacy in this city? Is there literally nowhere a girl can go to sob silently to herself, her shoulders shaking in abject agony, snot accumulating on the sleeve of the Herbert Hoover High School field hockey hoodie she’s been wearing for six days straight?

When I’m lying supine on this stoop, staring helplessly at the skyscraper-obscured sky, tears welling in my eyes, I’m constantly being bothered by strangers asking stuff like, “Are you okay?” and “I think this woman needs help.” And don’t the doormen know you don’t have to call the police just because a person who kind of looks like a hobo has taken up residence on the front steps?

Leave a girl alone, won’t you? Wish I could give this stoop negative stars.

Cellar Cocktail Bar

899 Sixth Avenue

New York, NY

Elite ‘13

Sarah D.

Review: *

Drinks need more of the good part of the drink: the alcohol part. Emotions were not nearly numbed enough by last call.

The Hudson River Park at 2:30 in the Afternoon on a Work Day

55 West Street

New York, NY

Elite ‘13

Sarah D.

Review: *****

Maybe it’s just that sun is shining, or some workers were moving the grass when I was here and it was releasing that amazing freshly-cut-plant smell, or the fact that there’s a halal street meat cart like 250 feet away at all times, but this is a place I could really get used to crying in.

Probably, it’s because most people have jobs and at 2:30pm on a work day they’re busy appeasing their bosses and not busy bothering me while I lean over the river, wailing in despair, liquid dripping from every orifice of my face. Listen, there aren’t a lot of good places to vent the misery of the human experience in this city. This is the best I can do.

Also, a homeless man gave me half a sandwich and it might have had PCP in it.