(To all reading this: I did not write this, and I don't know who did. I got it as a forward years ago. Apologies to whoever wrote this because I did a little editing... You're not a New Yorker, are you. Shame. It's still funny, though.)
You say "the city" and expect everyone to know that this means the borough of Manhattan.
You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills, till you go to Tokyo.
You have never been to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building, but love Coney Island.
You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Wisconsin on a map.
Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
The subway makes sense.
The subway should never be called anything prissy, like the Metro.
You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
You think $7 to cross a bridge is a fair price to be charged without a gun held to your head.
You've considered stabbing someone just for saying "The Big Apple."
Your door has three locks or more.
You go to a hockey game for the fighting -- In the stands, to participate.
The most frequently used part of your car is the horn.
Your consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You call an 8 x 10 plot of patchy grass a yard.
You complain about having to mow it.
You consider Westchester "Upstate."
You think Central Park is "nature."
You see nothing odd about the speed of an auctioneer's speaking.
You're paying $1200/month for a studio the size of a walk-in closet and say it's a steal.
Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia.
You've been to New Jersey twice and got hopelessly lost both times.
You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the U.S. pay in the rent.
You haven't seen more than eight stars in the night sky since you went away to camp as a kid.
You own hiking boots and a 4WD car, neither of which have ever touched a trail.
You go to dinner at 9 and head out to clubs when most Americans are in bed.
Your closet is filled with black clothes.
You haven't heard the sound of true absolute silence since 1989, and when you did, it terrified you.
You pay $5 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28 cents.
You scoff at the Bridge and Tunnel crowd even though you were raised in a midwest farm town with a population of 57.
You actually take fashion seriously.
You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
Going far into Queens is considered a "road trip."
America west of the Hudson is still theoretical to you.
You've gotten jaywalking down to an art form.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You haven't cooked a meal since helping Mom last Thanksgiving with the turkey.
You take a taxi to get to your fitness club.
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
$50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't hear sirens anymore.
You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air quality and what it's doing to your lungs.
You live in a building with a larger population than most American towns.
Your doorman is Russian, you grocer is Korean, your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watch seller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You wouldn't want to live anywhere else -- Until you get married.
