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Warning: This post reads like I’m some starry-eyed kid who has come to NYC to pursue a dream. That may be what I am, but I want say I’m aware of how annoyingly blissful this post sounds, and acknowledge I’ll be bored and jaded very soon.

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I can see the Verrazano Bridge and ground zero from my desk, and the Statue of Liberty from another corner of my office floor. I travel by subway under the East River to work, and by yellow taxi over the Brooklyn Bridge on the way home. I get to work for a company I respect — one the rest of the world respects too. I get to live with my wonderful boyfriend and his mostly tolerable cat, in a cute little neighborhood that’s a dash of Berkeley, a pinch of Santa Monica and a whole heap of Brooklyn. I get to sleep in, stay out late, wear gloves and hats, and feel like I’ve got a real fresh start for once.

Curtis was sweet enough to escort me to work yesterday. I was excited to show him that I totally knew my way around the big city. We hopped the F train and transfered to an A to take across the East River into Manhattan. Once on the A, the conductor said, “The A is running on the F line today.” Wha? We just got off the F, and this train has a big A on it. Maybe she misspoke.

Nope, the A’s next stop was on the F line. We got off at Essex/Delancey in hopes of taking a J train down to the Financial District. Of course the J was running on a weekend sked, and the end of the line was one stop short of our target station. We got off at City Hall and speed-walked 0.7 miles to work.

I was ten minutes late, and I’d given myself almost a full hour for my commute, just in case. Ugh. I walked in and my boss said, “Survive the weekend trains?”

Young padawan still has much to learn.

On account of the temperature hovering around 70 degrees in Brooklyn today, I decided to take to the streets. After another nice breakfast of slow-cooked oatmeal and a nonfat latte at Naidre’s, some window-shopping, a new wallet, and a yummy bagel at Bagel Hole, I stopped into a pet store to make preparations for the arrival of Prince Tiger. Worried about having to maneuver a cat tower, litter box, litter and food back up to the apartment, I was delighted to discover that this pet store – and all the others – have free delivery.

As if I wasn’t thrilled enough in the first place to ditch the car, the car insurance and the gas money, I have been ecstatic to find that life without a car is a cinch. When mom and I emerged from Bed Bath & Beyond in Chelsea last week with armfuls of crap, an employee fastened a handle to the air mattress box, then a doorman escorted us to the curb, hailed us a cab, and loaded in our purchases.

Why the heck can’t all cities work like this? Public transportation that crosscuts the whole city, reduces pollution and is affordable to all; fewer cars with fewer accidents and less gas consumption; more walking for the good of public health; more jobs with the high demand for cab drivers, train operators, and personal service employees; extra money for small businesses with delivery tips and customer loyalty. It all sounds very Utopian, and NYC sure is compared to L.A. and S.F. I’m sure I’ll feel less warm and fuzzy once I get mugged.