Blatantly stealing from Virginia’s infamous bumper sticker, I’d like to boldly assess that New York is for lovers. I think part of it is since New York is such a vast and varied place there is just so much to love.

The most obvious is not even found in the throngs of the city, but far north in the Honeymoon Capital of the World (if you don’t count Las Vegas barrooms) -- Niagara Falls. This glorious chasm of nature is best known for boat rides that leave you sopping as a forgotten rag doll near a lawn sprinkler and high rate of suicide. Incidentally, Niagara Falls is also the place I had my own bout with another infamous bumper sticker -- one with the "I ‘HEART’ NEW YORK" motto so commonly found on plastic bags inevitably used for trash and disposable coffee cups. I begged for one of those stickers on a family vacation to this hot spot way back when I was about 12. My mom takes this as an ironic twist of Fate or a really bad omen that I would someday end up in the Big Apple. She claims purchase of that sticker planted, sprouted and grew the seeds of my destiny which eventually tethered me to Brooklyn.

If we venture back into "downstate" as we are so comically known to all upstate Republicans, we find a scrambled mass of things to ‘HEART’ about this diversified city. And I’m not even referring to The Met, Music Under New York, a Taste of Tandoor, daily poetry readings or the Brooklyn Bridge, but the people who comprise this metropolitan mass of mayhem.

Personally, I am a sucker for those "how we met" and "love at first sight" stories. There are few things more endearing than a garbled account of how the couple who has been married 52 years first glimpsed each other on a subway train after arguing over a seat. Or the lifelong lovebirds who came together after he attempted to mug her in Central Park. I am hooked on such fairy tales. In fact, I used to write the Personal of the Week column at the newspaper where I worked and, I am convinced if I were Jewish, I would be the best "yenta" (matchmaker) you ever did find. Not only do I love arming cupid with his pointy little arrows (a feat I am currently attempting on two of my coworkers) but I adore watching the sprouts of love unfold, blossom and bloom into blistering red brambles.

It even happened to me twice in New York.

Well, nine times if you count the poet, musician, UPS delivery man and potpourri of others with whom I was briefly enamored...but those fleeting moments lasted less than ten seconds each so I am wont not to include them.

My first New York love was with a bouncer I’ll call "Ollie." For any of you vaguely familiar with the bar scene (read: all of us), you can imagine being in love with a bouncer is a tough one -- most notably because it seems everyone else is, too. Even if other gals aren’t in love with your big, handsome, muscular bouncer man, they sure act like they are as the drinks seep in and they bat their eyelashes, loosen their belt and let their cleavage fall open below their knees. Needless to say, I never married the guy and we broke up and moved on. I went to graduate school and last I heard he was working private parties for $900 a night. I don’t think our break-up was a direct result of flirting with groupie bar flies -- and it sure wasn’t over money -- but my insecurity and his attractiveness sure didn’t help.

My second New York love was a long-term relationship that ended amicably last summer. This man was a true Brooklynite, save for the accent, and taught me one of the most important lessons you can learn: "If you can’t trust yourself than there is nobody you can trust." Since I was finding that I was not trusting myself, I felt it best to end this relationship and embark on a self-seeking journey. I am at a point in my life where I need some space to fulfill this mission.