|New York, 2010|
11 years ago today, I arrived from London to JFK to start the adventure that is living in New York. I had $300 and a vague notion that I could find a waitressing job while I figured out how to "make it" in media. Within a week, I was scuttling around at The Cupping Room Cafe in Soho (I was godawful at it.) I was fascinated by Barneys, obsessed with the notion of living in Noho, and constantly looking up. On the 1-9 train from my friend's apartment near Columbia, someone commented, "You're not from here, are you?"
Supposedly, after ten years, you get to call yourself a New Yorker. Last year, we were going to throw a party but got caught up in the whirl of wedding preparations. Guess this means I have to make it to 20?