Last night I got your letter. It's nice to hear that a girl about town is thinking of me. I practically stalk you. Your instragram feed is one of my favorites and don't you think you could blog a little more often (insert motherly guilt-inducing face)? Oh I hope that you do move here. I would love to know that you are close. Your experience of New York will be so different than mine. I am jealous to think of what yours will look like. Your experience is going to involve hole-in-the-wall restaurants and shows of bands that I've never heard of. Ohhh. And dating. Ahhh, to be young, employed, single and attractive in this place. Maybe, through your eyes, I can learn to love the city a little better. I don't yet. It's just a big city. Sure there's great public transportation and museums and a million trendy bakeries and restaurants that are good but overrated (Levain and Shake Shack I'm looking at you). I just haven't seen the spark yet.
That's not really true. I do love the rough people who are scruffy and grouchy on the surface but really have hearts of gold. I also love the accents. And the fact that I have never seen my landlord when he is not wearing a velour running suit.
There are a few things you should know. I am going to make you meet us in Central Park and go to the petting zoo with us. Afterward we will go out to eat. When my children start acting out and throwing things on the ground I will look at the other patrons and roll my eyes and act like "can you believe that she is just letting her kids run wild like this?" At these lunches I will also ask for all the lurid details of your life. You will tell me about the concerts and the first kisses but please, could you please linger and dwell on how last Saturday you stayed in bed until 10:30, then you walked to the bagel shop for an egg sandwich and promptly returned to your apartment where you spent the entire day watching movies on the futon and reading the most recent NYT book review? Please? Every single one of my fantasies these days revolves around an ambien, a room with black-out shades and 24 hours.
And when you come here I think you should stay with me for a couple of days. We have a futon. And we could take the train into the city and look at places to rent.
Think about it.
I miss you and would love to sit and talk with you right now
PS. I will make you framed prints from this book which you can replace when the city grows on you. I'll do the same. (and maybe we can dedicate some time to stalking Joanna Goddard because I stole these pictures from her blog and heck, she lives in the city too)
*Nothing says classy lady like publicly responding to a personal letter. What can I say? That's the way I roll.