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 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 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.

Day 69: All's Well That Ends (Well)

I browsed hundreds of options for stripy tees last night, and this one by Old Navy was the cutest one I found. If it hadn't been sold old, I would have bought it in at least two colors. I like the contrast of the pink girly pumps with the more boyish stripes, and the equally compelling contrast of the delicate silk pants with the sturdy cargo bag. We'll call this outfit, "Strolling the Boardwalk." If only that was a daily reality...

I should mention, because I haven't, that Hank and I now have a budget. We calculated all our costs and income and divvied up what we could spend on restaurants, entertainment, and, you guessed it, shopping. I should also mention that despite my protests for doing this little exercise, it was much needed. Last month, I spent $900 at various retail locations. Looking over this last year's expense report, I see that while some months I actually returned more than I bought, I also had months of spending nearly $2,000. I don't know how that is possible, but it obviously is. So now my budget is $200 a month. I have to pay in cash, which I am taking out of my account in a lump sum at the beginning of the month. When it's gone, it's gone.

I would like to say that I'm miserable on account of this cutback, but I actually feel much more peaceful. I can't shop on a whim or because I need an emotional lift. I can't justify ridiculous expenditures when I know I can't afford them. If I buy a big ticket item one month, it better be good, since it's stopping me from buying ten other smaller ticket things. So far, this month I've spent about $160, and it's only the 10th. However, I made a big purchase of the most amazing, spectacular, shiny, gorgeous, sequin-covered peep toes I have ever seen. Here they are, but the picture doesn't do them justice. I plan on wearing them for an upcoming performance and keeping them well-protected in their original box. That's the thing about buying less: you appreciate more.

So, in the next two installments of SATC, Carrie and Burger continue to hit some road blocks that eventually lead them to a temporary break and then a permanent break up. Their central problems are Burger's admitted jealousy of Carrie's writing success, his emotional baggage from his last relationship, and his own floundering writing career. Again, my thought? He's a big baby. Samantha lends Jerry her professional hand and launches him into advertising stardom, which later leads to a huge boost in his acting career. Charlotte tries to date after breaking up with Harry but can't. When they finally run into each other at a Jewish potluck, Charlotte apologizes for everything, confesses her love, and begs Harry to give her another chance. Harry says, "Well that's not good enough. Charlotte York, will you marry me?" Miranda still yearns for Steve and finds herself inviting him over to watch TV and decorating cupcakes for his girlfriend just to be near him. She also cuts back at work in order to be more present for Brady.

Breakups and reunions. It just goes to show you the circle of life and love--the ebb and flow of relationships in all of our lives, or something like that. Charlotte's speech and Harry's proposal may be the most touching moment of the entire series. It makes me (again) realize how mediocre an actress SJP is compared to her supporting cast! Now, a bit about Burger and Carrie.

I have to admit that while I never did like them as a couple, I can see where they were coming from when they fell for each other. They had amazingly similar interests, the same career, same sense of humor, similar ideas of what's important in life, and compatible sexual chemistry (even if they did get off to a rocky start). There were no huge, red flags that told either of them to run the other direction. This was unusual for SATC, which tends to typecast people. The women are usually able to see immediately which dates are losers and winners and get rid of the bad ones, even if their judgements seem a little harsh and quick to the rest of the world. In real life, it's never that easy to tell.

No, Carrie and Burger seemed great together, except that they didn't. It's amazing to me what outsiders can tell about someone else's relationship--whether it will last or not, what problems there are, if the chemistry seems healthy or not. Sure, they may not always be right about the outcome, but they can sure read a lot from very little information. While Steve is probably correct that only the two people in a union know about the union, it still seems that other people can have insights about a relationship that the two people in it can't--at least not right away. Carrie's friends seemed to echo my feelings and thoughts about Burger at nearly every turn. Yes, he was charming, but.... Yes, they seemed to have similar interests, but... Why was there always a but--for me and for them--when they seemed like such a great couple?

That is a mysterious question to which the answer is somewhat elusive. I know I don't often know why I get certain feelings about couples I meet and ones I see on movies. I don't know why I like some couples more than others or why I don't like (or trust) certain of my sisters' and friends' boyfriends and do others, especially when all signs seem to point one way, but my gut points the other.

And it goes both ways. I've had certain beaus, like Arnold, that my family never really connected with, though they always voiced their support. No matter how many nods my father gave me regarding our union, I just knew he didn't like Arnold, though he never said it. I've had partners that my family and friends downright hated, like Billy. In this case, one friend and certain family members wouldn't even talk about the relationship with me, because they felt it was so wrong.

Some boyfriends my family and friends loved, like Travis and Jorge. In both cases, people actually cried when we broke up. I don't think it was because they were extremely sad we were no longer together, but more because they had to break up with him too. It was like saying goodbye to family. With other boyfriends, like Brad, people were just slow to give support, either because they were skeptical or scared for me. They didn't really ask how things were going and didn't smile wholeheartedly when I told them anyway that things were fine.

And then there's Hank. From day one, he passed every test, even when neither of us knew he was being tested. He didn't try hard. I didn't convince anyone how great he was. As a matter of fact, I don't really know what, if anything, was different about the way I presented him to friends and family versus other boyfriends of the past. But their reactions just felt different. My dad took him hunting the first time he stayed at my parents' place, and my dad has never gone on an outing alone with any of his daughters' boyfriends. Even when I tell people about our fights, they don't give me that look, like "Why are you still with him?" They just listen peacefully. Even my most cynical sister speaks as if Hank and I will someday marry, though I don't talk about it with her. And lately, they're all telling me to have kids already, which I guess is a good sign they're supportive of my relationship.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying other people's opinions are the most important thing. As a matter of fact, I have lived most of my life trying to ignore any feedback one way or the other. (Remember, I am a stubborn, eldest child.) But it's interesting when feedback varies so drastically from boyfriend to boyfriend, and it's even more interesting when other people's predictions or hesitations end up coming true or having good reason. As much as we hate to admit it, maybe other people can see our relationships more clearly than we can. Hey, that's why therapists exist, right?

Well, where does that leave us? The funny part of other people's opinions is that you're lucky if you get them, even when you ask. And if you have to ask, it's generally not a great sign (if you believe in signs, which I wish I didn't but do). Most of the time, people tell you what they think you want to hear. I do the same to my friends and sisters. If I know someone is serious about a guy or girl, I will look for the positive, even if the vibe I'm getting isn't great. If they ask, I may put something out there like, "Well, it's strange that he _______, but it doesn't mean it couldn't work out." Let's face it: no relationship is perfect, and no person is perfect for another person. And it happens often that when a couple seems perfect, it often isn't, even if the people in it try to convince themselves it is--like Charlotte and Trey.

And maybe that's the point of all of this: what seems perfect isn't perfect, and what doesn't seem perfect is perhaps the very height of perfection. Maybe a couple that works (in their minds and in the minds of their family and friends) isn't the couple that looks like or thinks it has it all together. Arnold and I were very much the latter, and we just kept the bad stuff--the fact that he wanted to have a same-sex relationship before marrying me or that his mother and I hated each other--hidden. No, the couple that works is maybe the one that has just the right balance of real issues (imperfections, if you will) and greatness, bad things and good things, fights and truces, yin and yang. There's no formula for figuring out whether a couple (yours or someone else's) has that balance. If there was, it would be worth billions of dollars. But people just know on some level. Or they don't. Or they're not sure. And that's part of the magic of love and life. Who wants a formula?

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 56: Baby Talk

I have decided that what you pay for most in clothing is not a big name or a great fabric (let's face it, cotton is cotton) but good draping. True that sometimes great draping is due to the fabric, but more often it has to do with little stitching details and great cuts. And these are priceless. Since I am around clothes all day, it is inevitable that I become obsessed with clothing shape. I'm getting to the point where I can pick out the most expensive piece dress in a line up of 10. It goes like this: "Oooh, I like that. Surprise, surprise it's Catherine Malendrino."

Of course this is a good thing for my job, but for my personal shopping life, it makes it hard to want to buy anything but the best. To illustrate my crisis, I walked through the entire Target store a few days back and wanted NOTHING. Usually a fan of the store, I just saw all the clothes as cheap (it was also a getto Target, to its credit). But on the bright side, if this snobbery escalates, I may not be able to afford anything I like to the point where I'm not buying anything. Good news. I bring this all up, because this skirt's price hovers around the $300 point. Of course, there's nothing great about the print. It's probably silk, but even that doesn't constitute the price tag. But the draping? Amazing. And hard to find. For that reason, I'm calling this ensemble, "Drape it to Me."

The problem about writing about every other episode is trying to remember what the heck they were about by the time I get around to posting. But I will recount the big news. After "pity-fucking" Steve once after his operation to get his cancerous testicle removed, Miranda finds out she's pregnant. At first she decides to get an abortion, but she can't go through with it. She breaks the news to her friends that she will be having a baby. Charlotte, on the other hand, can't get pregnant. After testing Trey's sperm, Charlotte gets her own fertility checked and is informed that she has a genetic condition that makes getting pregnant normally highly unlikely. Carrie and Aidan spend more time in the country. Big calls Carrie to tell her that his movie star girlfriend has dumped him and left him brokenhearted. He begs to talk, even when that means coming to Aidan's country home. While there, the two boys duke all their past issues out and make some sort of peace. Samantha is refused a job because she's a woman with an active sexual past. After crying for the first time in her career, she decides to fight and gets hired.

Though it's only 7:00 pm, I feel exhausted. Since I'm now on the super early schedule at work (get up at 4:45, at work by 6), 7 feels like 11, even though the sun hasn't set. It's very strange. What a difference there is between being at work at 6 and 7. There is a world in that hour. Who knew? However, it is still better than the late shift. And I just realized today that we can play our own CDs in the mornings before customers come. Good news, which just may have saved me from death by Lady Gaga.

Frankly, I think the whole boyfriend being friends with your ex is a little ridiculous. I mean, isn't it complicated enough being friends with an ex yourself? Must you expect your beau and old flame to get along as well? Now, on to the topic of pregnancy and abortion...fun, fun.

I really don't have much to say about this (surprise). I have not been pregnant before (thanks, Plan B) and have thus haven't had to deal with such a life-altering decision about whether or not to keep a baby. At one point, Aidan says to Carrie, "Well, if Miranda doesn't want the kid, can't she just give it to Charlotte?" Oh, men. If only it were that simple. That would be really nice.

But it's not that simple, is it? When you're ready, you're ready and you want it to be perfect. Perfect doesn't mean raising your friend's baby. Perfect means preparing to feel something grow inside of you, knowing that from that moment on, much if not most of your life will be devoted to something so much smaller, but oh so much larger than yourself. And when you're not ready, you're not ready. And the whole experience takes on terrifying magnitude I swear only soldiers preparing for battle would understand.

I was talking with a good friend the other day about having kids. I'm 28 and in a committed relationship, so naturally I often get the question of whether or not I want children (right after the other question). My answer has always been, "Oh yeah, of course" until just recently. It's not that I don't want kids. I do. It's just that the older I get and the more years that go by where I'm "just not ready," the more I wonder if kids are in the cards. I think they are. In fact, I know they are. What I don't know is how I'll know when (or if) I'm ready. I'm getting a little worried that the readiness just ain't coming. I don't have forever, and there are quite a few things that need to happen before children can even be a feasible option.

My friend, who also wants kids, was saying that her sister (37, married, with two little tykes) wasn't sure either until she was sure. According to my friend, it was sort of an overnight change, where she just woke up one morning and knew she was stable and self-confident enough to bring another life into this world. This shift happened when she was 32. So there's hope.

I just realized that I am starting to be able to relate to the show I write about. I'm starting to realize the panic that sets in when you realize you're not young anymore, even if you aren't old. I get the struggle between independence and relationship, between career and family. I didn't ten years ago when I first started watching. I'm not even sure I related to the characters a year ago. For some reason, maybe it's the job or living with a partner in a new city, but I feel like I've aged a lot this year. I may not yet be 35, but it will come before I know it. Will I be any different than I am now? Will I be where I want to be and be ready to take the next steps in life?

I say this, and I immediately start reprimanding myself. Panic does no good in any situation and certainly not in this one. If having children doesn't happen naturally, at least to where I can feel peaceful about having the process, than it doesn't happen. If it happens later, it happens later. I am convinced worrying often leads to irrational decisions that end up causing a fair degree of angst later. Besides, there's no use rushing something like having children that can never be slowed down later.

True, I get excited about kids. Every time I see the toddler outfits at the store, I croon. Hank's cousin has a baby I dote on so much that I'm sure his parents think I'm a loon. But somehow the thought of having a child myself is so different. I'm just not ready. I'm not. And I have to think that women know when they are and when they're not, and that there's no better gauge of timing for starting a family than good old intuition.

But if it happened, I would let it. I don't think I could get an abortion. It's not so much that I think it's immoral as much as I would just be too sad to give a baby up. But I'm hoping I won't have to decide any of this too soon. For now, I'm going to focus on getting health insurance through work, a Colorado driver's license, and great blonde highlights. There's a lot to be said for appreciating where you're at.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 54: Where the Action Is

I love that this tank can function as a party top or as a vest over just about anything. The skirt, shoes, and skirt come from J. Crew. The Michael Kors bag (my current lust, since the LV one is completely unattainable for now) is a great addition; I love a neutral-colored bag for spring/summer. We'll call this one, "Shiny on the Inside and Out."

It's 12:40 am. This work schedule has me coming home at 11 pm. I'm so high on music, caffeine (from dinner, to get me through the evening), and adrenaline from working in such a go-go-go environment that I can't even begin to settle down until now. Plus, Hank is gone on a ski trip, so I'm back to my old night owl ways. Calming down tonight has been especially difficult since one of my co-workers pissed me off by saying negative things about the job I and another coworker have been doing, even though our managers have been telling us just the opposite. I ignored her first five or so comments and called her on the next, saying that if she had a problem with me and the job I was doing, she could take it up with our manager. That shut her up. Though I have an internal feistiness, I really don't like confrontation (does anyone?), and my pulse has been racing since that conversation. I even had a beer and watched an episode of SATC when I came home to no avail. So I'm sitting here with Bela and Sophia, a dog I'm watching for a friend, one on either side, both drifting off to sleep. And I can think of nothing to do but write.

In the last episode, Aidan and Carrie got back together. I'm sure other things happened, but I can't remember them. I don't think they were that important. The big question was, "Do actions speak louder than words, especially in relationships?"

I know I have to be writing more, and I know that I won't finish before the movie comes out. There is a sadness in this, even though my goal is such a silly one. I had a project--a long-term aspiration--and I'm not going to be able to meet it as is. So maybe I have to revise. Maybe the new plan will be to write about every two episodes. I don't want to do this, but otherwise I'm afraid it will take me another six months to get to the end. So let's just say that's the new plan. I'll write about every two and just pick the most intriguing subject.

Okay then, the next episode deals with forgiveness. Can we ever really forgive if we can't forget? After hearing Big leave a message on Carrie's machine, Aidan in effect tortures Carrie by acting passive-aggressively and flirting with cute women. Carrie calls him on it, and he asks her never to see Big again or even talk to him. She says she can't do that, but that she will never cheat on him again. They call a truce. Charlotte quits her job to be a stay-at-home mom, even though she's not yet pregnant.

Today got me thinking about career moves and personality more than anything. I'll be honest, I always thought I would have a high-powered career and be making good money and achieving important things by the time I was 28. After all, a good friend told me in high school that I was the most Type-A personality person she knew. I got great grades and in general people liked me. All of my teachers have always thought I would be really successful. I have a way of leading people to action, and I figured that would make me even a better candidate for success.

However, as the years go by, I realize that I have spent more time forming relationships than anything. That has always been more important to me than getting ahead or even proving myself to superiors. I may have the skills and brain power to do well, but I lack a little in the ambition department--at least I have until now.

Maybe it was seeing an episode about a woman quitting her job to "lead a quiet life." It renewed a fear in me that's always been there--that I would wither away into a passive female who doesn't cause waves and just does what's "right' (not only that, she teaches her kids too), even if she doesn't really know, in her heart of hearts, what right is. Maybe it was the experience today, of coming face to face with myself again and seeing for the umpteenth time that I am not okay with taking flack from anyone, especially if that person has no more power than I. I am just not that person who stands quietly by and watches. I am the person who speaks for that person when she or he has no voice. And I am proud of that. But it has its costs--like not really being able to slip by unnoticed and not being able to not take action when it's needed. So I better use my spunk for something good.

I don't know what all of this means. I know it means something. I'll keep you updated. I am so tired of feeling on the verge of discovering or creating my meaning in life only to feel like it's not quite clear yet. When does it become clear?

Well, I'm finally getting tired. Heavy self-analysis at 1 am will do that to you. Plus the dogs just look so peaceful. By the way, as for Aidan and Carrie getting back together, I have no comment (for once--this is a big moment). It seems ridiculously hard, but hey, if they want to put the work into the relationship, who am I to say that's good or bad? After all, we all have to put work in, and there's no book telling us when the work is too much or not going to be worth it in the end. That's the hard part about life: you can think and analyze and wonder all you want, but sooner or later, you just have to take action, place your bet, and let the chips fall where they may. It's the only way to really know about anything.

I hope you'll be back (in two episodes). I will. And hopefully with more sleep.

Day 53: A Mid-Week Haunting

So there you have it: "Purple Pump Power." Here is an example of a casual outfit made chic by these simple but rockin heels. And that ends our saga: formal evening, formal day, and casual day all taken care of. And whether we mixed the shoes with colors or neutrals, it still looks right. Besides, who wants to wear black pumps all the time when you can wear purple ones? By the way, I am convinced everyone should own a pair of skinny black jeans. I'm working on that.

"Miranda, I'm still asleep. How can you have had an emotional mini-drama already?" Carrie

Today's episode deals with the ghosts of relationships past. Miranda gets invited to the opening of Steve's new bar. At about the same time, she starts hearing strange sounds above her apartment and decides it's a ghost. Carrie also gets an invitation to opening, only to find out that Aidan is Steve's partner in the bar venture. When Steve tells her that he invited her, not Aidan, she decides to go anyway and meet Aidan for the first time since their split. When they see each other, Aidan has gotten a hair cut and started smoking, and though he's cordial to her, he keeps things brief. Charlotte, having recently moved back in with Trey, confronts his mother's overbearing influence on their interior decorating choices. And Samantha is learning to talk about her feeling with Maria--a little too much for her liking. When men from Samantha's past keep popping up and Maria can't cope, the two go their separate ways.

Well, I have to post today. It's 9:55 the night before our store opens, and I need to post again tomorrow before work. I have lost track of how many episodes I need to watch before the movie comes out. I'm just writing, hoping that it all magically works out in the end. But I'm just guessing that I would need to write at least every day, and I don't know if it's going to happen. Well, as long as the I watch the movie, I guess I don't have to watch review it until later, right? Right? I can' t hear you.

The most interesting thing about this episode for me is one of Carrie's lines. Talking about Aidan she says, "I'm just afraid that how I treated him will haunt me for the rest of my life." Maybe we all have those people from our past--the one with whom we didn't quite share the best versions of ourselves and with whom we wish we could have experienced things differently. Perhaps it was a relationship that went south because of something we directly did or a friendship that ended because of our actions or words or lack thereof.

For me, that "ghost" is Jorge. I'm not sure why it's him more than any other person. I didn't treat him poorly while we were together, and I don't know why I feel solely responsible for everything. But I part of me thinks I made him waste an entire year of his life and put him through an emotional spin cycle to boot.

After all, it was I who asked him to show me around a city while being on the rebound. For much of our first months together, I still thought about Billy daily, which was unfair to Jorge. It was also because of me that Jorge quit his job in Cusco to move to Lima, so that we didn't have to worry about Billy stalking us. Then, because I wanted to go back to the States to finish my music degree, I asked Jorge to move with me. Even though it meant leaving another job and having to work in a golf club parking cars outside of NYC (which he hated), he came with me.

And I'm not done. Because I thought we should get married in order to get Jorge's visa to stay in the States, he asked me. But later, when I decided I wasn't ready for marriage, I convinced him to end it. By this time, I had introduced him to all of my immediate family and most of my childhood friends, who had all accepted that we were going to get married. He was calling my mother, "Mom," which was extremely touching because he no longer had parents of his own. Finally, though we were fighting a lot and Jorge got a great job offer in Argentina that he wanted to take, it was still I who thought we should break up. He was willing to work things out no matter what. Just to show him I was serious about wanting to end things, I slept with a coworker. Lovely.

It's during times like these that I feel like pulling down a book about Ivan the Terrible and reading a few passages about how he killed people in a giant frying pan. It's the only thing I can think of that would make me feel better about myself. I have hurt other people in my life, but none quite as repeatedly and carelessly as Jorge. I should have been alone during that time, not trying to make us into something we weren't and then throwing him out when I finally realized that it wasn't right. I was selfish and mean.

The worst thing about your "ghosts" is that often they don't hate you. Somehow, though you are certain you treated them worse than anyone ever deserves to be treated, they still think you're the cat's meow, or at least not worthy of public whipping. The two men I have treated the worst in my life--Travis and Jorge--are the ones I was closest to in friendship after we broke up. Go figure. It's like they're further punishing you by forgiving you, so you're left to inflict all the guilt alone. It's so much easier when someone else is against you besides yourself.

Anyway, I don't think I'm a bad person. I don't think I'm a good person. I'm a person. And we all hurt other people. I also know that Jorge made those decisions himself, in full recognition of our situation and my past. It's not like he was a puppet or dog. He was a person, and he did what he did out of love. I was also trying my best at the time. It just so happened that my best sucked.

Well, maybe it's time I forgive myself for how I've treated my ghosts, not because I have a real reason to, and certainly not because I deserve forgiveness, but because I no longer can think of a reason not to. I can't take anything back, and feeling bad about myself probably doesn't help anyone, including me. If the wise saying is true, that we should all be our own best friends, maybe part of that process includes letting go of disappointment with ourselves--giving up the ghosts from our past. Maybe only then are we really ready to move on. But it ain't easy.

I hope you'll be back. I will.