I'm over Greenwich Village

This is how I know I am a grown up: I prefer the Upper West Side to my old neighborhood Greenwich Village. I can’t explain it. It’s like a grown up version of the West Village. Cute bars, great restaurants, gourmet grocery stores—I live a few blocks away from Zabars, and I am steps from Central Park.

No longer do I have to deal with rastas hanging out on my doorstep smoking herb, the drunk NYU frat boy vomiting outside the building, listening to the motorcycle gang that only convenes at 4:30am on Bleecker Street, and the drunkies leaving the bar at 4am on a Tuesday night getting into verbal altercations where they say how they are going to, “Kick your fucking ass!” It got so bad one night, I walked outside in my pajamas and told people to “shut the fuck up, I have a job that I need to wake up for.” I even thought about getting a baseball bat for that little something extra for intimidation.

But, it’s totally different up here. No baseball bat nor threat of violence needed! It’s treelined and civilized and unfashionable. People walking around in baggy t-shirts, mesh shorts, unkempt hair. This isn’t my former neighborhood where I had to walk through hoards of dressed up girls from Nebraska on the prowl, feeling like the anti-ambassador as I disproved the theory that NYC is the fashion capital of the world in my usual athletic shorts and t-shirt combos. My comfortable hanging around the house look is cool up here!

So, I am digging my new neighborhood and my new two story apartment and I don’t think any of the roommates are crackheads. Which is a major departure from my last living situation where the ex-roommate would leave the house at 1am and come back around 7am, drugged out with her eyes glazed over.

Ok, I am fucking exhausted as I went rollerblading in this heat and can’t seem to get to sleep so I am going to watch South Park until I am sleepy in my new place. Ah, things will never change.