So good I went there twice

Last year I'd never set foot in America, despite many resolutions I was always too broke (shout out to the debt mountain). Now I have been to New York twice thanks to getting a job with lovely people who deem it essential for me to go there. Aw shucks. Sometimes life is hard, you know?
Based on this last visit I've decided I definately [heart] NYC much more in a mild December than in the insane heat of July, at least my co-workers now know that I don't smell of sunscreen on a permanent basis.
The beautiful:
I like having an office to go to - somewhere to go stops you feeling like a tourist. Plus I managed to navigate the subway system properly. And I tipped people. Even with my non-tipping accent.
And then being a tourist: I ate a hotdog in the park and took pictures of Grand Central Station and skyscrapers and NYPD cars and sad-looking horses hitched up to buggies.
I like their lo-fi bars, putting a happy end to bar-pub debates.
And I like casual-pass-the-mic-around-the-bar-kareoke arrangements, though I am increasingly gutted that I missed the oppertunity to do Fairy Tale of New York, in New York, in December.
The lack of buildings from pre-1900 feels highly surreal (for someone used to the Georgian and Victorian centres of Britain's cities), but I love the glut of 1920s architecture and the decco lettering on shop signs.
And I love the micca in the pavemnts that makes them sparkle at night.
The apple martini. Hello!

The damned:
Feeling like the token British character in ER every time I opened my mouth and heard my accent jar and sound prissy in comparison to evryone else.
The hotel which gave me an eye infection, fused my hair straighteners and gave me suspisious looks when I gave them my Metrocard instead of my room key to be let back in late at night. (Okay I see the point on the last one. I'd been awake for 26 hours and it had nothing at all to do with drinking gin followed by Kirin lager.)
"Where you from? Ireland I bet. I'm Irish myself!" (For starters, no you're not Irish, not talking like that, and neither am I. Have nothing against the Irish, some of my best friends etc, but I do have a healthy respect for getting the facts right.)
The croissandwich. (Colleague: "You actually ate one of those?")

Now I am listening to Gershwin and about to start baking a vanilla sponge cake with white chocolate icing for Tom's birthday. It's a surprise, but Tom is the least internet person I know. The chances of him reading this ever are just above nil.


(With thanks to Lee for getting up at ungodly hours to take me to/ fetch me from Heathrow; Lauren for Japanese food and girl talk and to Joe and Yancey for being lovely to work with and taking me out for drinks, pool, singing etc.)