The best of all possible worlds

I was in NYC this past weekend. It was my lil' sissy's baby shower. It just about killed me not to mention my anticipation for the trip, as she reads my blog. I also couldn't stay at my parent's house Friday night, because of the risk she'd see me, or my car, so I took the opportunity to stay with a friend I haven't had the chance to see or chat with much over the last few years.

It was a really nice weekend. It was great to see L, and her little boy (even though he wanted nothing to do with me, LOL). My sister was surprised, and the shower was a huge success: great food, lots of fun and love, and tons of baby stuff.

One thing really bothered me though. I've lost my New York mojo.

It shouldn't surprise me; I've now lived in New England for longer than the time I spent growing up in New York. What pushed me over the edge Friday night was I got lost driving to Sunnyside to meet my friends. Now, I never drove while I lived here, but I know where things are; I spent enough time riding shotgun with my father, sister, or friends when I was home from college to know my way around at least three of the five boroughs. Or so I thought.

As I approached the Whitestone Bridge, I had to think about how I was going to get over to Sunnyside from there. I was going to take the Brooklyn Queens Expressway to Roosevelt Ave, then saw the sign for Queens Blvd, the next exit, and thought, "Oh, yeah---take that right to the bar." Except I took the eastbound side. (See, up here, most times I am seeking east to head home, west is toward New York and beyond.) I realized my error almost instantly though, so I conveniently turned around under the highway to get back on Queens Blvd going the right way. No problem. Except for those of you not familiar, Queens Blvd is this huge divided roadway with express lanes, and local lanes, and as I followed the truck in front of me making the left turn, thinking I was heading for the outer local lane, I was actually getting back onto the BQE.

Now I'm getting pissed, because before all this, I was actually making good time. I was pondering calling my friend Mikey, because I knew I could get off before the tunnel in Long Is City and cut over to Sunnyside from there but might need help doing that. I chose pride though, and decided I could do it myself. Only I ended up on Greenpoint Avenue, not knowing which was toward Brooklyn, and which way was Queens. So now I call my friends, very cranky, begging for help. Of course they came through for me.

"You're at a gas station and you're calling us???? Ask the gas station guy!"

Which I did. And after I drove a few blocks and saw street signs for MacDougall and Humbolt I realized I was in freaking Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Do you think he saw my out of state plates and was f*cking with me? Ugh. At this point I almost called my older sister, but it was late and I know she goes to bed early. I did finally get my way back to the BQE, in the right direction, off to 48th street where I knew where I was going. The waitress couldn't bring me a Magner's fast enough.

I ended up making two other wrong turns/wrong exits the next day too. All I could hear in my head Matty's voice teasing me, saying he was going to take away my New York card. I was irrationally upset. Jobee had a good point though. She reminded me that I am me, that my personality is a little New York, and a little Boston. I say "kwarter" and I say wicked. Everyone knows that, and there is nothing wrong with that. I guess she's right. Always the practical voice of wisdom.

I guess it bothered me so much because I was always one of those people that thought the rest of the world pretty much stopped at the Hudson River. Of course higher education enlightened me a bit, and as I got comfy up here I stayed. I've had plenty of opportunity to consider going back, but I weigh what I have up here, the quality of life... I don't know, it's hard. Like I said I got comfy. New York, and my family and friends will always be there for me. I have the best of both worlds. Take that, Professor Pangloss.