Ever since I went to San Francisco in August, I’ve been a bit down on New York. San Francisco, I found, had so many great things about it: skinny boys, skinny boys with tattoos, skinny pale boys, skinny pale boys with tattoos, skinny pale boys with dark hair and tattoos, skinny pale boys with tattoos on bikes…the list goes on.
But seriously, despite my beloved cousin assuring me that people had left hate mail about her bad parking job on her car not once but twice at her food co-op, I couldn’t believe that everyone in SF wasn’t as awesome as they seemed. I met a girl at a restaurant who happily tasted our appetizer and told me to call about job hunting if I wanted to move. I met a guy a bar called Zeitgeist who invited me to come live with him if I wanted to move. (As long we could “test our chemistry” before the night was over…details…details…) I met a kid from New Jersey at the farmer’s market who picked up moved to an apple farm. I love apple farms. I loved SF.
Before I went there, my Travel Partner had warned me that I probably wouldn’t like it, because I moved at a 10 pace, and in San Francisco everyone moved at a 3. While I was there, I discovered that I would much rather move at a 3 than at 10. When I came back to New York, I surveyed all the 8 million people who live here and thought, “I hate you.” It’s not a very generous thought for someone who is about to start a Yoga Teacher Training today (booya, reclaiming Sept 11), but we’re all human. Plus, it’s not my job as a future yoga teacher to make everyone in New York less of a pretentious jerk, right?
But then, on Wednesday night, I met the coolest girl in New York. We’ll call her Suzy. I was standing on Amsterdam ave, outside of Haru (coolest Sushi in NY) across from Brother Jimmy’s (coolest bar in NY) with my brother, coolest human in the Galaxy when Suzy and a friend of hers walked up to us.
Turns out my brother knew them from college, and that Suzy was in grad school near where my brother was living in the city.
“Cool.” He whipped out his BlackBerry. “We should hang out some time.”
Suzy sputtered good-naturedly. “Why would you say that to me? We’re not going to hang out.”
“Seriously, I don’t know even know why you’d say that to me, because we’re never actually going to hang out.”
I started laughing, hard. “Wow, you are probably the realest person in New York,” I told her.
“Fine,” smiled my brother who was also amused. “Do I have your number?”
“Who cares?” Suzy was laughing too. “What would we do if we hung out?”
“You guys could get coffee,” I suggested. I really liked this girl.
“We can’t get coffee!” She cried. “What we would we talk about? Nothing.”
I turned to Suzy’s companion. “She’s amazing. I love her. Is she drunk?”
They both laughed. Suzy was totally sober.
“Well,” I declared. “I’m really interested in what you’re doing in Grad school. You should hang with me. See, Brother, Sally and I are going to hang out. Your name was Sally, right?”
A grin slid over Brother’s face as he shrugged his shoulders at his friends. “I guess it runs in the family.”
So, yes, I am cut from the same cloth as my brother. (Thank God!) But I did find a reason to like New York. Since I realized that I sort of stopped liking New York on September 11th, 2001, I feel like this is great timing. Plus, if there’s one thing New York teaches you it’s that nothing solves your problems like a girl whose name you can’t remember.