Day 57: Engaged in Battle

Normally I belt a dress like this. However, it seemed to have enough shape to leave a belt out. I love this bag. I won't be buying it, probably ever, but it's freakin cute and very versatile. I also love the Havianas sandals, which I DO plan on buying this summer. The button-up is meant to be worn like a cardigan, unbuttoned and tied in the front for a carefree, summer, day or evening look. Since we're also layering the necklaces, we'll call it, "Layer Up Baby, It's Warm Outside."

Well, Carrie moves in with Aidan and gets engaged (man, a lot can happen in two episodes). She sees a ring in Aidan's bag before he pops the question, so she has lots of time to think about how to answer. She wonders if hesitation is good, if he's the right guy, etc. But when he asks, all her analysis flies out the window, and she says yes. After the engagement, however, the couple begins to fight for space in the tiny apartment, resulting in a huge blow-out. Eventually, Carrie especially realizes that she doesn't need the space that she thought, and the couple makes peace. Samantha falls deeper for her new boss, going against her "sex-no-feelings" policy. Miranda tells Steve about the baby, and the two decide to raise it together without being together. Charlotte and Trey are at each others' throats about getting pregnant. At one point, Trey asks, "When does a marriage get easier?" Hormonally imbalanced Charlotte blames Trey for not trying, and Trey tells her he no longer wants a baby. Chralotte retreats to her friends, planning things with them and telling Trey he's not invited. Trey gets her a cardboard baby as a joke, which spirals the couple into emotional warfare.

The timing of these episodes was scary. Hank and I watched them late last night, as a sort of way to calm down after our own battle. It went like this. Hank came home from school. I was practicing the piano and gave him a quick kiss. We chatted. He asked how my day was. I told him, and I also told him that two gals from work wanted to go to dinner on Thursday night. He asked why I didn't invite him. I said that I was just going to go with the girls. He got sad and accused me of pulling away and being unaffectionate, saying it had been going on for months. I told him he was overreacting, and that I just wanted to nurture some new friendships here and needed social time apart from him. It spiraled, and before I knew it we were arguing about who was going to go take a walk first to get away from the other (which, I might add, Carrie and Aidan recreated perfectly in the episode) and whether or not we were good together. In a moment of complete frustration, I uttered the "b" word, which made everything worse.

Now, this is not our first fight, but it was one of the few where we just came to a stalemate. There didn't seem to be any reason for the fight, well not any huge reason. Yes, I had planned a dinner with friends and hadn't invited him. But it was much more. Fights usually are. Since there was no concrete reason, there wasn't a concrete solution. I ended up saying I was sorry for not being more affectionate. Even though I felt like I was being normal, I grew up with parents who barely touched each other, so maybe my perspective was skewed. I also stayed firm in my belief that social time apart (girls or guys night out, if you will) is a good thing in a relationship, and I thought he should be striving for that a little too. He said he didn't want to, so why should I? In the end, though, he respected my need to spend time with just the gals, and we came to an agreement that if he wanted to go, he needed to say something, but that sometimes I would go without him, and he would be okay with it. I would also try to be more affectionate with him (even if I'm tired) at the end of the day. It was easy enough, but the fight lasted for hours, with two walking breaks in between (first his, then mine with Bela).

The reason I divulge all of this is maybe only to say that I fully understand that fights in relationships are hard. People sometimes make them sound cute ("Oh, she gets so mad when I leave the toilet seat up."), but in the moment they are anything but. They are maddening and crazy-making, and they make you want to punch the person (not that I would) and just get out of there. There's nothing fun about fighting.

The big questions for Carrie are the following: How do you know when a relationship is wrong? How do you know when it's okay? How do you know what to do? Maybe nobody knows. Either somehow you find a way, like Carrie and Aidan in the episode and Hank and I last night, to apologize and move on, or you don't. Trying to move on is all anyone can do. There has to be enough good stuff to make you want to do that. Even though I may feel really down about Hank and I in those bad moments, when they pass, I'm able to reconnect with what's good. That's what keeps it worth it for me.

In relationships like Charlotte and Trey's, there are often irreconcilable differences (pardon the expression, but it's pretty accurate) of values and needs. He doesn't want kids, and she does. Someone has to give up something pretty big in order for that to work, and sometimes the sacrifice is too much. It's not a matter of just getting some air for an hour or getting a good night's sleep. It's about life goals.

Conflict in relationships seems like a give and take, a balance between two questions: What can I give up in this situation, and what do I need to fight for? It's a really hard question.

Well, off to bed. It's 9:00pm, the witching hour. I can't believe this is my bedtime, but more than that, I can't believe how tired I am and how bed sounds really good right now. I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 47: Karma's a Bitch

Think no bra, shirt tucked into the skirt. And what a great skirt it is. I can imagine packing it for a long week away and never taking it off. I also love the booties from J. Crew. Too bad they are over $200 (on sale) and suede, which isn't the most practical of shoe materials--certainly not worth shelling out that much cash for. Regarding the bag, I am actually having a handbag dilemma in this very moment. There are two at work I like--a gray Kenneth Cole very similar to this one and a gold Michael Kors signature tote. Both are adorable and practical. Both will be less than $60 on employee shopping day (down from over $200). Decisios, decisions.... Because of the figure definition a wrap skirt provides and because of the wonderfully cute footwear, I'll call this one, "And What a Bootie It Is."

Speaking of decisions, convinced that she is suffering from some kind of relationship karmic retribution, Carrie decides to try to make right with Natasha. (Anyone see a train wreck coming?) After the latter ignores Carrie's calls, Carrie ambushes her while she's on a lunch date. After apologizing profusely and getting nowhere, Carrie realizes that Natasha's forgiveness is one thing she will just have to forget about. Samantha meets a nerdy college boy who shares her name. Feeling it must be fate, she gives him the first-time experience she always wanted. However, the good deed turns bad when the boy becomes obsessed with her. Charlotte spends the weekend with Trey's family and finds herself madly attracted to the gardener. In a moment of passion, she kisses him. When Trey learns about the incident, he tells Charlotte he's fine with it, though Charlotte decides it's best if the two separate for a while. Miranda dates a hot detective but feels she's not pretty enough for him, even though she wants to think it's divine karma at work, finally giving her the perfect man. At dinner, she drinks away her insecurities, leaving the guy thinking she's an alcoholic.

I am all over this one. Carrie wants to know if relationship karma is real, and I am here to tell you that it most certainly is. Every time I have hurt someone in some way, I have had a similar hurt done to me somewhere down the line. Every time I thought it was the other person's fault that the relationship ended, I was somehow immediately shown in the next relationship how I was really no better--maybe even the same, in fact.

Two cases to illustrate this. The first was with Travis. As I've said before, we broke up when I cheated on him with the Peruvian man, Billy. It was one of--if not the--worst thing I've ever done to someone. I even waited to tell Travis that I was seeing Billy until I got back to the States, partly because I didn't want to tell him over the phone and partly because I wanted him to still water my lawn. It was terrible. I have also said that Travis forgave me and wanted to stay together. I hurt him even further when I said I wanted to break up, because I loved Billy more than him. That was not my proudest few months.

Travis, however, got the last laugh when Billy broke my heart two months later. Instead of being angry or smug, though, Travis called me daily during that time to see how I was doing. He remained my friend through it all, God knows how, which in a way made me feel even worse. Here was someone I treated horribly but who still treated me lovingly. I didn't get it, but I did tell Travis at the time that I thought Billy breaking up with me really was what I deserved. I still think that's true.

The second case of relationship karma happened more recently. I had just been dumped again, this time by Brad, and I was so angry with him. He had been so gung-ho about everything right up until the drunk phone call where he ended things, that I had really gotten my hopes up about thinking things could possibly work out. However, after that call, I started to think of all the ways he wasn't good for me: he was emotionally distant, ambivalent about our future together, not emotionally demonstrative at all, and in no hurry to get back into a serious relationship. I didn't think about the fact that he had just come out of a 7-year engagement or just wanted to take things slow. I just thought, "What a jerk."

However, when I met Hank, I found myself acting the same way Brad had acted. I was emotional, but I was also angry about my past relationships failures, negative about how things between Hank and I were going to work out, and expressed a lot of fear about marriage and commitment. Hank, on the other hand, acted more like I had acted with Brad--positive about how things would work out. It was like the universe was trying to teach me that old Biblical lesson about removing the log out of your eye before removing the speck from your brother's eye or something to that effect. I didn't have to be angry at Brad. I didn't have to think he was a jerk. I could just understand that there was a part of him in me too--just like there's a part of all humanity in one single person. When I realized this, I was a little more able to have peace about my past relationship with Brad and compassion towards him and myself.

Our past relationship affect our current ones. How we act in one most certainly carries over into the next. That's not to say we can't change patterns or choose our actions or what happens to us, but it does mean that we should treat others the way we wish to be treated. Our kind actions may not ever pay off, but they sure can't hurt anything. That said, we all do the best we can.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 42: The Jig is Up

I'm calling this one, "Anytime, Anywhere," because it's a good season to season look. It illustrates how it only takes a few tiny changes to make your wardrobe next-season ready. For spring, ditch the coat. For summer, leave the scarf at home and maybe switch out the boots for sandals. For winter, add a cardigan over the t-shirt. Simple and painless. Gotta love a classy tee, sexy jeans, and classic jewelry. Plus, this outfit has a Scottish feel, and there's a reason for that.

This is a big episode--for once, no pun intended. Big doesn't even enter the picture. Charlotte gets married. However, before she does, she sleeps with Trey for the first time, only to find that he can't keep it up. Terrified, she nearly doesn't go through with the wedding but decides that her love is stronger than her libido. Samantha meets one of Trey's Scottish cousins at the rehearsal dinner. Though she can't understand a word he says, she finds out that in bed, no language is needed. Miranda tries a speed dating service, where people get five minutes to decide if they're interested in a person before moving on to the next candidate. Having no luck with telling men she's a Harvard grad and partner in her firm, she lies about being a stewardess to a man as equally dishonest about his own profession. Carrie finally comes clean to Aidan, who decides that he just can't handle trying to work it out. The two part ways.

Carrie and Aidan's goodbye scene is supposed to be touching and heartbreaking, but I just found myself uninterested. First, Carrie never seemed that into him, so all of her tears and drama just seemed fake. Second, Carrie really never cared about hurting Aidan (at least not more than she cared about the whole situation working out for her), so her apologies seemed forced and, well, also fake. And Aidan, though he was always very caring toward her, was never very emotionally demonstrative, so his pained expressions bordered on, for lack of a more appropriate word, fake. So, all in all nobody was doing their best acting there--not that SJP is an amazing actress, despite her charm (does she ever actually cry?).

The most moving scene shows Charlotte taking Carrie aside right before walking down the isle. You can see the terror on her face as she contemplates a sexless marriage with Trey. But she goes for it anyway, determined to get married as she said she would and even more determined to have "love" conquer all--even sex. It's strange to think that momentum can make a wedding take place, but it's true. Sometimes it's just easier to go through with it. Not that I would know.

Love is important, yes. Sex is also important. Lots of things are important. But I'm not sure the deciding factor for whether or not you're going to link yourself with someone for eternity should be whether or not it's too late to cancel. Maybe it should. Maybe everyone gets jitters and cold feet. Maybe all spouses-to-be fear the moment when they meet their partners at the altar. Are doubts natural?

When I was two weeks away from my wedding, I did not fear an eternity with Arnold, because I hadn't even thought that far in advance. I just dreaded another day of migraine headaches. I could only think of the immediate consequences of what we were about to do--that I would move to Boston with him, and that we would continue to relate how we were relating. He had asked me to marry him only a month and a half before, and I was stymied. I felt like the wedding was a big whirlwind I couldn't even see out of to decide anything rational--a whirlwind I had created myself. I thought it was better to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible, and I treated our big day like D-Day--a negative event I had to gear up for and get through.

I thought I was normal. At age 22, I figured I was experience the usual symptoms of a young person getting married. I didn't realize something was deeply wrong with how I felt about fusing my life with Arnold's. So, two weeks before, after numerous spiritual walks to gain clarity and days of praying for answers, I decided I needed to talk to someone. Things apparently weren't going to clear up on their own. I went to a random church and talked to the first person who would see me. I don't even remember her name, and I haven't seen her since that time.

When she sat me down, she listened to what was going on and just said, "Well, you know you don't have to get married if you don't want to." It was a simple as that, but I really needed to hear it. It's the same thing groomsmen have been telling scared grooms for centuries and the same thing Carrie tells Charlotte right before the latter walks down the isle. Usually it's the catalyst for a "What am I doing of course I love her/him and want to marry her/him" moment, but for me it was a release. I canceled the wedding that day and haven't had regrets since.

Love's a funny thing. When it's there, it can make all arguments against it seem petty. When it's not, the whole thing's just not worth it. I have no doubt that doubts are normal. Maybe even fear is normal. In the end, though, the love between two people has to be stronger than these things. Perhaps it really is that simple.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 39: Heart, Head, Libido

"On My Way to Somewhere" is what I'm calling this outfit. It really doesn't matter where you wear it; you're going to look cool. I am told that nude footwear is all the rage this season, but my personal inspiration is Angelina Jolie. I like the dark outfit (at least jeans here) paired with barely there shoes. I also love the vest/tank combo, which I of course didn't invent, but which I haven't really seen explored yet. I think it's a great way to take casual to a whole new level of chic.

The girls participate in the age old debate about whether it's better to use one's heart or head when making big love decisions. Big hunts down Carrie like a mountain lion stalking its prey. When they meet at Aidan's furniture showcase, Big tells Carrie he's leaving his wife. He proceeds to confess his feelings for Carrie, who finally succumbs to his advances by going to bed with him. Charlotte yearns for the perfect proposal from Trey. When it doesn't come, she blurts out that maybe they should get married. When Trey says okay and seals the engagement, she despairs over how unromantic the whole thing was and makes up an alternative story to tell people. Miranda and Steve continue living together after breaking up. Miranda realizes it's finally over when Steve sleeps over at another woman's house. Samantha dates a guy with foul-tasting stuff. No need to say more.

What is it about cheating? That's the question I couldn't stop thinking about after watching this episode. Sure, the heart versus head debate is interesting, and I certainly don't have any answer. (As you probably can guess by now, I think the truth is somewhere in between--a mix of emotions and rationality.) Personally, I think I have always followed my heart, but sometimes I'm not sure if I was really listening to my true emotions regarding the person or the emotions that stemmed from thinking rationally about the relationship. Complicated.

But the cheating thing eats at my mind. The question I specifically couldn't ignore was this: are we all, as a species, inclined to want to cheat, whether we do or not?

Cheating (which we'll define as not being faithful to one mate) takes place in all cultures. In some, like in France or Peru (the only two I know of for sure at this moment) it's accepted as a part of life. In the latter country, there are actually a whole chain of hostels/hotels that cater solely to business men and their mistresses. I think you might actually be considered weird as a man if you're faithful to your wife. In other cultures, cheating in a way is even legally encouraged via polygamy. It's seen as a viable way to increase the number of offspring.

In most cultures, however, monogamy reigns, which is why it's so outrageous when cheating does happen. Watching Carrie and Big, I felt dirty by association. It seemed so wrong, especially with their partners waiting naively at home for them. But it also seemed predictable. Affairs happen in millions of marriages and relationships every day. Even if you never cheat or never want to, you still have to deal with the idea of cheating. You notice a girl or guy is good looking (an initiator for sex, biologically speaking, which can happen daily), but you're married. So the idea either grows--maybe so much so that it leads to cheating--or dies, depending upon you, your situation, and maybe a bit on imagination. But the original idea was still there, no matter how much you may not want it to be.

Of course, SATC would have us believe that Carrie and Big cheated because there is some important relationship between them that cannot be denied. And maybe that's true. Maybe when things are meant to be (the "heart" connection between two people), forces will always be pushing for that connection to be completed--even if both people in question are in relationships with other people. But my head tells me that that's probably not the case most of the time. Most of the time, it's likely plain old sexual attraction to other people that gets in the way of commitment--sexual attraction and circumstance. It seems scarily simple and scarily common.

The other component of this mental mess is this: when a person cheats once, is he or she more prone to cheating again, even in a new relationship? Statistically, the answer is probably yes. There's that old psychology saying, "The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior." But that's not always the case. Arnold (first fiance) told me that his father cheated so much on his mother during Arnold's childhood, that it was a constant problem for the entire family. The husband of one of his father's mistresses even came close to hiring an assassin to get Arnold's father out of the picture. However, when Arnold's parents got divorced, his father married another of his mistresses who gave him this ultimatum: you ever cheat on me, and you're gone. To everyone's knowledge, he never has, and they are very happy after 20 years of marriage.

Who knows the origins of cheating. I have cheated and been cheated on, many times. I hope I never have to deal with it again. In the end, whether a person cheats or not seems to me to be a matter more of choice than desires. You choose not to hurt the person you're with, the person you love. If you don't love the person enough not to cheat on them, you probably shouldn't be with him or her. But that's just me. And that's if you're in a relationship for love and not other benefits like money or status (which applies to probably more marriages than I care to imagine). Anyway, I can only come up with one definitive truth, after hours of passively and actively thinking about this: the human psyche is a strange and powerful thing.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 36: What's in a Number?

Speaking of numbers, the number of pieces in this ensemble is lower than usual. The dress makes such a statement that it doesn't need much. Even without the necklace, the accessories would be sufficient, but I like to add a little pendant necklace to every v-neck. That's just me. Because it's safari-inspired, we'll call it "Chillin' Outback."

I think I have an ulcer, because my stomach has been on fire for a good three days now. In fact, I didn't really get up much today but to eat the occasional Salteen and soup. Apparently, my addictions to Starbucks, Siracha, and stress have all conspired against me. It didn't help that we had spaghetti two nights in a row. Tomatoes are notorious for tearing your stomach up. So now, I am lying down as I write (talk about commitment), trying to take deep breaths and focus on the classical music playing in the background (Thanks, Hank). I am not allowed to have citrus, alcohol, caffeine, spice, and cheese for a few days, doctor's orders (which would also be my mother's orders). This is incredibly bad timing, as we have good friends coming to dinner tomorrow, one of whom is a sommelier and promises to bring amazing wine. Damn. Also, Friday is my birthday, and we're planning to eat at a Brazilian steakhouse (incomplete without wine) that night and have a dessert and wine party on Saturday. Triple damn.

Today's episode examines the idea of slutdom, specifically asking, "When it comes to sex, how many partners is too many?" Carrie's new boyfriend says he wants to wait a while before hopping into bed, which makes Carrie worry that he isn't into her. After four or so more dates, they sleep together, which dispels her worries and makes the waiting worthwhile. Miranda discovers she has an STD and has to write down and call all her past partners, all 42 of them. Steve then gets tested. His results are negative, remarkable considering his "number" is over 60. Samantha has a 2 am caller, who accidentally lets a robber into her high-security building. The other residents blame the resulting robbery on Samantha, since she's always buzzing in different men late at night. Rather than stay and take the flack, Samantha moves to a part of town where she'll never be criticized for her lifestyle. Charlotte dates a man who unknowingly screams out during sex that she's a whore. For a brief moment she wonders if he's right, but the two ultimately decide it's he who needs sexual reformation.

I have thought a lot about what the number of people we sleep with says about us. Some of my friends have never slept with anyone. One friend has only slept with her husband. Some have made it a point to sleep with as many men as possible before marriage, reasoning that if men can do this, why can't they. Most of the women I know are somewhere in between.

I don't have a real feeling one way or the other about what's the best way to go. Part of me is jealous of the intimacy my friend who was abstinent until marriage must have with her husband. Part of me wishes my number was lower, even though it's not very high (and, no, I'm not telling it here). But the bigger part of me knows I couldn't have done that if I had tried (which I didn't). I was always too curious, too rebellious, and too romantic. That said, most of the sex I've had has been in relationships--or in the hopes of having a relationship. I never really understood the concept of trying to establish good sexual technique with someone you know you'll never see again. And if it's not going to be good sex, why bother at all? That's my argument for having wise sex--sex that hopefully has some emotional fulfillment beyond the two hours in bed one night. Without this guideline for myself, I think I would have become jaded long ago.

But if I were single living in a big city like New York, where relationships are the exception not the rule, would I be able to have casual sex in order to have sex at all? Does a woman have to be okay with casual sex to have a social life in today's society? Sex seems like part of the dating process these days. Let's face it: you are considered prudish if you won't sleep with a man by date 3 or so. And that means, if you don't want to rack up your number, you had better know pretty soon on whether it's serious or not. That's hard to do, especially in places where the options for partners are infinite and no one wants to settle. Even if the guy wants to wait--like Aidan in the episode--how do you decide when is too early? Is there such thing as too late? If you're waiting to have sex until you know a person really well, could you be waiting forever?

I think of Arnold, the first man I was engaged to. He wanted to wait until marriage. We fooled around, but we didn't have sex for an entire year, even when we were living together with his mother. By that time, I had lost interest. Plus, he had asked me to marry him a month into our relationship, as if that would make the waiting easier to take. It just made me neurotic and sex deprived. When I broke up with him the first time, I immediately went out with a Russian guy who was in one of my classes at school. He had a you-know-what the size of my pinky finger--I kid you not--but at that point I didn't care. After that affair fizzled out, Arnold wanted to get back together. When we did, we decided to have sex. I just couldn't take what felt like living a lie (there was no "saving myself" going on anymore, that I knew). The sex was terrible, and I wished I would have found that out a hell of a lot sooner. Besides, I nearly hated him by this point, which I'm sure didn't help matters.

My point is not to not wait. But if you're in a healthy relationship, I think part of the healthfulness is being free to be sexually expressive. Even if you're just sleeping around casually, I'm not sure there is much correlation between whether or not the relationship works out and whether or not you wait to have sex. Either the pair works or it doesn't, and I'm not sure having sex early on makes much of a difference. Many couples I know (including the one I'm in) slept together on their first date, and things have worked out well for them (and us). Maybe waiting works for some people, but waiting too long just seems like a waste of time and good, healthy sexual energy. Again, that's just me.

So, maybe the sex goes somewhere. Maybe it doesn't. However you roll, does the number matter? I think it only matters to the person who has it, meaning each person is having the amount of sex that is right for them, in the way that's right for them. For some that may mean waiting for marriage. For me, that means sex with the potential for a relationship. I don't really care how many partners that ends up being. For others, it may mean sex with the potential for orgasm, and that's cool too. Anyway, who's counting? Seriously.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 33: Rock That Body, Baby

This dress is magical, really. Before coming up with this outfit, I paired the dress with four different sets of shoes, bags, and jewelry. All combinations looked fabulous, if I do say so myself. For a formal but not too formal affair--think brunch with the in-laws or a bridal shower--you could wear soft pink peep-toes with a simple coin purse in a similar color and a cream shawl. For a fancier event like a wedding, pair it with heeled, gold strappy sandals, a sparkly gold clutch, and a "fur" coat. The ensemble pictured here was the edgiest one I came up with. I love it, because it takes the red of the dress and runs with it. I'm calling it "Date Night Daring." You would never know there's a frilly, flowery, girly dress hiding behind all those Don't F*&^ With Me accessories.

I got a job. Just putting that out there right away. I don't know what it is yet, but I will know by tonight. After four months of searching, the employments gods are shining their weary faces upon me and giving me a chance to earn some dough--actually five chances. In the span of two days, I have encountered FIVE new job opportunities.

On Tuesday, I taught my first piano student (Job Opp. #1) after interviewing at a well known department store. On wednesday, I was offered the retail job (Opp. #2) and later met with a tutoring service to begin paperwork for a position helping college students with their ESL homework (Opp. #3). Today, I have an interview with a language school to be their primary administrative assistant. (I may or may not get offered a job. If I do, that's Opp. #4.) As I was preparing for this meeting this morning, a local wine and food emporium called, asking me to be their cashier--yes, that's the same position that I was overqualified for a week ago...What a difference a week makes (Opp. #5).

So. Hmm. I am thankful and overwhelmed. While waiting to make a decision feels stressful, no matter what happens, I will hopefully not be searching Craig's List for a long while. Thank God. Literally.

Miranda: "Do you have a rolling pin?"

Carrie: "On me?"

Miranda: "In your kitchen?"

Carrie: "Are you kidding me? I use my oven for storage."

Subject: women's self esteem and body issues. Today's episode might be the most relevant one out there. Carrie meets Big's new wife in a fitting room, coming face-to-face with Natasha's tall, slender figure. Carrie proceeds to develop an inferiority complex. Then, she gets a thank you note from Natasha for attending a luncheon in which the latter has spelled "there" as "their." Carrie revels in being better than Natasha at something. Miranda hires a conservative housekeeper who tries to rid the house of sin--subbing Miranda's tea for coffee, hiding her vibrator, etc. Eventually Miranda reads her the riot act, and the housekeeper makes an offering of peace--a plate full of condoms by the bed. Charlotte hates her thighs but forces herself to go naked in a women's sauna. She feels glorious when a woman compliments her for having perfect breasts. Samantha books a massage appointment with a guy she hears performs sexual favors. When he fails to deliver, Samantha makes a move. Faced with being banned from the spa, she rats him out, leading to his being fired and making her much hated among her fellow female spa-goers.

How any of the four characters can have body issues is beyond me, but I think the episode illustrates something powerful about the female experience. When it comes to women and their bodies, we're our worst critics. We may know that there is no perfect body out there, but it doesn't make swimsuit season any easier. Even though we realize that perfect is relative, we always find a way to focus on what could be better about ourselves--what's not right. Just last week I was reading Glamour, and SJP was talking about how she refuses to wear shorts and turtlenecks. I immediately thought, "Great. If she can't wear shorts, who can?"

Like many women, I've had body issues my entire life. I think I inherited them from my mother, who was always complaining about how fat she was and how much she needed to lose weight. It was kind of fun to be in her 'club,' talking about dieting and bodies. I started dieting with her when I was 13. (I do not recommend the grapefruit diet.) I didn't really even know why I hated my body, but I did.

While I've come to terms with my figure--I am an hourglass, and I will always have big hips, so I might as well take advantage of them--I still find myself fretting. Like Charlotte, I hate my thighs. When I look at my legs, I only see cellulite. For that reason, I will not wear skirts that hit mid-thigh. Ever. I wear shorts only around the house. On the rare past occasions that I wore something shorter out in public, I thought about my legs 40% of the time, which was no fun at all. So I quit.

That's why, when I first met Hank and he said he loved my legs, I thought "Ah, what a little love will do." I thought he couldn't possibly be serious. My butt? Maybe. My waist? Okay, it's a good feature. My feet and hands? Now, there are my four favorite body parts. But my legs?! No way.

I still don't really believe him. However, something strange recently happened. I was leafing through pictures the other day, and I came across one I sent him of me in a bathing suit and new high heels. Wait a minute. My legs looked good. The photo was taken when I was about seven pounds lighter than now (damn co-habitation) and was running every day. At that time, though, all I could see was what was wrong with them, just like I do now. Is it really like that Baz Lehrman saying that we can only see how fabulous we looked when we're looking back? Why is it so hard to accept our bodies the way they are right now?

Maybe the trick is to look at it like Carrie finally does, taking the focus away from the body and onto more lasting traits like intelligence and personality. Perhaps the goal is to see what unique things we each have to offer the world, not in comparison to what someone else offers, but just because we're being a friend to ourselves. Speaking of which, how about trying to see ourselves the way our friends do--see the traits other women admire most in us, including things about our bodies?

Like with a certain male body part, it's not about what you have but about how you use it. Besides, in fifty years we'll all only be able to see the good stuff. Why not start now?

I hope you'll be back. I will. With a job.

Day 26: Over the Hump, Buddy

"Spring is in the Shirt." I am still wearing my parka, but I'm already mentally in spring. I figure if I delude myself strongly enough, I can start to believe that, despite it being only January, green trees and flowers and tank tops are right around the corner. It's working so far. The thing I love about neutral-colored clothing is its practicality. Everything is interchangeable. It's smart, sophisticated, and virtually hassle-free. The thing I love about color is that you can do whatever the hell you want with it--play it up, play it down, mix contrasting colors, stay within one color scheme--depending on what mood you're in. Take this shirt. You could virtually accessorize with anything. Black flip flops? Fine. Sexy, bright yellow heels? Awesome. Brown, black, gold, silver, jeans, trousers, skirt, doesn't matter. Just pick something and go with it. Here, our motto is: the crazier the better.

The next episode on our list deals mildly with the concept of a "fuck buddy." "What's that?" you ask. It's an acquaintance you keep around just for on-call sex when you're feeling low. The installment also talks about each of our dating patterns--if and why we tend to date the same sort of people over and over again.

In an effort to keep her morale afloat, Carrie makes a bootie call. Miranda dates an angerholic (just made that up) and realizes that she gravitates toward pessimistic, crabby men. Charlotte tries to brake her pattern of first, waiting to be asked out by a seemingly ideal man, and second, on their first date, projecting onto him all her fantasies of the perfect husband. She decides to ask out random guys and keep it casual. All's fine, until one of her dates finds her kissing another of her dates on the same night. She decides to go back to her old approach. Samantha's neighbors invite her, via a note under her door, to join their nightly sex-a-thons. She's thrilled, until she realizes they're both over fifty and overweight.

The fuck buddy is kind of a sensitive subject for me, gotta admit. A relationship gal to the core--meaning the concept of sex without strings attached is beyond my comprehension--I feel almost angry that I never got to have this experience. People I know had fuck buddies. Why not me? After watching this episode, I actually found myself fuming a bit. Why couldn't I have had, at some point, a friend I could rely on for sex but no drama? Why did I always just get the drama?

Then it hit me. Everyone I've known who had this type of pal thought the person (out of bed) was a total freak. However, since the sex was so good (or so easy), the "freak" part wasn't important. The theory was simple. Who cares if a girl's obsessed with wolves and gummy bears if she gives good head? What's the big deal if a guy is a nymphomaniacal singer, who raps about sleeping with 97 women, if he'll come running over to make love to you at the drop of a backwards hat? The point was to look beyond the bad stuff and just see the sex. I realized that was my problem. It wasn't that I was opposed to the concept of a fuck buddy. I just couldn't handle the thought of kissing someone who disgusted me.

Today, I met a friend for a walk around the park. She has been trying to land me a job as a cashier at her workplace. After submitting my resume and application and hearing nothing back, I found out today that the position went to a recent high school grad with experience working at Trader Joe's. When my friend asked her boss why he didn't call me, he asked, "Would she really be okay being a cashier?" Hmm. I thought putting my cumulative GPA on a resume was a good thing. Apparently, it can also say something about your inability to be happy (and therefore reliable long term) in crap jobs.

As I parked my car to meet with this friend, I realized I was tired and cranky. I was also possibly seriously depressed. I felt like an empty shell, a fragment of the busy, vibrant person I was only five months ago. I had almost canceled, fearing the prospect of having nothing interesting to say about my life and therefore just appearing dull, but I figured getting out of the house was a good thing. It didn't matter what happened. Hopefully, she wouldn't judge. As we talked, my mood lightened. I asked her about the details of her upcoming wedding. She asked me about the job search. I felt alive in a way I hadn't for days, maybe weeks. Maybe it was talking to a woman, a person who felt and thought in similar ways as I. Perhaps it was talking to someone at all besides Hank, or just getting out of my head for an hour. Whatever it was, it felt good.

On the way back home, I thought about what had been happening to me in the past few months and realized that it had gotten pretty bad. I seemed to be succumbing further and further to the feeling of hopelessness I'd been trying to avoid since the day I graduated, no longer seeing possibilities, just obstacles. Not only was I drowning in a sea of indecision about what to do with my future, I couldn't even find something to fill my days. I felt cut-off from society and unable to access my usual resiliency and determination--to pick myself up and attack the job search as I used to attack midterm papers--that I now desperately needed. Instead, when I talked, there was a lackluster in my voice, like someone who was far away. In conversations, I found myself asking the same questions minutes apart from each other. Exhausted by my mental chatter and the quietness of the house, I often wished I could disappear and be someone else for a few days. At least it would be interesting.

I got to thinking about craziness. It would be so easy for any of us to go insane. Just lock us up for three months without access to the outside world. I almost think that's all it would take.

I didn't realize all of this until today, until I imagined myself through my friend's eyes. I hadn't realized that I'd been trying, in fact, to be invisible. I just knew I was distancing myself--from my family, from Hank, and even from this blog--about what I felt, worried that it was old news, that everyone was tired (including me) of hearing about my fruitless days. No wonder Hank and I had been fighting.

I know I have to continue looking for work. I realize that bills don't stop, because you're feeling depressed, and that jobs don't land on your doorstep. I also realize that, of course, I have things very good, and it could be much, much worse. It's so hard--and so essential--to remember that. I just have to keep pushing forward, even on the days I don't feel like it. And somehow, knowing that--that I don't have to be happy about being in the third month of job searching or not having money, that I don't have to make myself feel chipper--makes the prospect of looking at Craig's List more manageable and actually makes me in a much better mood. So, off I go. Wish me luck. I could use some.

Hope you'll be back. I will.