Kind of cheating since this post was written last summer and has been collecting dust in my journal.  It still counts as a blog post though, right?

Eight years ago this week I moved to the Big Apple.  Well, not the Big Apple proper but a borough just south called Staten Island.  I would be living with my aunt and uncle until my soon-to-be roommate graduated a semester behind me.  My entire senior year of college had led up to this moment.  On Sunday nights in college, my friends and I would gather at my friend, Michelle’s apt. with takeout sushi to watch Sex & the City.  I was obsessed with New York and was not willing to settle on any other city.  I had gotten the bug on weekend jaunts to the city while spending a summer as a nanny in Greenwich, CT.

I had secured myself a job as a head hunter in Midtown, Manhattan.  Every morning I clicked my heels along the sidewalk on the way to the Express Bus.  I was a commuter.  I was sleeping on a pull-out couch, hanging suits on a collapsible metal closet rod.  But I didn’t care.  I was a New Yorker.  Not in the true New Yorker definition of the word, for which you have to live in the borough of Manhattan for 10 years to obtain, according to “real” New Yorkers.  But I was close enough.

I ordered my lunch salads at a deli counter ingredient by ingredient and ate them in the ssun on a wooden folding chair in front of the New York Public Library.  I joined a New York Sport Club.  I met friends for drinks after work in my business casual slacks.

Two weeks later the Twin Towers were laying in rubble and my mother was calling me everyday.  “No,” I told her.  “I’m not moving home.”  New Yorkers were strong.  New Yorkers were determined and steadfast.  This was my city now.

Six months later I had a new job and a brand new apt. on East 4th street.

I had arrived.  I dragged my laundry 3 blocks.  I bought my bagel and coffee from a cart on 34th street.  I paid an exorbitant amount on haircuts and groceries.  I subscribed to Time Out New York magazine – for 5 years.  I  was here tos stay.  I went to the hottest spots.  I said things like, “have you been to that new restaurant inMurray Hill?”  I used a reusable grocery bag at the Union Square Farmer’s Market.  I went to museums on the weekends for fun.  I had walked across the Brooklyn Bridge.

I had a favorite spot in Central Park and went to book signings up town.

I lived on East 4th Street for 2 years before leaving the city.  I had met the love of my life and while I had mixed feelings about leaving my beloved city I was ready for a new chapter in my life.  I love visiting New York still and showing Joe around all my favorite places.   I get a twinge of homesickness everytime I watch the intro to Saturday Night Live or eat a knish (which isn’t often but you get the picture).  I got Time Out New York for years while living in Florida.  Sometimes I cried, sometimes I threw them in the trash without even reading the Book Signing section.  I will always be a New Yorker in my heart.