New York to Make an Honest Woman of Me

This weekend a friend asked me, “When you ride the subway to work each morning, do you think to yourself, ‘Damn, I’m in New York. This is awesome!’” This friend just moved here from Cleveland.

Actually, friend, when I’m on the subway, I’m usually thinking about five letter words for Nagano noodles (Ramen).

Growing up in Westchester, going to school in Manhattan and only leaving the tri-state for a brief stint in DC, it’s easy to take New York for granted. But this weekend New York put the charm on and won me over again.

Last Monday, I found three suspicious bugs in my bed, the modern equivalent of discovering your buboes on your body during the middle ages. But on Saturday night, a bartender who had recently survived a plague of bedbugs told me that what I had found were just ticks. The possibility of Lyme disease was never more exciting. She even gave me a free drink. New York is good to me.

After that happy news, my friend and I went to another bar with an outdoor courtyard. There were apartments above us, and the bar manager encouraged us to maintain five feet voices. His elementary school instructions were lost on us, so the residents in the apartment above us took a middle school approach and egged us. Once my car was pancaked in high school, but I’ve never had food throw on me. New York is exciting.

Saturday night’s adventure continued when a friend with a car picked up my friend and me from the bar and drove us around Manhattan. It was an intense ride. This friend likes to ride the wave of green lights and race taxis. New York is thrilling.

On Sunday, New York made me the urban adventure equivalent of breakfast in bed. Another friend and I rode our bikes to Coney Island. We went on the Cyclone—which is actually quite scary due to its shoddiness—and had drinks and pickled vegetables at a Russian restaurant on the boardwalk of Brighton Beach. We were the only ones who spoke English at the place and bill had commas between the dollar and change. On the way back, we passed through two separate Hasidic neighborhoods. New York has character.

It also has my heart.