bridge-and-tunneler

That's me.

The truth became clear last week, when I was making plans to meet a friend who was in town from Cleveland. (And this friend isn't really someone you'd take to your favorite hole-in-the wall taqueria or vegetarian Chinese restaurant. When we were discussing dinner, she was shopping for Marc Jacobs.) We were trying to choose a restaurant in the city, and I realized I had no idea what the new place to eat was anymore. When I lived in the city, I had a long list of places I wanted to check out, but this time, I really couldn't come up with anything -- drew a total blank. We ended up going to Park Chow, a good neighborhood standby, but not exactly the best place to show off your It bag.

My bridge-and-tunneler status was further confirmed when I met another friend in Nopa (the neighborhood) on Saturday, only to ask her where Nopa (the restaurant) was. She looked at me like I was nuts. (Especially since we were maybe two blocks away from the restaurant when this conversation happened.)

But it hit hardest when I found myself driving past my old apartment on my way to a birthday party at Trad'r Sam's. The parking spot right in front of the building was open. This used to be my favorite (and the most coveted) spot. And it was free, the way it hardly ever was when I lived there. And I drove by because this wasn't my home anymore -- this wasn't my destination.