A Whole New World

I am officially a city dweller, and with that go certain expectations:

I won’t be wasting three hours of my day on NJ Transit. Fact.

The men I am exposed to after work on a day to day basis will not be 40 plus, married, creepy, or perhaps all of the above. Unless I go to a steakhouse. I’ve heard stories about those. I don’t have enough money to go there anyway.

When I go out, I don’t have to cut my nights short, inspecting the train schedule and factoring in subway time depending on how far from Penn Station we are. This means I can dance until 3 am, should my feet allow it. I can drink someone under the table and then have someone else put me in a cab to my home (don’t worry, I don’t actually plan on doing that, it’s just an option I didn’t have before).

I can be a regular somewhere. Which has always been a dream of mine. I want to be Norm on Cheers. I want to walk in and have everyone know my name. Well, maybe not everyone. And maybe not at a bar. That might say things. Coffee shop perhaps.

I could be in that coffee shop, have the baristas give me my regular order (Iced Tall Vanilla Latte), and have a semi-attractive man smile at me and ask me if I come here often. Ok, maybe not that line. But something along those lines.

I want to amass funny stories. Like the one I collected on the fourth of July, my first in the city, that involved a mass exodus toward fireworks, key lime pie shots, a married man basically asking my friend and I to be in a foursome with his wife, and a man with a ponytail who was just plain ridiculous.

Basically, I’m looking for a whole new world. And I don’t know how that won’t happen. And I’m excited about it.