t probably seems to you like I complain a lot about New York. There’s a reason for that. It’s because I do complain a lot about New York. Nice observation, kid.

But that’s the gift of New York: Even after two years, even after a decade, there will always be new things to complain about. The crappy weather. The noise, the trash. The crowds. Can anyone ever adjust to the smell of urine and sweat in August? You will never get bored of complaining. I guess what startles me most is how inconvenient little things can be. Like doing laundry. Like buying a color cartridge for my printer (which I have needed to do for six months, and which will probably not be done for another six months). Like picking up a package at the post office. Oh, good lord: Like grocery shopping.

In New York, we have something called Fresh Direct, which is a brilliant delivery grocery service you order online. The problem is that sometimes, I don’t want your groceries to be delivered with my Netflix order. Sometimes I need to cook tonight. And in those moments, I am screwed.

See, I live in Brooklyn, where for the past two years, the only viable grocery store in the neighborhood was an upscale hipster-hippie joint whose freezer was stocked with tofu and veggie burgers but no Lean Cuisine. I went there looking for Doritos and cereal once. Know what they had? Effing organic chips and Kashi Go Lean. Look, I I try to be enthusiastic about this place. Hey, maybe I’ll like organic chips and Kashi Go Lean! But I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Texas girl. I want my grocery stores as big as football fields. I want crappy frozen dinners. I want Doritos. And Kashi Go Lean? Kinda grosses me out.

Recently, a broke-down old grocery store called C-Town has been renovated. When I walk inside, it’s as if harps are playing. I just can’t believe how big and shiny and new everything is! When I walk the aisles, I have to hold back from kissing the Velveeta and the Special K and all the other name-brand crap the old hippie-hipster store would never stoop to carry. I want to make out with this store. I want to feel up this store. And that is the flipside to all the low-down inconvenience of New York. It doesn’t take much to make a girl happy. Put a grocery store in my hood, and I’m on the moon. Imagine if they sold printer cartridges!

I woke up early this morning and headed over to C-Town. It was 7:30am, and I was the only one in the store, except for the old man bagging groceries and the bored teenager working the register.

“I love this store,” I told her. I kind of couldn’t help myself.

“Huh.” She smacked her gum, and rang up my Country Crock.

“It’s really great.” I was babbling, but it was like I couldn’t control myself. I needed to share. So many choices! So much value!

“Hmm.” She clicked her fake nails on the register. “Cash or credit?”

Okay, so not everyone loves the new C-Town as much as me. Fine. But even a miserable employee can’t dampen my enthusiasm for this place. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go dry-hump the canned goods aisle.