Disclaimer: I know this post has very little to do with pop culture, which is kind of the point of this here blog (if there is one), but since when have I paid attention to the "rules" of "blogging"? And, if you must know, when I was younger almost all that I knew about living in New York City came from watching Felicity. When I finally moved here, I learned VERY QUICKLY that NYC was not all creepily following around the boy you have a crush on but only talked to once, or wearing turtlenecks all the time even in the summer, or time traveling (Felicity took some risks in that last season, amirite??). No, living in NYC was REAL. And I mean that in the best way and also the most horrifying way. So that kind of counts, right?
(Because the lyrics to that Taylor Swift song should really be: "Welcome to New York, it's been waiting...to crush your dreams and chip away at your soul bit by bit until you're really just a shell of your former self and sometimes you don't even have the energy to put a bra on in the morning because hey, life in this city can be trying."
But she's the wordsmith here, so what do I know?)
That time I tripped and face-planted in the middle of Penn Station during morning rush hour.
That time I had my credit card stolen by a person who went on an extravagant shopping spree at Macy's and ate $100 worth of burritos and I was terrified my identity was going to be stolen but also a little jealous.
That time I was in a really small coffee shop and knocked over some lady's papers with my giant purse and held up an entire line of people trying to leave.
That time I got hit by a car and spilled my coffee all over the hood and cursed off the driver and then ran to my office and cried in the bathroom.
That time I got bedbugs.
That time I got bedbugs and had huge bite marks on my face and had to go to my first day of work at a new job.
That time I got bedbugs and went to a friend's party for NYE but had to bring a trash bag for my coat.
That time I was so sad about being unemployed that I got a salsa stain on my pajama bottoms but I wore them for three consecutive days after that because they were red and I thought: It blends in, who cares?
That time when I got in a cab and started crying to my driver that my birthday was ruined because my friend got too drunk, but probably I was the drunk one.
That time I paid $3 for a regular coffee.
That time I paid $7 for a chocolate milkshake.
That time the cashier at Trader Joe's told me not to feel bad about being single on Valentine's Day because I'd find love when I least expected it.
That time I decided moving back into Manhattan would be a good change for me and then I got in my bed the first night in my new apartment and I could feel the bass from the restaurant downstairs pulsing through my body.
That time I got lost in Queens during a heatwave trying to go see the last Harry Potter movie and I walked out onto the highway to stop a cab but he drove around me and I flipped him off.
That time I had to watch a grown woman barf on the subway.
That time I had to watch a woman breast feed her four year old son on the subway.
That time when that guy on the subway asked me why I don't care more about the situation in Iraq and I got off the train even though it wasn't my stop.
That time I got a new microwave but it was delivered to the building across the street and I had to carry it back to my apartment by myself and I seriously considered leaving it.
That time I accidentally walked into a civil rights protest when all I was trying to do was buy a space heater at Home Depot.
That time my roommate and I were at the laundromat and a homeless man walked in and the owner started yelling at him and then sprayed him with a hose until he left and we were frozen in horror.
That time I slipped on a patch of ice in front of my apartment and kept slipping the more I tried to stand up, until eventually I had to grab on to the wrought iron fence and drag myself to safety.