Day 78: In the End

These are the Manolo Blahniks that Carrie famously accepted from Big in the first movie in lieu of an engagement ring. I'm not suggesting you wear them without clothes. I am suggesting you wear them (if only virtually) with whatever the hell you want. In the end, good fashion is about tweaking aesthetic "rules" to fit your own lifestyle and personality. As Ralph Waldo Emerson put it, "They think him the best dressed man, whose dress is so fit for his use that you cannot notice or remember to describe it."

"So, you have to try it five times to look like you're not trying." Hank, when he saw me trying to create the perfect cuff on my sweater, which has nothing to do with anything but I just thought was funny--and very true.

For a while there, you may have thought I wasn't coming back to write this final piece. Never fear. I'm back. It has been nearly a week since I saw the most recent SATC film. I think I have been avoiding this post, my reasoning being this: if I don't write it, the project won't officially be over. This kind of thinking is very characteristic to me in general. I hate finishing things and do much better working toward them. This is even more true when I'm doing something I really enjoy. Nevertheless, all good things must come to an end. So it goes, as Billy Joel would say.

Moving on to the film, I must say something right away. It was bad. It was even really bad. I could go on and on about why, but it comes down to one thing: it didn't have charm. And what, friends, is SATC without charm? Lines seemed scripted. Acting seemed forced. Plot was uber weak, even bordering on lame. Heck, the fashion even sucked (sorry, Patricia, but what's with Charlottes red, polka-dotted housedress in the middle of Abu Dhabi...er...Morocco...er where were they again?). The only saving grace was that it was SATC--the same girls (and guys) we have come to care so much about and the situations we can relate to (even if menopause is still, thankfully, a ways away for many of us). I would follow them to the moon, much less the Middle East.

Main event, which you've no doubt by now figured out or read about: The girls get lucky when Samantha lands a comp trip to Abu Dhabi and gets them added on. More about that later, but for now, some background.

Carrie and Big are married, not extremely happily. Not unhappily either. They're coexisting peacefully with each other (a first for the duo). Their biggest problem that takes up a good fifteen minutes of the two-hour movie? Big watches too much T.V. The couple has decided by movie's beginning to not have children, so their task is to figure out how to keep things exciting till death do they part. Big suggests taking two days off from each other during the week, staying at different apartments (Carrie still has her old one, and they have one together) and not talking. Carrie freaks out. Enter trip.

Charlotte loves her husband and their girls, Lily and Rose. She convinces herself she adores everything about motherhood, though she's clearly struggling to stay positive about Rose's constant fussiness. To help out, they've hired a full-time nanny from Ireland. After Samantha makes a comment about how gorgeous the caretaker is, Charlotte becomes paranoid that her husband will cheat. Enter trip.

Samantha is smack dab in the middle of menopause and not afraid to tell the world about it. (I thought only my mother gave monologues on the benefits of natural hormones.) She meets Smith for a screening of his new movie but makes sure everyone including him knows they're not a couple. Enter trip.

Miranda, Steve, and their son, Brady, are getting along just peachy. When Miranda faces a new boss from hell, she quits her job and decides to use the job-searching time to be more present for her family and herself. This includes planning an extensive itinerary for, you guessed it, the trip.

Okay, excursion events. Carrie meets Aidan in the Middle East, which has to be only slightly more likely than winning the lottery. Of course, there is romantic angst there. Of course, Carrie "innocently" goes out with Aidan, sitting too close, and not stopping their inevitable kiss. Of course, she'll feel compelled to confess everything to Big adnd be forgiven ASAP. Of course, Big will forgive her. And, because it's SATC and not the real world, Big will figure out that his T.V. habits are partly to blame for Carrie's straying and buy her the huge diamond she never had. In an unexpected role reversal, Big makes a speech about the importance of commitment. He also makes Carrie recite her vows again and promise to remember she's no longer single. Could this get any less believable?

Charlotte realizes how nice time apart from the kids is and decides to occasionally take some time off to stay at Carrie's old apartment by herself. She also learns that her kids' nanny is a lesbian, squelching any fears of infidelity on the part of her husband. Miranda comes back from the trip relaxed and ready to start work at a new, more low-key law firm that allows her more family time. Samantha, true to form, meets a hot guy in the desert and later rendez-vous with him in New York to screw, because they got arrested in backwards Arabia for making out, naturally. Mixed in between all of these main events, there was a camel ride, a karaoke performance, a chance encounter with Middle Eastern women who secretly read Suzanne Somers and dressed in haute couture (um, yeah), and a LOT of money being thrown around. And by that, I mean money was no object, which, surprisingly, got old.

Now, I have read every magazine article and listened to every radio tidbit about the SATC sequel. I knew that there were no women writers on the show and that it was going to be over-the-top. I knew the fashion was going to be "different." So, fortunately, my expectations were satisfied. And I still enjoyed dressing up in my most glamourous cocktail dress to watch the 4 pm screening. In its defense, the movie really didn't try to hard to be good. Sure, it had some dramatic moments, but they weren't developed much. They seemed sprinkled in just to give the girls some chance to act a little (unless you consider strutting around acting). No, I'm going to wager that above all, SATC 2 tried to be escapist, and it succeeded at that.

So, there isn't much for me to write about. But I will say too important things that came to mind after watching this movie. The first has to do with Carrie and Big. Initially, seeing Big portrayed as a regular family was shocking and absurd. Wasn't he always the commitment-phobe Carrie could barely get to walk down the isle? The one who the girls would make fun of for his womanizing ways? Then it hit me. It was rarely ever Big. I got to thinking about the couple's story, and I started to see the ways in which is was usually Carrie who pulled away.

Sure, in the beginning Big didn't know if he wanted to be exclusive with the quirky gal, but they had only been dating a few months. After that, there were many times he wanted to keep going and Carrie wanted out. When they were sleeping together and cheating on their partners, he was ready to commit to Carrie, and that was a good four years before they got married. After that, he kept trying to call her and reunite. He even bought her a one-way ticket to Napa in case she wanted to go out there to see (or stay?) with him. She never went, and yet she always blamed him for the fact that they weren't together.

Actually, I don't think Big ever said Carrie wasn't the one...just maybe that he wasn't sure yet. Carrie just always needed more than he was ready to give. I'm not blaming the long, tumultuous journey to marriage on the show's leading lady, but it's about time the writers recognized Carrie's insatiable need for drama and excitement--and gave some credit to the show's scapegoat, Big (supposedly standing in for the hard-to-catch man). It's as if everyone's finally recognizing that it may have been Carrie who was always afraid to be tied down.

The second thing that struck me was how true the show's central moral is: that every marriage/relationship is different, and each couple has to find out what works for the two people in it. In the end, Carrie and Big decide to take two days apart during the week, much to the chagrin of Charlotte with her traditional approach to marriage. Later, they figure out that they need fewer and fewer days apart. Stamford, Carrie's best gay friend, marries a man who openly cheats and fully accepts that that will be part of their union. Charlotte prefers the go-to-bed-together-every-night, two-kids-and-a-dog type marriage. Miranda acts as the breadwinner in her relationship, while Steve almost plays a stay-at-home dad, constantly there for Brady when Miranda can't be. He reminds Miranda that family time is important while still accepting her as the alpha figure. Samantha revolts against the whole marriage thing all together. These approaches to relationships couldn't be more varied.

And maybe that's what it all comes down to for everyone: make your relationship what you want. It doesn't matter what people think. It doesn't matter what's "normal." In the end, if it works for both people in the union, it works, period. If I had only learned that ten years ago, I probably would have been a lot less hard on myself about what I wanted and didn't. I spent so much time thinking about who I was going to disappoint if I took a certain action or how I was going to mess up my future. I said "I'm supposed to" to myself a lot. No one's supposed to do anything. There isn't a rule book, thank God. Or, there is, but each person gets to create her own.

Hank is leaving tomorrow for the summer. I don't think I've mentioned that. He'll be working full-time for his parents on a construction project to make some desperately-needed supplemental income. I don't want him to go, but he has to. I know I'm going to miss him every day. However, after watching this film, part of me wonders if the time apart will be healthy, good even. It will give us a chance to regroup with ourselves, give us some time to reflect on future personal goals. It may even have the same effect it did on Big and Carrie--make us realize how important we are to each other (not that we don't know that, but it's easy to not notice when you see the person daily) and make our reunion all the sweeter.

Well, this is goodbye for now. If I start up something new, you, faithful and few readers, will be the first to know. Until then, follow your passions and follow love. If there's anything this project has taught me, it's that.

Day 77: The Short of It

"Great shoes." That's all there is to say about this sassy number.

So, tomorrow is finally here. After today, there's only one more outfit, one more post, and one more reflective piece on a damn good show and all the issues it brings up.

Since I have to get up at 4:30, I'm headed to bed early tonight. Gotta save my energy for an exciting evening. Plus, I'm very tired. I spent most of the day preparing music for the recital, doing laundry and other mundane tasks, and applying to an Assistant Manager position for our store's men's and kids department. My manager came up to me the other day, quite out of the blue, and told me to apply. She said it was a quick move, but she thought I was ready.

48 hours later, my application is out of my hands and into my potential future manager's. I don't know if I'll get the position, don't know if I'll like it, and don't know where it's going to take me. I never thought I'd be working retail. I thought I would have a great job by now that paid more than enough to shop and travel the world. Or at least I would be in grad school on my way to that great job. I've always been big on dreams and short on plans. But maybe I'm getting there still--just not in the way I imagined. I'll find out. And I suppose it could be worse than getting to shop all day, even if you're building someone else's closet instead of yours.

I'm not going to write about the movie much. It's a lot of glitz and drama, not all of it good or bad. Quick overview, though. Carrie and Big decide to get married, and Carrie gets wrapped up in all the details of wedding planning much to dismay of Big (or, should I say, John?). On the big day, he leaves her waiting at the wedding site, saying he can't go through with it. When he tries to change his mind, she beats him with flowers. Flash forward five months of Carrie ignoring his advances and existence, dying her hair auburn, hiring an assistant, remodeling her house, and generally trying to pull herself together. Carrie sees a secret inbox of hundreds of love letters from Big, something her assistant had kept from her (but never deleted) per her request not to hear anything about him. Eventually, the couple reunites in a moving scene that takes place in the huge closet Big built for Carrie. He asks her to marry him, and the two tie the knot in a private, civil ceremony.

Charlotte's adopted daughter, Lily, is growing up. Unexpectedly, Charlotte gets pregnant and has another baby girl, Rose. Samantha has moved to L. A. to live with Smith, but she's tiring of it. His career and social circle is growing while hers is shrinking. In the end, she says a peaceful but difficult goodbye to Smith and moves back to where she's most comfortable, New York City. Miranda and Steve's married life is void of sex. When Steve sleeps with another woman, Miranda vows never to forgive him and moves out. Eventually, after a miserable six months, she decides they can try therapy and the couple gets back together, forgetting about the past.

Okay, it must be said that this movie is the length of six episodes. I am feeling overwhelmed. It also must be said that the writers of said movie have included as many plot twists, cliches, crazy fashion, poignant moments, and heavy topics as is humanly possible. So I'm not going to write about any of it. I am going to go to bed. It's where I belong right now, second-to-last post or not.

I hope you'll be back. I will. But even more than that, I hope you'll be watching the movie with me tomorrow or, if not, just enjoying life. After all, it's what the girls would want.

Day 76: A Non-Reflection, Otherwise Known as the Original

Now this is an outfit that is something I would love to wear--and might someday soon. I am obsessed with these pants from J. Crew. Next month they will be eating up my retail budget. I just can't wait any longer. And, because of Hank, I now have this bag and love it even more in person than in a silly picture. The bracelet, necklace, and tank are pretty basic and can be substituted by cheaper versions. As for the shoes, well, I'll make due without them for now, but they will soon be on my list, although maybe in a warmer color. And any number of shoes would work just fine with this outfit--just keep them heeled and open but not too delicate. Because of its aura of easy glamour, we'll call this one, "Just an Extraordinary Day."

Well, we’re down to three posts, and two of them are going to happen today. By Saturday, I will be finished with a project that has taken almost as long as a full-term pregnancy to be be completed. I realize this may not be as heart-breaking for the few readers I have as it is to me. For me, the end of this project will feel like a huge absence of something. What will I do with the hundreds of pictures of jewelry and shoes that have become my palette for painting my favorite kind of landscape—that of clothing on the human form? I can’t even touch them. Sure I can look at them and combine them once in a while, but it won’t be the same. They won’t come alive as they do now. I knew I should never have picked Neil Halstead for the soundtrack to today’s writing session. Is any music more depressing? Changing it. Considering keeping it. I don’t think it’s the music. It’s me.

So, synopsis. Carrie moves to Paris to be with Petrovsky. Before she does, Big comes to New York to beg her to give him another, final chance. She, of course, refuses and tells him to stay out of her life all together. In Paris, things don’t go according to fantasy. The Russian is preoccupied with his art and career, leaving Carrie to wander the city alone, speaking to people in what little French she knows. Eventually, she realizes she will always be second to her beau and leaves him—just in time to see Big waltzing through her Paris hotel’s door to bring her back home. Big tells her she’s the one and always was.

Charlotte and Harry finally hear from the Chinese adoption agency that informs them they have a little girl on the way. Charlotte’s scene, again, is so moving you’d have to have a heart of stone not to cry with her. Samantha’s sex drive is down because of the chemo, and Smith is leaving to shoot a movie in Canada. She tells him to feel free to have sex while there, though he refuses. While he’s gone, she realizes she isn’t okay with him sleeping with someone else either, which tells her something about how seriously she feels about him. He comes back early to tell her he loves her. Miranda surprises Steve when she suggests his ailing mother comes to live with them and surprises herself when she cares for her in-law as she would her own mother. The three girls all take part in telling Big to go to Paris to get Carrie.

Pretty dang romantic stuff. Now, I am not going to bore everyone by talking about how I, too, know what it’s like to move to a foreign country for someone and have it all go to hell—especially when you have no one like Big to immediately pick up the pieces and bring you home. I had to do go through it alone. True, I met Jorge, which made the pain easier. But that only happened after three weeks of feeling utterly fucked. It took many days of just laying for hours in my rented hotel room, listening to stray dogs wailing outside; writing when it was all I could think of to do; calling my dad bawling and hearing him say to hang in there; trying to learn more Spanish so that I could order dinner; and avoiding everything that had to do with Billy, which was a lot in a small, mountain town. It wasn't fun, but I won't talk about that anymore.

I will not talk about how you can be in a room full of your exotic boyfriend’s friends and feel more isolated than you ever have in your life. I won’t mention how disappointed you feel when you see the person you gave up everything for change right before your eyes. I won’t talk about the calls home, trying to explain the situation in a way that doesn’t betray your fear and said disappointment—and especially doesn’t force you to admit you were wrong about everything. I’m not going to talk about these things, because they don’t matter. They’re what it takes to make you recognize that you’re strong. I’ve already talked about this.

I certainly don’t want to talk about how important it is to have friends to come back to—even if your best friends are two sisters who have seen you through everything and always seem to see the best in you. Or how you can’t give up yourself for someone else. It never works. Carrie left her laptop at home. I left the piano. Sure she could use the Russian’s if she wanted, just like I found a place to practice, but they weren’t our souls. Our souls were at home, where we left them.

I won’t speak about the importance of letting people be who they are, even if that’s not who you want them to be. Carrie was much better at letting go than I was. What took her five minutes to do took me months. I kept fighting the Billy I started discovering once I lived with him in favor of the one I barely knew and moved for. I didn’t want to accept his lifestyle, his values, him. Why couldn’t he just mold into the image I had of him and us as a couple? But I’m not talking about that.

Or about the fact that just because something is new and exciting doesn’t mean it’s better than something steadfast and simple. A glittery shoe won’t hold up very well in the rain, nor will it take you many miles, even if it’s cute and provides you a few moments of intense happiness. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t buy it. It means you should buy it knowing full well what it is and isn’t. And what it can do and can’t. But we’re not talking about shoes.

I don’t want to ramble on about following your intuition, even if it tells you to run the other direction from what you thought you wanted. If it speaks to you, listen. Listen and respect. Don’t look back. Don’t wonder, “What if…?” “What if…?” is only a game of the imagination and not to be taken seriously. “What if…?” isn’t life. It’s boredom. When your heart tells you to run, you run. When it doesn’t, you don’t. Sometimes, that’s the best you can do. And after all you’ve been through, there are things—like a playful and furry Wheaten Terrier and a loving and sensitive man—that remind you of all the joy in the world and how much left of it there is to discover. But that’s another topic for another time.

No, right now I want to talk about life. But I already have.

I hope you’ll be back. I will.

Day 75: A Year (or Nine) in the Life

If you can believe it, this easy, breezy maxi dress is by the same designer as the last two ultra-glam numbers. The great thing about this type of dress is that it really is all you need. You don't need a coat, a belt, or fancy jewelry. The idea is to be and look as casual as possible. Keep shoes flat and strappy. Keep the bag casual and roomy like the dress. (Nothing does that quite like a beach tote.) Gotta have shades, as the assumption is that your going out into the sun. And maybe add one light accessory. I chose this bracelet for its natural, carefree feel. And if you happen to live by a beach, always, always carry (or, even better, wear) a bikini. Voila, the maxi dress outfit is complete. We'll call it, "Maxi-ed Out."

Okay, if you thought the last couple of episodes seemed rather intense for the four gals, you're in for even more. Carrie introduces her friends to the Russian, and the reception isn't what she hoped. Her boyfriend's intensity and desire to talk only about 'deep' subject matters conflicts with the chatty and often vulgar girl talk of her friends. But despite this, when the man asks her to ditch her New York life for a new one in Paris with him (or rather pressures her to go, since he says they'll have to break up otherwise), she says yes. She quits her writing job, tells her friends she's moving, and has a big blowout with Miranda, who thinks it's all a big mistake.

Charlotte decides to put Elizabeth Taylor, her new King Charles Spaniel, into a dog show and wins first prize. After they go to a dog park to celebrate, the in-heat female copulates with 8 or so males and ends up pregnant. Some months later, three more puppies enter Charlotte's life. Samantha beats rumors that Smith is gay by circulating a video of them having hot sex over the internet and around the city. Miranda is having to get used to life in Brooklyn, which includes a bout of no internet and a messy house under construction. She also has a very hard time dealing with the idea of her best friend moving across an ocean for a guy she hardly knows.

Okay, there is something hilarious about these episodes--well, at least ironic. Since we have started watching SATC, Hank has always pointed out how my history is closely related to Carrie's and how similarly we feel about fashion, writing, and relationships. In fact, I think he wonders if I have made life decisions in order to be more like her. I've always gotten very defensive about this, as it always seemed ridiculous that, even if I could, I would choose to do what a fictional character would do instead of what I wanted to do. While the similarities have certainly always been there, I have always held that they're just coincidences, nothing more.

But I don't really think he has ever believed me. And, up until these episodes, I'm not even sure I fully believed myself. When he first brought up the connection, it secretly worried me. Was I really living my life according to some stupid TV show? Was I constantly, even if subconsciously, asking myself at every life junction, "WWCD (What Would Carrie Do)?" These episodes set my mind at ease. Here's why: I had never seen them before a few days ago.

But I figured something out. From 2001-2007, I had only seen the first four seasons, maybe even the first three and part of four (since the fourth didn't finish until 2002, and I only watched the series until late summer of 2001). That includes some material about Aidan (maybe Travis, Jorge, or Arnold for me), but likely not even the canceling of their engagement or Carrie's ambivalence about marriage. It certainly doesn't include the latest episodes where Carrie dates a Russian guy, which I did in 2004, and moves to another country to be with an egotistical artist, which I did two years ago when I moved to Peru to be with Billy.

In fact, Carrie's latest situation in these almost final episodes and my own during my "Billy Period" (instead of "Blue Period," though it was that, too) are so closely related, I got chills watching it. Here, apparently, is the formula we both followed:

1. Background: You are tired of dreaming about taking chances but not really taking them, and you have a fantasy relationship in mind that you're dead set on making a reality. Carrie wonders if all the examining of her relationships is causing her not to really be in them, so she decides that it's time to stop analyzing and take a huge jump into something unknown. She thinks the Russian may just be the great love she's been waiting for (expensive lifestyle, life in Paris, lots of romance, etc). Two years ago, I was tired of school and pursuing a degree I didn't know how I was going to use. I was tired of dating a man I wasn't in love with. Billy seemed so full of passion and romance, and I thought a new life with him somewhere far away from everything I knew sounded magical.

2. You date an older, foreign, egotistical artist who is serious and depressive in nature and is consistently telling you how to live your life better (aka more like he lives his). Because he believes all writers should drink espresso, the Russian buys Carrie an espresso machine, even picking it out for her, saying, "I think this one is you." He refuses to let her "spoil" the espresso by adding milk. He also gets angry at Carrie for interrupting him while working to introduce her friends and cancels a dinner date because he's consumed with work.

When I was dating Billy, he would tell me what to order for breakfast and how not to cook things (yes, while standing over me in the kitchen). He wouldn't let me enter his studio while he was painting and often didn't show his face for long stretches when he was working on something "very important." If I tried to interact with him, he got angry and said I didn't respect his work enough.

3. Such man disapproves of your friends (or family) and doesn't want you to be closer to them then you are to him. Russian makes no effort to laugh at any of the gals' jokes at dinner and makes their spouses feel stupid. He doesn't understand when Carrie tells him she can't just leave her life in New York. He tells her to take a chance on a new life with him. Before I moved to Peru, Billy told me daily to forget my friends and family in the States and think of myself as having a new life with him. He even wrote a poem about stealing me away to his "world."

4. Such man expects you to live your life around his desires, no matter how many of your own you have to sacrifice. Russian refuses to stay in New York for Carrie and says they'll have to break up if she doesn't move. He encourages her art (writing), but he doesn't suggest ways she can continue it in her new life with him. He doesn't even recognize that she might miss her work. She learns French for him.

Peruvian said he couldn't come to the U.S. for visa reasons (which may or may not have been true, though I'll assume it was). If we were going to be together, I would have to move for him, giving up school and responsibilities here. While there, he encouraged my art (music) and coordinated a place for me to practice, but he didn't think about the professional aspect I was giving up (performing in ensembles, earning a degree, taking classes) in the States and didn't suggest ways to keep that up in Peru. I learned Spanish for him.

5. Such man doesn't want more children, because he already has a girl from a much earlier relationship. Enough said.

6. Friends revolt, but you're so deep into his world you can't understand why they're not all rejoicing for you. Miranda tells Carrie that she's living in a fantasy and doesn't know why she's giving up her great life to lead his life instead. Carrie counters with anger, screaming that Miranda only wants her to stay for selfish reasons and doesn't want her to be happy and move on in life. Before leaving for Peru, my sister said to me nearly exactly what Miranda said to Carrie. I replied almost exactly the way Carrie did.

7. You feel scared, wondering if the two of you even have enough in common, but decide (more out of stubbornness) to just go with it and change your life. Carrie wonders if she has anything in common with the Russian besides their relationship. He doesn't talk to her about his work, and she doesn't even understand his English much of the time. They don't enjoy the same activities or even have similar values (at least they've never discussed values). She decides companionship, adventure, and passion together could make up for their differences, and the differences would at least keep things exciting. She wonders if she even needs to have children.

When I met Billy, I knew nothing about visual art, except for what I intuitively liked and didn't. We didn't speak the same language; he had to talk to me in broken English and I talked to him in my very elementary Spanish. Not only did we not have the same values, ours were opposing. We felt passion for each other and novelty, and we both thought that would be enough. I tried to resign myself to the idea of not ever having kids.

8. After two months of dating, man promises you the world (at least in the beginning for me). You take it.

Okay, you get the idea. Maybe you got it long ago. I realize I'm not the fictional Carrie (or even Candice Bushnell, her creator and prototype), and she isn't me. We have very different backgrounds and lives. But our situations in these episodes (and some others) are so freakishly comparable that I really don't know what to say. True, the Russian is a sweeter man. In general, he treats Carrie like a queen. Billy was a complete jerk. But the order of events is the same. If I had seen the rest of the show before living the last six years of my life, maybe I would be embarrassed. As it is, I'm just a little bothered. I'm sure there's a simple explanation for our congruent life choices--maybe we're both adrenalin junkies, possess highly analytical minds, or have simply watched too many romantic comedies in our lifetimes--but right now, I've got no definitive answer.

The other part of all this is the conclusion that Carrie comes to before making the decision to move. She is tired of analyzing her relationships and wondering what to do. I'm getting to that point, too. I've been doing it for a long time, even if only in blog form for the last eight months. But is there ever a good point to stop, and, if so, how do you do it? The questions and issues in relationships don't just go away or die down long enough to give you peace, especially some of the big ones like the one Carrie asks most recently ("Do people need to share passions outside of the relationship for it to work?") They're big inquiries with no easy answers.

Maybe in order to have a peaceful, long-term love affair, the person with an analytical mind (me and yes, maybe the character of Carrie) has to retrain herself. This person has to learn to ignore the things that don't work and focus on the things that do. Ignore the doubts (at least to a large degree) and go forward confidently. Focus on the positive, even, and see the good in your partner and what he or she has to offer. Or this person can be alone. Sometimes I really think it comes down to those two options. Because I'm not sure there is a relationship under the sun that won't be riddled with paradoxes and problems, drama and questions. Relationships are made up of two people, after all, and has any single person been without these things? There isn't a logical reason they would they go away when there are two people.

And maybe that's Carrie's point. In the end, every relationship takes a leap of faith--faith that the good will outweigh the bad. At some point, a person's gotta jump. It might as well be now.

I hope you'll be back. I will. Sadly for me, not for long.

Day 74: The Dogmother

I love this hat. And I hate hats. Well, I don't hate them, but I never seem to look good in them, they smash my hair (which, because it's curly, gets completely unshaped), and they make my forehead break out. Otherwise, they're perfect. I read a few Glamour issues back that unmatched is the key to looking put together. Everything is just a slightly different shade than its counterparts. As an ode to this theory, the grays are just a bit different, the black of the bag doesn't match the shoes though stays dark (keeping with the same colored bag and shoe rule), and the pale hues of the silk tank (which, by the way, I own in two colors and adore) and hat seem similar but just different enough. (Note: since a hat is considered a major accessory, I'm adding only a delicate necklace to keep things uncluttered.) We'll call this one, "Voila, Glamour!"

Six days to go before the movie. I can already hear the tapping of the girls' stilettos on New York City concrete. As the premiere inches closer, I find myself scared that I won't get to write everything I want to write about SATC and the issues it raises. Ah! Only four more posts to go before the second film. These must be my final words on a show that has been my companion for almost eight months. Better make them good. No pressure.

So, a lot happening these days. No more casual dating for anyone and no more fluffy topics like whether to spit or swallow. Maybe it's about time. Samantha gets chemo for her breast cancer, which seems to be gone, and loses her hair. Smith shows his support by shaving his head. Miranda and Steve go on a honeymoon, leaving Brady with Carrie and Charlotte. Miranda finds herself restless and sexed out but appreciates the time with Steve. When they return, they decide to move to a much bigger house in Brooklyn, which Miranda isn't all that happy about. Carrie's still dating the Russian but discovers his not-so-gentle side when he keeps mentioning death during a discussion about Samantha's cancer. He also tells her that he has a grown child and doesn't want more children. Carrie has to decide if their relationship is worth giving up motherhood for. Charlotte's main focus is still childbearing. After she receives bad news about her most recent batch of eggs, she breaks down to a complete stranger in Central Park while cuddling the woman's dog. Some days later, she finds the same dog in a basket on her doorstep and rejoices that she finally has something to care for.

Ah, the children thing again. I've already talked about this subject a little--that a woman knows when it's right to have kids. But I feel the need to say more. At one point in this episode, Carrie mentions that she's 38 and thinks that if she wanted a baby, she would have had one by now. This is an interesting thought. Though I am ten years younger, I feel like I'm reaching a critical point as well. See, as I've said before, while I often contemplate having kids, I keep putting it off. My mother has been pressuring me for about six years now, and I keep telling her the same thing: "I'm not ready." When you're 22, that seems like a normal response. When you're 28 and a half (which, by the way, hasn't brought the success or stability I envisioned), it seems a little scarier. If give myself another six years, I'll almost be 35--the year at which a woman's fertility plummets.

Like Carrie, I have always wanted things to happen naturally: "Que sera, sera," or something like that. I always thought the timing for getting married and having kids would be like the changing of the seasons--something that happens peacefully when it happens, without really your permission or intention. But I don't know anymore. Do you have to make strong decisions at certain points in life, even if they don't feel completely natural or comfortable--like Carrie deciding between the the future possibility of motherhood and her great Russian boyfriend? My mother is always telling me there's no good time for anything (whatever that means), and if you wait for a good time you'll do nothing and be nobody. Wonderful.

Carrie also wonders if many women want to get married and have families because that's what they're told to want. In other words, do we want these things just because we should want them? Another interesting thought. I think about having my dog, Bela. Like Charlotte, I love having B mostly because I love caring for another living thing. It gives me pleasure to know that he depends on me for his life and happiness. And I spend so much time devoted to just that. Until him, I didn't really know I was capable of that kind of unselfishness (yes, he snuggles with me, so it's partly selfish, but he won't feed me like I feed him or pick up my poop, that is, if I needed him to). Every time I eat, I look to make sure he has food. Every time I go on an errand, I think about whether to take him or not. And even though he's just a dog, the thought of leaving him for five days with strangers (which I'll have to do soon for the concert in Montana) scares the crap out of me. He's my boy.

And the following thought has crossed my mind, however breifly: what if he really is? What if I'm meant to have dogs not children? Some people are very happy that way. In fact, as I recently learned on a PBS series about relationships, marital satisfaction decreases significantly when the couple has kids. It doesn't say anything about dogs. Assuming I get married someday, could dogs and my partner be enough?

Even as I ask that question, I know the answer is no. Deep down, like Carrie finally realizes for herself, I want kids. I do. I just don't know when. Maybe, just maybe, that means I won't get around to it. Maybe it means, like I always imagined, that my body, mind, and soul will know when the time is right (or at least when it's not not right, if that makes sense). Maybe I'll adopt when I'm older and more financially stable. I don't think any of us is ever meant to know the answers to these riddles of life. Time marches forward, and we march with it in one direction or another. But it's hard to know which direction that is.

As a closing comment, I had a random thought about this show the other day that made me smile. The four women are so different, and it seems I relate to parts of each of them during every episode. I started to think whether or not, all together, they could represent nearly every facet of womanhood in all its manifestations. Put another way, was every woman, at least generally speaking, a different combination of these four? Then it hit me. Four. The four elements. The four directions on a compass. Four seasons. Even the four gospels. It seems that all around us in life, balance is achieved in fours. Maybe all the book and show was ever supposed to be was a catalyst for conversation about what it means to be a woman--a conversation that, in the end, every woman must have with herself.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 73: A Day in the Sun

Here's performance dress option number two. While I like the color of this one better (I imagine it would be nicer against my ultra-pasty winter complexion), I like the shape of the other one. This dress's draping just seems a bit busy, and I worry about having to pull this up and that down all the time--issues that can't occupy the mind when you're playing difficult piano pieces in front of an auditorium full of people you've known since childhood. We'll see though. The frocks should arrive in less than a week. I also bought two from Victoria's Secret, which I might have already mentioned, you know, just in case. Sometimes a girl just needs five dresses to choose from (my sister has a blue one she's willing to loan).

So, I'm sitting outside of a coffee shop near my house. It is a gay male coffee shop, though there seems to be a healthy representation of my sex here today. I don't think I have related the story of how I found out it was such a place. One day, after having lived in Denver for mere weeks, I walked in with my laptop, thinking I would find a quite table where I could write and look for jobs. When I entered, I glanced around and froze, paralyzed. Out of a sea of thirty or people, I was the only one with breasts. I was so scared, though I can't quite explain why, that I nearly turned around an left. But I didn't. I walked sheepishly up to the man at the cash register and ordered a latte. I also asked him very, very quietly why there were no women in the place.

That was when I learned two things. The first was that I lived in Denver's gay neighborhood, and this was one of the most popular gay coffee shops around. The second was that the man sitting on the stool next to the counter was actually a woman. I haven't returned to the cafe until today. Over the months, I have seen enough straight-looking women and couples sharing coffee here that I know I won't be the only estrogen-driven mammal to sit down with a drink, take out her laptop, and soak up some vitamin D. So, that's what I'm doing.

"Imagine...being blind and not being able to see a beautiful day like today. Can you think of anything worse?" Charlotte

"Stonewash jeans with a matching jacket." Anthony, Charlotte's best gay friend

We're into the last part of season six. Carrie is officially dating the Russian and is finding his grand, romantic gestures a bit much, though she's becoming more interested in him. Samantha realizes that she misses having a same-age partner, lamenting about Smith's immaturity. Ironically, to prove her own apparent wisdom, she decides to sleep with her ex, Richard, while she's at a party with Smith. Smith takes her back, causing her to marvel at the maturity of his love for her. After a visit to a plastic surgeon to discuss a boob job, she also learns she has breast cancer. Charlotte and Harry, taking a cue from Carrie's Russian lover, decide to go out to a romantic, French dinner and end up with food poisoning. Charlotte also decides to do some volunteering until she and Harry can try for another child. Miranda has to deal with living in the same apartment building as her doctor ex. She also asks Steve to marry her, and the couple says, "I do," in a small garden with only their closest friends and family standing by. Though it's her big day, Miranda insists on keeping it normal, talking with the girls over coffee and life news.

You know you're nearing the end of a project when you find yourself detaching from the product you're supposed to be producing. In simpler terms, I don't feel like writing about SATC. Even though these are some of my favorite episodes of the show (Miranda's approach to planning a wedding is priceless for it's humor and poignancy), I just feel like I'm already preparing to say goodbye to the show and its fictional characters I (sadly) know so well. Each day, each post gets a little harder to invest in, each word I type a little more distant. It doesn't help that I am running out of things to write about (weddings? done it. cheating? yup.)

I am also a little disappointed in the result of all this writing. I don't know what I expected would result from typing a bunch of thoughts about a TV shosw--that I would, oh, I don't know, have an amazing book option or figure out what to do with my life--but I know that the ending feels a little anticlimactic. I was certain something big would happen. Sure, I can think of personal benefits of the whole experience. First and foremost, it gave me a chance to process all of the relationships I've had in the past ten years. It also did what it set out on the surface to do: help me through the often depressing task of finding a job in a new city. Since I started, I have found friends and stable work, and that's something all right. It's just not everything. And I guess I wanted everything.

But maybe I'm not seeing the whole picture. I've learned a lot of things about myself through writing this blog that I'm not sure I would have figured out otherwise. For instance, I have such an interest in fashion and style that I can have real closet and a virtual closet and still find the energy for shopping and helping other people shop as a job. Heck, I probably have the job I do partly thanks to this blog. I'm not sure I would have believed in my fashion sense enough before it to even apply for a retail position. As unglamorous as my job is, I still think it beats sitting behind a computer typing emails to people I don't care about, which is most certainly what I would now be doing before this project. It's amazing what you learn about your interests when you're forced to write about them. Writing is like your chance to have a conversation with your mind. And sometimes it says the darndest things.

I have also written about my dieting philosophy, which I had never before articulated so clearly to myself, and my personal struggles with debt. I won't say that this blog is the reason I have created a budget or cut up my credit cards and mapped out a detailed plan for paying them off (which includes giving up half of my shopping budget for two years). But there is something about putting your intentions in print that makes you feel terrible about yourself if you don't succeed with them--or at least try with all of your might.

There are probably other fringe benefits from this whole thing that I can't even see yet. For now, I'm content just finishing what I started and having some time to digest it. So there's my personal reflection moment. Back to writing about the episodes next time. I promise. But for today, I think I'm done. My arms are getting sunburnt, and I need to watch my mole accumulation. Otherwise, I won't have to worry about any of this due to being prematurely dead from skin cancer. Sometimes it's really as simple as that.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 72: Can't Touch This

This may be almost literally what I wear to an upcoming benefit concert for Haiti that my sisters and I are doing. I just bought this dress today ($130). It's by a new-to-me designer, Isabella Oliver, with whose collection on wearable, easy-but-elegant dresses I've now become obsessed. I saved six to my online wardrobe, so you'll be seeing much more of her designs. I actually even ordered another one of her dresses and two Victoria's Secret numbers (that I'll post in the coming days, feel free to vote). Hopefully one of them will work for the event.

I also bought advanced tickets for SATC 2. Hank and I will be seeing the 4:00pm show the day after it opens (he needs to study on premiere night). We'll be all decked out in cocktail attire, since we'll be heading to his end-of-the-year gala right afterwards. It's for the best. Somehow it just wouldn't feel right seeing the movie in anything other than heels. And here's where I say thank you to Hank for being such a trouper through all of this. What kind of boyfriend watches a whole chick-series with his girlfriend, comments continually on her silly blog about it, and isn't afraid to go see it at the theater dressed to the nines? The great kind.

The next two episodes end the first part of season 6, which means there are 8 episodes and a movie left until T-Day (theater day) and only nine days in which to write about them. Eek. Carrie meets up with Big on his brief visit to New York to have heart surgery. As his closest friend there (and let's face it, because she loves him), she decides to stay with him during the recovery. For a moment, Big looks at her and wonders why they continue to play games when life is so short, but the next day he's back to his distant self. After he leaves, Carrie meets a quirky, famous Russian artist at an art opening, and the older man asks her out.

After trying alternative medicine, Charlotte becomes pregnant, only to lose the baby a mere month later. Devastated, she has to summon all her strength to move on with life and be hopeful. Samantha takes issue with Smith trying to hold her hand but eventually gives in. Steve walks in on Miranda and her new boyfriend having sex. Much tension between the two couples ensues. Miranda realizes she's not over Steve when her boyfriend says, "I love you," and she can't say it back. At Brady's first birthday party, Miranda instead says the words to Steve, and he says them back, saying she's "the one" and always has been.

I could write about the Russian guy I once dated, but I'm not going to. Here's why not:

1. I would be doing the same thing this episode does by stereotyping all Russians as dramatic, romantic, and depressive.

2. I can't remember his last name, and that bothers me.

3. He was twenty back then, which is far too young and innocent in my humble opinion to be subjected to being the topic of an ex's blog post.

That said, I don't really feel like writing about Big and Carrie, either. I mean, it just becomes silly after a while, you know? Same baggage, different season. I also can't really talk about fertility and miscarriage, because I've never experienced it. And that's one thing you can't accurately imagine experiencing--imagining will never be enough to know what it's like. So that leaves the holding hand issue. While I initially thought it was the weakest plot element amidst a sea of weighty issues, I am beginning to see it with new (and desperate) eyes. And I am beginning to see how it actually has some relevance in my life. In fact, it may just be a perfect topic.

Let me just say that I rarely stop to consider my similarities to Samantha. But last week, I took an online quiz that tested which SATC character I am most like, and my result was she. (You no longer have to wonder who actually takes those quizzes. Here I am). I was shocked and a little appalled. For me, Samantha has always represented the woman everyone wants to know but no one wants to be.

But the more I've thought about it, the more I see the connection. Maybe I don't consistently dress in provocative outfits or sleep with different men every few nights or sometimes even in a single afternoon. I'm not a big-shot career woman, unbothered by whom she tramps on in order to make her point. And I don't think plastic surgery is a good idea. But, there are some similarities between the two of us. Like her, I tend to be very vocal in my judgments. (Just the other day a friend said to me, "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you just tell me how to live my life?" This was after I told her to stop staying up so late and to drink more water. She said it in good fun, but I got the hint.) I, too, have a somewhat liberal sexual philosophy. I also have some intimacy issues. That holding hand crap? That could be me on the wrong day, even on the right one. And don't even get me started about antipathy about marriage.

See, Hank and I differ on one big thing: affection. He likes to give it (a kiss when he gets home, a touch here and there to say he cares, an "I love you" in every correspondence) and get it back. I have disappointed on many occasions. He'll come home when I'm writing or practicing, and I won't even look up. Or I may glance at him, smile, and say, "Hey." That's it, which is fine for me. At night, he would prefer that I fall asleep on his chest, like I used to when we first started dating (because I knew it made him feel manly, even though it killed my jaw). I prefer to maybe touch feet or hands in the drifting off stage but nothing else.

He is not the first boyfriend with whom I've had this issue. Many times, the guy wondered why I didn't want to hold his hand or why I shied away from his touch or kiss. And I've never been able to explain myself. I always had some loose theories. I could count on one hand the number of times I've seen my parents touch affectionately besides the usual peck on the lips before bed (blame it on ma and pa). I wasn't held enough as a child (again). My skin was sensitive, or I simply liked having my personal space and it was his problem. But it always spelled issues for my romantic relationships. (Though I apparently used to even punch parters in my sleep, so I guess I'm progressing with Hank.)

This episode made me see my issue from a new light--by watching Samantha. It's very easy to see why she is the way she is, because the show tells us. She's afraid of getting hurt, so she keeps her distance, even when it makes no sense to. Smith is clearly in love with her and treats her like a queen, but she still has a hard time letting down her guard with him. So, if I am truly most like Samantha (so much for not taking online quizzes too seriously), perhaps I, too, push people away before they have the chance to hurt me. The reasoning goes something like this: Don't say, "I love you" too much, and don't get too comfortable, because you never know when you'll be on your own again, where you're safer anyway. Maybe, like Samantha, I fiercely avoid intimacy in order to avoid pain, even when it means pushing people away who love me and whom I can trust.

I don't know if the above statement is true or not, but it feels true, regardless of any debatable further connection with Samantha's character. Something about it feels maybe truer than anything I have written throughout this project. And if that's all I take away from this whole thing, I can live with that. (As for what you're taking away from reading this, I have no idea.) I always thought my aversion to affection had to do with temporary things--being busy, being hot, being mad at my partner. But I'm beginning to see that it's just me, no matter my mood or hormones or schedule.

Sure, sometimes I feel very affectionate. It seems to come in bursts--like a caged animal that has been set free. At those times, I grab Hank and kiss him or walk into his study and wrap my arms around him in a bear hug. It feels like I'm so full of affection that it's dripping out of me. But most of the time, I'm not touchy-feely. I'm even a bit frigid. It's something I would like to get better at, though, because I want Hank to know I love him--for him to be able to physically see that. But it's really tough. It's really, really tough.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 71: Under One, Tiny-Two-Bedroom-but-Happy Roof

Does it get any more glamourous than this? I'm telling you, these shoes are amazing. Granted I don't have a dress that quite compares to this, but I also don't walk the red carpet or go to the opera, which are pretty much the occasions this ensemble calls for. Tomorrow will feature these heels with an outfit of more modest design, though still just as elegant--say for a nice dinner out somewhere or a cocktail party. Bottom line? Can't go wrong with sequin heels. (Or, wait, am I just justifying my extravagant purchase? Doesn't matter.) We'll call this look, "Dressed to the Perfect Tens."

As the SATC 2 movie release fast approaches, I see my girls (I figure it's about time I called them that) everywhere--Star Magazine, Glamour, Vogue, Shape, you name it. All the articles (okay, features) talk about the actress' wardrobes, onscreen rapport, and personal lives as well discuss the movie's details and possible plot twists. Of course, a dedicated SATC fan like myself has purchased all of the aforementioned magazines and read ever word about the movie.

While I'm excited at the prospect of seeing the long-awaited flick with Hank and any interested gal friends (I'm trying to organize a dinner-movie group thing, where we all dress up...wish me luck), I'm also realizing that my episode review days are nearing an end. There are only twelve days until the movie's premiere, and, dear readers, I only have a total of seven more posts to go after this one until my project is completely finished. This makes me sad. It's not that I'll miss the actual writing about the episodes. It will be nice not to have to watch the show and take two hours every other day to figure out how it relates to my life and the world. It will be a relief not to have to analyze all the relationships I've ever had, including the present one.

No, the sadness is due to a few things, the most significant of which is that I hate endings. I am a process person. I enjoy the leading-up-to, the contemplating, the planning, the preparing. I don't often enjoy the event and the feeling that it's over. I will miss feeling the fire under my ass. I don't do well with internal deadlines, as in "I'll get this done by this time, because I want to." I need a cold, hard date and time to push me to finish things. I will also miss the structure the project provided, writing about a topic I really enjoy, and talking about fashion. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to start writing about something new just to keep my sanity. But I don't know what that is yet. I'll keep you posted, quite literally.

In the next two episodes, we see Carrie struggling to assert her right to be a single gal with expensive shoes instead of expensive children. When someone steals her $500 heels at a posh baby shower, the hostess shames Carrie for suggesting they be replaced. Carrie, making a point of how much she has spent on the married hostess with three kids over the years, "registers" for her upcoming wedding to...herself. She gets her shoes and her dignity back. Later, she reunites with her old high school boyfriend and wonders if they might end up together. That is, until he confesses that his recent divorce has led him to check himself into an asylum. Miranda starts up a fling with the new, African-American doctor in her building. Samantha has a run-in with her worst enemy, the annoying child, at a restaurant and gets spaghetti thrown in her face. She also fakes an exclusive club membership and gets caught. Charlotte is getting used to married life with Harry, including having to ask him to pick up his tea bags and not sit on their white couch in the nude.

Hank and I were discussing the issue of cohabitation the other day, even before these episodes--specifically, whether or not it's a good idea to live with your significant other, especially before marriage, assuming both people eventually want marriage. I always thought it was dangerous. Sure, there are benefits. You get to go to sleep together every night; you save on rent, since you would be at each others' places all the time anyway; and you get to see how the other person lives. But there are drawbacks, too. Biggest one? You get to see how the other person lives.

Hank's viewpoint? There are always issues between any couple, and it just gives you time ahead-of-time to work them out. He holds forth that if you love the person, you may have a bone to pick about how they do certain things (like laundry and dishes), but the things are small enough that they can always be worked out. It's not like you would break up with someone over a dog-feeding situation.

But people do. As we talked about, I was reminded of all the little things that bug me about living with Hank: that I often have to ask him to wash the dishes if I don't want to end up doing them all the time; that he doesn't seem to know how to do a white load of laundry or water plants; that if left up to him, we wouldn't change the sheets for six months. As I listed them off to him, I was embarrassed by how small and stupid (not to mention stereotypical) they seemed. Besides, did I think I was easy to live with? Me and my inability to be on time to functions? My nagging about taking out the trash, which I rarely do? My complete bitchiness when I am interrupted in the middle of reading, writing, practicing piano, sleeping, or nearly any activity that requires minor concentration? I wasn't sure how I had lived peacefully with myself for so long.

It was a wake-up call for me. I saw that instead of enjoying life with Hank this past year, in a way I had been evaluating him the whole time--trying to figure out if we could live together for the rest of our lives, instead of working on our cohabitation issues one day (and one issue) at a time. Every time something went wrong, it was a point against living together before marriage or even living together at all.

It doesn't have to be that way. For example, last night I simply asked him if he could please do the dishes while I made dinner. He did it, no questions asked. I hadn't waited for him to do them himself. I hadn't gotten mad at him for not doing them sooner. I had just asked, and life had gone on. I realized that all the things that drove me crazy weren't reasons not to live with him (or anyone); they were just things that needed to be worked out.

Since our talk, when something bugs me, I can't help thinking of something Hank asked during our talk. "Would you rather live apart?" he had questioned very sincerely, like it was a definite option. "Of course not," I had said, equally sincerely. "Okay, well just let me know if you ever do. I don't want you to ever feel trapped with me." I was shaken by his frankness in that moment. I hadn't meant my frustration to point to an end of our living together; I had just needed to get it out. After that, though neither of us are psychology gurus, we decided that ironing out these things was probably a natural process of getting used to living with someone, and our little bickering sessions were likely even healthy. Better now than later, we reasoned. And I think we're right.

Cohabitation isn't easy. Sure, sometimes it makes me personally want to gouge my eyes out with blunt scissors. But sometimes it's really fun. I sure look forward to Hank coming home every day or seeing him when I walk in the door, and, in the end, I'm learning that the issues we have are really small and their solutions can be fairly easy. And there are always things to work out, because we're all human and we're all difficult. I'm also not sure facing the issues post-marriage would be any more peaceful. In fact, it could be traumatic to learn about the hidden habits of someone you have vowed to love and stick with no matter what. Let's face it: in a marriage, you are betting on your life that you know the person well enough to have confidence your lives will mesh well. If you haven't lived together yet, that's a lot of blind faith. If you've been cohabiting, at least you know what you're saying "I do" to.

I hope you'll be back. I will.