You know you are from New York when...

You’re 35 years old and don’t have a driver’s license.

You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.

You take the train home and you know exactly where on the platform the doors will open that will leave you right in front of the exit stairway.

You know what a “regular” coffee is.

It’s not Manhattan… it’s the “CITY”.

There is no North and South. It’s “Uptown” or “Dowtown”.

If your are really from New York you have absolutely no concept of where North and South are… and East or West is “Crosstown”.

You cross the street anywhere but on the corners and you yell at cars for not respecting you right to do it.

You move 3,000 miles away, spend 10 years learning the local language and people still know you’re from Brooklyn the minute you open your mouth. (ca marche aussi pour les francais qui s'installent aux US... moi incluse !)

You return after 10 years and the first foods you want are a “real pizza” and a “real” bagel.

A 500 square foot apartment is large.

You are not under the mistaken impression that any human being would be able to actually understand a P.A. announcement on the subway. (C’est vrai d’ailleurs, quelqu’un a-t-il deja compris quelque chose à leur charabia de *shmalayala closing doors*?)

You get ready to order dinner every night and must choose from the major food groups which are: Chinese, Italian, Mexican or Indian.

You’re not the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

Your internal clock is permanently set to know when alternate side of the street parking regulations are in effect.

You pay “only” $230 a month to park your car. (bien contente de ne pas avoir de voiture !!)

You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston Street like the city in Texas.

The presidential visit is a major traffic jam, not an honor.

You can nap on the subway and never miss your stop.

THAT'S NEW YORK, BABY! YA GOTTA LOVE IT.