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.
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