I sit here editing this post while a prisoner of my first love, New York City. I've been here for one week on business, and constantly reminded why my parents chose to bless my life with the colorful reality of a big city upbringing. (Curious about my past? Read my BIO.)

Curiously enough, as I have been envying the evolving hustle and grind of my oldest and dearest NYC friends all week, I fortuitously find myself sitting on a rented couch on the upper east side, gazing out of this brownstone to the electric streets, only to be editing this very post.

This very post, might I add, is one of the biggest reasons I fell in love with Los Angeles. Throwing away everything I had learned to be accostumed to as a New Yorker {sweat, schlep, subways}, to trade it all in for {sun, serenity, S-Class Mercedes} Ok, fine. It's a Porsche. Happy? Oh, and a skate park on the beach. Because I skate. {Definition of skate: look cute against a cement background while slangin' a 16-year-old's board}.

Coming back to reality, a.k.a. New York, is always a jolt of feel-good energy. But in the end, skate me away to my new home of sky-high fantasy.

Just don't take away my first love.