Without a doubt, the best summer of my life was that of 2009. It was the first summer I was fully independent in New York, I had a paid internship and an unlimited MetroCard and was fresh off a 5-months-spent-abroad high, and I didn’t say no to a single thing that someone suggested I do.
I carried around this massive handbag that my friends nicknamed “Hermione’s Magical Sack” for its’ ability to, on any given weekend, hold: at least 2 dresses, flats, Advil, large sunglasses, a novel, Vitamin Water, a toothbrush, a Blackberry charger (RIP RIM) and, most likely, and airplane-sized bottle of vodka. I spent nights drinking anywhere that accepted my fake ID, and days exploring parts of the city I had never known about when I grew up here, and when I came home (twice a week), my mom was very worried about me. I felt exhilarated 24/7, started my first blog, wrote constantly, and made some of my very best friends.
The school year following that, I graduated college, and worried I would never feel that type of light, effervescent, anything-can-happen excitement ever again, until, on the first night of Fall this year, strolling through the West Village in an actual sweater (Weather Gods, I salute you for your well-timed introduction of the Autumn Breeze), I realized that the best summer of my life was that of 2012.
[My city is prettier than your city (Met Rooftop)]
[…and is it rude to assume my friends are prettier than your friends? (Thompson Rooftop)]
[I won’t even get started on my dinners. Pork Cinnabon perfection. Yes, that “frosting” is cheese. (Northern Spy Food Co)]
[…and brunches. Jesus’ meatballs and crispy kale salad (Hundred Acres)]
[…and Happy Hours (La Piscine at Hotel Americano)]
[…and Sunday afternoon snacks (10 Degrees Wine Bar)]
[Editor’s Note: Have I been having a lot of emotions in this blog lately? And if so…are you into it? #PillowTalkYaLater]