A Sea of Awkwardness

So I arrived in New York City about two weeks ago, strung out on unrequited love, boredom and tennis, a combination that results in watching a lot of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and working out only your abs in a vain attempt to avoid dieting. After five months of pining after an unusually well-built electrical engineer who was shall we say, just a leeeetle concerned with the number of men I had taken my clothes off for (but not slept with!), I wanted to get the hell out of Houston which was, literally hell, and also skip purgatory in the form of the empty forests of North Carolina and the rowdy mess of my parent's house. That's where NYC comes in. To steal a quote from a book I recently read, I let the city do what it does best. Suck me in to its rhythm and then immediately forget I was there. Here I can ride the subway everyday without worrying I will turn my head and stare straight into a pair of blue eyes belonging to a man that tore my jeans off just a few days before. To say the least, it's quite refreshing. The place I live however, is kinda like someone magically transported my residential college at Rice to the Upper West Side of Manhattan. There's a pub, a communal dining hall, and all of the fabulous awkwardness that accompanies making out with your neighbors. Luckily these are European, so they're a little more laid-back.