Gotham Centric

By nature, New Yorkers are convinced that nothing but a wasteland exists between NYC and Hollywood. If I had become that powerful Manhattan woman I had once fantasized about then my idea of “roughing it” would be a nice weekend at Canyon Ranch. Unfortunately, that is not the case; I once spent a night with no place to stay and went to three friends houses before I found a bed that was available for use, but that’s another story for another day.

Last week I went to the doctor due to some recurring stomach pains. While my car salesman-like doctor was poking my abdomen, he began making obligatory small talk. Upon revelation of my mid-western roots, he questioned how I feel about living in the Big Apple. After replying that I love this place, he said, “Well, you’d have to love this place compared to Utah. I’ll bet there’s nothing to do there.” Well, there may not be Broadway and the Met out West, but what about the Mountains and the Lakes? What about the great outdoors? There’s a lot to do in a place where you can see a canopy of stars, build a tree house and at one point in time, even sleep with your door unlocked.

After this conversation I voiced my concerns to the nurse that I would pass out during my blood work. She objected and declared that she could hold my interest and then asked me to elaborate on who I thought was better looking, Vin Diesel or Paul Walker…Bless her heart.

I left that office hoping I never become so Gotham centric that I consider New Jersey the epitome of western living. While I am fully capable of admitting how naïve I am, New York can be a little naïve as well.

Starry-Eyed and Tongue Tied

I moved to New York City almost eight years ago from a little old place called Farmington, Utah. As a child, I dreamt of living in a place that was thriving. Even at the mention of New York City, I would grow starry-eyed and tongue-tied. I always imagined myself as a sassy, metropolitan woman, working at a demanding and powerful job, making a fat paycheck and wearing fabulous clothes.

Imagine my surprise when I stepped off the M10 bus in front of my brand new apartment on 107^th street. My young self assumed I was moving to a glamorous building since it was right off Central Park West and my new roommates mentioned that we lived on the top floor so naturally, I assumed it was a penthouse. How could I be so lucky? And that’s when the record player came to a scratchy halt. My building smelled rather stale, my bedroom could hold only my twin blow up mattress and the only views I enjoyed were of the building next door and the airshaft covered in pigeon poop. But still, I vowed that I would conquer this city!

Well, after eight years of life as a New Yorker, I realize that I’ve only really conquered my four flights of stairs and my speed dial full of take out bodegas (they cancel each other out…right?) Maybe I’m not that high-powered woman and perhaps I’m a little naïve but that’s okay. Not all New York women are super heroes; in fact, a lot of us are still trying to figure out which way the subway is, although we’d never admit it.

Welcome to my world! Let’s explore the harsh yet hilarious realities of a naïve girl living in the Big City.