Day 24: Stepping Back

In case you wanted to raise the question, "What About Men?," well here you go. (That's also the title of the ensemble, because, well, I'm lazy.) This is my tribute to the sleek-dressed male--not too preppy, not too formal, not too boring. Just casual and cool. And expensive. It is also fulfilling a promise I made to Hank--that I would include men in this fashion quest.

I am developing a purchasing theory, and it goes something like this. The more body real estate a piece takes up or the more use you need it to get, the more you should spend. Obviously, if you can find quality items for cheap, great! However, if you come across that perfect something and are wondering if it's worth the price, my theory may help. But that's just a theory.

Worth-it:

1. Everyday shoes (work or play), bags, bras, and coats. Brown Frye harness boots? Yes! Red cowboy boots? Not so much. Especially included here are things you need to pay money for to get their full function, such as waterproof raincoats, sturdy winter boots, and down parkas. Skimp on these, and you'll be sorry. I know. I'm from Montana.

2. General statement-making basics like neutral-color cashmere sweaters and little black dresses (especially ones you can layer with to wear all year long and ones that are great for packing). If it's one of the only pieces you're wearing, you want it to be good. And if you're wearing it a lot, you want it to be even better. Think about it: you could bring a great cashmere sweater on vacation and wear it every night with five different ensembles. It makes sense to spend on the sweater and save on the tanks/dresses/blouses that go under it.

Now, a note on jeans. Some say not to buy designer, because the material doesn't really change from brand to brand. First, this isn't entirely true, because some jeans are blended with varying degrees of spandex. Besides that, I can really tell the difference in fit between, say, Lucky jeans (my favorite) and a cheap pair from Wet Seal. But that's me. Cheap pairs work for some body types. Since I live in jeans and I have hips, I buy good ones and have them tailored whenever I can. It makes me feel glamourous when my jeans fit like a glove.

3. Real gold and silver, especially earrings. I confess that I love Forever 21's bangles, and I'm a sucker for cheap cocktail rings. As long as only you can see the green and are fine with it, great. But cheap earrings almost always leave an olivey haze around the earring hole. Ick.

Save It (or, Pretty Much Everything Else):

1. Anything trendy like military jackets, plaid shirts, and animal prints (or any prints for that matter). Be careful of cheap sequins and lace, though. Both don't hold up well under handling and just look, well, cheap.

2. Besides real gold and silver earrings, almost any accessory unless you plan on living in it. This includes belts, sunglasses, hats, scarves, and evening bags. For me, watches count here, but I don't wear them often. The rest of the world probably wishes I did.

3. Anything that you will not wear a lot or will by nature not last more than a few seasons, including summer dresses, flip flops, and basic tees that will discolor around the armpits. I'm tempted to add swim suits to this category, but you can usually find great quality ones for cheap (Victoria's Secret and TJ Maxx), and the fit and fabric beat out those from Target. What's more, let's face it, they take up prime real estate for us gals, so get one that looks good.

4. Anything you can get away with buying cheap without an appreciable decrease in quality. A tank is a tank, whether you buy it from Target or James Perse. And who really needs a designer tank?

So, I haven't left much room for Sex. And it's actually a Big episode, pun intended. Carrie and Big break up. That's the Big news. I'm sorry. I can't stop using that word. I will stop. Just when you think they're going to make it forever, just when they make a grand step forward, things fall apart. Big travels to Paris and tells Carrie that he may have to move there for work. He has known for a while. Carrie goes crazy, infuriated that he didn't tell her earlier nor consider her in the decision, but she tries to be optimistic. They can make it work, she tells him, and maybe she can even move there. He says that would be fine, but to move "for herself," not because she expects anything from him. She goes crazy again. She tells him she can't do it anymore, that they should stop pretending they're good together, and that if he moves, she won't follow him. He walks away.

Strangely, after Hank and I finished this episode, we just sat for a few moments in silence. It's like neither of us could really figure out what happened. I had seen it before, of course, years ago, and I remembered thinking what a cad Big was. Now, though, it all seemed so dramatic and unnecessary. I felt sorry for Big because of Carrie's flip-outs and the fact that she doesn't really ask him how he feels. However, Carrie had been holding so much back while they were dating, never revealing to him what she really wanted or felt. In that way, it was a huge relief to see her be honest and passionate towards Big about her feelings. It seemed real. Hmm. I asked Hank what he thought, who he thought was in the right. Didn't someone have to be right?

"Well I don't think Carrie should have blown up like that, throwing the food at the T.V. and all, but I think Big should have said he was more committed to her." Touche. I started thinking about what I thought they both should have done. Since we never get Big's perspective, we don't know what he was thinking, but he still didn't fight to stay with her. But why should he have to? Why was Carrie always so dissatisfied with him anyway? Was it that they just didn't mesh?

Because I like to make a decision about these sorts of things--you know, decide who's right and who's the asshole (I'm so judgmental)--I got to thinking about Hank and I, how I would feel, what I would need/want. And then it hit me. We actually had that same situation. Hank was moving to Colorado to go to med school. He had to go. Like Big, he told me to come only if I wanted, if I thought I could be happy there. But he did not say not to expect anything from him. He said the opposite--that he would do everything in his power to help me be happy there, and that he'd be by my side. He said he wanted me to come more than anything, and in the end, if he had to, he would drop out of med school and stay in Montana with me--as long as we could stay together.

After remembering this, I realized one thing. At that time, it was important, wonderful, actually, to hear all that. That's all. Maybe no one is ever all right or all wrong. Hank didn't necessarily have to say that stuff for it to work between us. I probably would have still come to Denver. But there are nice ways to do things and important things to say, and it made me feel secure. Maybe the one thing Big didn't realize is that love is more important than any job. If there's one thing I know, it's that.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 23: Beyond Black and White

This borders on Emo, but I think the patterns, the relaxed coat, and sexy necklace save it. I thought about adding a bright jacket, but that just seemed cliche. Then I decided to do as much with just black and white as fashionably possible. We're going to call this one "Black to Basics"--horrible, I know, but oh well.

I am not feeling much like writing today. Sometimes I feel such a surge of energy from thinking about relationship issues and questions about love that I can't wait to get back to this blog and spin out all my ideas. Today, I'm not feeling that. I just feel tired. Maybe it's because Hank and I have fought for two nights in a row, first about money, then about something really stupid. We've been getting home (him from school, me from Starbucks) around 7, when we're both hungry and tired. Who knew you could get tired sitting at a computer and doing errands and house stuff all day, every day? I'm here to tell you not only that you can, but it's not a good tired. It's a restless, defeated tired. I've pulled all-night study sessions, prepared for countless music recitals, and worked my ass off in a flower shop on Valentine's Day. Nothing compares to how tired you get from doing nothing.

That said, I am going to post, because I have to. But first, here's what's happening on the employment front. I have been spending more time on each job application/submission, often putting in two hours or more responding to one Craig's List ad. I've also been getting pickier, as I've said. A fearsome thought was born in me a few days ago. Say I get a job as a receptionist in a medical office, as a gas station attendant, or as a waitress (all worst case scenarios). Fine. It pays the bills. But then what? In six months, I will inevitably hate my job and want to move on and will have to go through all of this again. No, thanks! So, I am looking for positions in companies and industries I would actually enjoy working in for a while. That means either in a company with growth potential or in a creative industry that can give me tools I can take with me to go out on my own later. The other option is to get any old job and prepare to go back to school in a year, but that would mean figuring out what I want to study. Oofta.

Okay, enough of that. On to pleasanter things like SATC. This episode deals with the subject of evolution and raises the following questions: Are women evolving beyond needing men? Do we no longer need relationships? What about the phenomenon of the gay straight man? How does a relationship evolve, and how do we progress beyond past relationships? How do each of us evolve on our own? Last but not least is the question Carrie asks Big, "What is the ideal living situation for two people in a relationship?"

Those are a lot of questions. Thankfully for us all, I'm not going to talk about them all. First synopsis. Carrie tries leaving personal items at Big's, but he doesn't get the hint and returns them to her. She talks to him about it, telling him the reasons why a woman needs a hairdryer, tampons, etc. Though he's charmingly clueless, he says he prefers to keep things separate. Later, a distraught Carrie finds a picture of the two of them nestled in one of his drawers and realizes she has nothing to worry about. But for good measure, she leaves a thong. Samantha runs into the only man who ever broke her heart. Convinced she's over him, she decides to get revenge. She plans to flirt with him and leave him at the last minute, as he did to her. However, she falls for him again, and again he leaves her for another woman. Charlotte mistakes a straight friend for gay. After he pursues her, she realizes her mistake. They date, but she ends it, deciding that his feminine side may just be as developed as hers. Finally, Miranda discovers that she has a lazy ovary and that her chances for motherhood my slowly be disappearing. Desperate, she starts hormones and gives a old suitor a chance, only to find out he's a misogynist asshole. She stops the hormones and renews her faith in natural romance.

I love the question about how we each evolve from one relationship to the next, especially in light of what has been going on in my love life the past few days. Assuming we all have defining characteristics (good and bad) and carry these over from one relationship to the next, do we really individually evolve? If so, how?

Over the past few months, it has become clear to me that Hank's issue (maybe his only one) is jealousy. I will tell the tale of last night. Coming home from the coffee shop, I entered the house in a dress and tights. I rarely wear dresses. In fact, the only reason I was doing so, dear reader, is for a very feminine personal issue that makes it very uncomfortable to wear jeans. Maybe you get my drift. Our extremely boring and heated conversation went something like this. Hank said, "Nice tights." I said, "Thanks." He said, "Why did you get dressed up to go out?" I said, "None of your business, jerk." No, what I actually said was, "I didn't. I just got dressed." He said, "Those tights are kind of provocative, don't you think? Who are you impressing?" It deteriorated from there.

Two hours later, after me saying in the heat of battle that I would really enjoy my own place at that moment just to get away from him (advice: don't do this), he confessed to me that he had had the same fight in all of his past relationships. He knew it was his fault. He didn't trust women to not be flirting with other guys, and he got extremely jealous at the thought of men looking at me. In fact, he said, it was a big reason why his last girlfriend broke up with him. He also said that with me it was a lot less of an issue, because he trusted me. Even though his jealous feelings got the better of him sometimes, he knew it was stupid. It was more just a habit.

For some reason, this disclosure disarmed me and made me feel really compassionate for him. At least he was admitting his issue. Lord knows, I had my own. I got to thinking about my history. In every relationship I'd been in, I dramatized things to the point where the other person just got tired or angry. I analyzed every minutia of every facet of the relationship--what he said two weeks ago and what his actions meant--and often dragged the other person into analyzing it with me. I've also always been super defensive. I think it all comes down to a fear of abandonment, and I'm pretty sure both guys who broke up with me did so for a reason related to these issue.

There are many times when Hank wants to stop talking about something, but I won't let it go. There are many times he says something benign, and I take it really personally and attack him. I can fight really unfairly--like the wounded animal caught in the hunter's trap, lashing out at everything that comes to try save it. The thing that saves us, though, is that I trust him completely, as he trusts me. Eventually, in every fight, I realize that what I'm freaking out about is nothing, even if I'm going on and on about it. But I won't pretend I'm easy to live with in those moments, and Hank never talks about wishing he had his own place.

So, maybe we all have behavioral baggage--ways we've learned to deal with the world that we bring into each relationship. Maybe they have to do with our childhood or past relationships or even genetics. Maybe it doesn't matter where they come from. Probably, like Samantha with her ex, we're all doomed to repeat ourselves to some degree. But we evolve, too. After we see our default actions aren't getting us anywhere, we slowly shift our perspectives and see the new situation for what it is. Then, we conform to the reality. Like Mr. Big, we learn to trust again and try, timidly at first, later with more certainty, to follow our hearts instead of our old patterns and assumptions. Good luck to us all. It's a noble and worthwhile endeavor, for sure. And my answer to Carrie's question? Together, in good times and bad.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 22: For the Love of Money

Hank titled this one, "Money Can Buy Happiness," after I told him how much this ensemble costs. Nothing here is cheap. In fact, the whole thing is probably close to $2000. I just couldn't resist. I love this dress. Could a LBD any sleeker, sexier, understated, comfortable, and versatile? Too bad it's $500. The cuff bracelet is also grand. Imagine the possibilities. It would look as good with jeans, boots, and a rocker tee as it does here. But the thing that makes me gaga about this outfit is the mix of brown and black. It really can be done, though I admit it can be done badly. Black/brown works here, because the purse and shoes still match (an old fashion maxim), making the brown seem purposeful. Also, the brown pieces have shimmer, pushing them toward gold. Since the jewelry is gold, it ties the brown in even more. Since black is the main piece and runs the length of the silhouette, it doesn't look like a color mistake. Plus, let's face it. You can wear any color with a LBD, and it will look right.

"Tell a man, 'I hate you,' and you'll have the best sex of your life. Tell a man, 'I love you,' and you'll probably never see him again." Samantha

Money is tough. Saying "I love you" can be equally as hard. Both are especially difficult when one person has it/says it and the other doesn't. Enter, today's episode.

Steve, a career bartender, and Miranda, an attorney, have a big income difference. It starts to cause problems. When Miranda asks Steve to go to a work function with her, she finds out that he doesn't own an appropriate suit for the occasion. She offers to buy him one. Big no-no. Steve freaks out, buys the suit, returns the suit, and breaks up with her, saying there will always be things that are out of his reach. Samantha dates a man who has a female Thai servant. The woman pretends not to know English in front of her "master," but secretly sabotages every gal he dates. After all, if he gets serious about another woman, she may be out of a job. Charlotte makes out with an egomaniacal movie star but breaks away just short of becoming a groupie. In an extremely awkward moment, Carrie tells Big she loves him for the first time. He doesn't say it back. A week goes by. They go to one of his high-society parties and fight the entire night. Assuming Big doesn't love her nor care about her feelings, Carrie ends up leaving without him and goes home with a guy friend, who she ends up kissing. Big wakes her up the next morning with a phone call in which he says, "I fucking love you, okay. Are we okay?" Carrie feels terrible, but relieved. She doesn't tell him about the kiss, justifying that "Everything before 'I love you' just doesn't count."

This subject of money and coupledom hits home with me right now. Since we're living only on Hank's meager med school loans and a small sum I made working over Christmas, we're money-stressed to the max. We both know it could be worse. Hey, we can still pay our rent and eat. But we're conscious about money every day, especially since I'm jobless. What's more, unemployment breeds a certain amount of money shame that follows me around all day and whispers in my ear, "You don't deserve anything until you start making more money. Right now, by buying this coffee, you're draining your resources and taking Hank down with you." And yet, I still make the odd purchase, which understandably infuriates Hank. I argue that it's money I earned over Christmas. I also figure that since I contribute my half to rent and groceries, who cares if I put $20 here and there on my credit card? He's not paying that back. I am. And I'm so much better than I used to be, yada yada.

But he doesn't see it that way. He doesn't care where the money comes from. It's our money, and I'm spending it on stupid shit like gold heels on sale at Aldo that we (debatably) don't need to survive. Then, he reminds me again that he hasn't bought anything for himself in the past few months. He hasn't skied or gone to a hard rock concert, even though I tell him to go. He says we can't afford it. He's right. I know this. I also know that it would take a near act of God for me not to spend any money during a month--even if all I buy is a damn $6 bracelet at Forever 21, which I did yesterday. I'd almost sacrifice one meal for that. Who knows, I may soon start having to do that.

This all brings up the issue of Whose Money Is It Anyway--especially when you're not married and, like me, have a lot of debt you accrued before you were even together. Every marriage guidance book (when I use to read that crap) says you should share all finances, regardless of who makes more. Merge your accounts. Merge your debts. It's the only way to be a truly united force. I tend to agree with this. But I'm not used to it. I'm used to making financial decisions on my own, even if those decisions are bad ones.

What's more, I come from a family where both partners make enough to justify personal expenditures, but they rarely ever agree on what to buy. To avoid confrontation, they just buy things without telling the other, causing a truckload of resentment. Dad gives a thousand dollars to the Republican Party. Mom buys her tenth garage-sale piece of furniture this year. They both secretly fume. So financial independence within a couple isn't necessarily healthier. In the end, your financial behavior can't help but affect your partner, and visa versa. You have to work together--for your sanity and your partner's.

So, realizing this, I made Hank a deal. Until I have a job and we then make a budget, I will not go to the mall. At all. Since the poor man naively didn't state anything about online shopping, I am taking the initiative to include it (a painful decision). It will be hard, but in the end, no matter how cute those shoes or how much I like a dress I saw in Glamour, I like Hank more.

As far as "I love you" goes, here's our story. When I first said it to Hank (and I did say it first), I was afraid for a second that he wouldn't say it back. I had wanted to wait until he said it first. I was trying to be cautious for once. But after a few weeks of dating, he wasn't saying it, and I couldn't wait to tell him. I knew it was early, but I couldn't help myself. I blurted it out. To my own relief, he said it back right away. He mentioned that he had only told one other girlfriend that in his entire life, and even then only under duress. He had always refrained from saying it, because he wanted it to be really special when he did. He always let the girl know his stance at the beginning of the relationship. I was shocked at this--I had said "I love you" to all of my boyfriends, mostly because I thought that's what couples did--but I admired him for it.

A few minutes after we said it, I worried I had made a mistake. I thought maybe he had spouted it off just to make me feel good. However, as the days went by, I saw his floodgates burst open. Every time I looked at my phone, there was an "I Love You" text. We never went a conversation without saying it. His friends even teased him for being so in love. I realized I really was getting all his saved-up love.

Nine months later, I still get those texts--nearly every morning. I know I'm a lucky woman. I think if you feel it, you say it. You have to in order to be true to yourself and life. Besides, who cares who says it first or more often? Even if no one ever said it, you would feel if it's there or if it isn't. The biggest part of love is active, not just a few words. But when the actions, the words, and the feelings are all there, man, that's hard to beat.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 21: Changing It Up

Okay, here's the deal. We are going hiking for the day, and I have exactly twenty minutes to write this. Since I'm on such a tight schedule with getting this SATC project done, I have to post today. We won't get back in time tonight to do it then. Don't know if I said this before, but I am a perfectionist of the worst kind. I often sit and think about things--what I'll do, what to wear, what if _____--that it takes over my life. The actual act or event lasts for ten minutes, but so much thinking has gone into how to make it just perfect, that by the time it's over I'm exhausted. So, a blog in under twenty minutes scares the crap out of me. But here goes.

They often say that when you're getting dressed, accessorize completely and then give up one accessory before you walk out the door. It's a good adage for those of us who want to look put together but not like we're in costume or trying too hard. But I think this rule goes out the window when you're dressing for the beach. I mean, I could go on and on with this outfit--a cute hair tie, a hat, a beach umbrella, a sweater/jacket, more bracelets, a necklace, etc. Anything to make it more fun. Heck, it's a vacation, people! Since we're braking some "rules" here, we'll call this one, "My Way or the Beach." This ensemble also serves as a nice change from thoughts of winter and a pleasant antidote to January's staying power.

"The only things you can work with are hair and wardrobe, and even then, it's a constant battle." Samantha

"Physical violence is never the answer." Mr. Big

Our next episode deals with the idea of changing our partners and ourselves. Assuming we can never love everything about a person, how can we learn to, as the famous Irish (I think) saying goes, change what we can and accept the things we cannot change? Should we focus more on adjusting ourselves in order to jive better with our mates? Should we speak up? Should we move on?

Carrie and Big have been together for a while now (the second time), and they're starting to have some snags. Carrie notices that Big glances when pretty women walk by. He has also never stayed the night at her house. These things start to drive her crazy, but she refrains from telling him. After he tosses in his sleep one night and ends up pushing her off of the bed, she punches him in the eye. All the pent-up frustrations come out, and the two of them eventually come to an understanding. He will sleep over sometimes on one condition: that she stops eating oranges in his bed, dirtying his 1000-count sheets.

Samantha meets one of her exes at drag queen bingo. Actually, he's one of the drag queens. What's more, he's wearing a blond wig, going by the name Samantha, and his transformation started right after they dated. Samantha doesn't know if this kind of change is flattery or her worst nightmare. Charlotte dates her first uncircumcised man and finds that it's a huge turnoff for her. The man, having gotten this reaction from women his whole life, decides to finally have the procedure done at age 35 (ouch). Charlotte's elated until she finds out that he wants to "share" his penis rebirth with the world, one one-night-stand at a time. Miranda and Steve are doing well, except that their schedules are all off. Steve, a bartender, has energy at 2am, while Miranda gets up at 6am. They fight; they make-up; they decide that dealing with their differences is far superior to not being together.

I'm not going to talk about wanting to change things about our partners. I don't like the idea of wanting to change someone you love. I think that if you love a person and he/she loves you, the little changes (for example, not eating oranges in bed) will feel like compromises. Compromise is hard, but it's just part of the game of relationships. As far as the big changes go (for example, changing religions or getting off of drugs), it's really tricky--both morally and practically. I know couples who have changed their partners in fundamental ways for the better. Sometimes you need a little push from love to make you take your life in healthier directions. I understand that. But I don't think it's the norm nor should it be. It seems better to start to be with someone, because you like him for who he is. If your partner (or you) makes a big change, it should not really be one person changing another but the person wanting to change. If you're trying to change something big, I wonder if you're not just setting yourself (and your partner) up for disappointment. Well, there's my 25 cents-worth of psychology.

I'm going to talk more about Samantha's quote, because it's more fun. When she states that you can change a man's hair and clothes, but you can't change what's underneath them, Hank and I both looked at each other and smiled. Just then, he happened to be sporting two shirts, jeans, and shoes that I had bought for or with him AND a haircut (buzzed) that I had suggested due to his lack of hair in a particular spot of the back of his head (I am refraining from saying the dreaded b-word).

These changes were not conscious on my part. When I met Hank, I didn't think his clothes and hair were awful at all. As a matter of fact, I thought he was really hot. But as we cleaned out his closet before we moved, I noticed a trend of oversized college sweatshirts, socks and jeans with holes, tennis shoes, and ski coats. He said he'd been frustrated with his closet for a while and asked me to help him get rid of the unnecessary. So I did. What girl could resist that request? I must say (because it's true, and because he'll kill me if I don't) that he had some great quality clothing from his parent's formal wear store--a couple of suits and suit pants, a lot of blue dress shirts (and I do mean a lot), and a sport coat. We kept all of them and just bought some basic tees and button ups from Target, a couple pairs of dark wash jeans, a few non-blue dress shirts, and some nice leather shoes. Overall, it was quite painless. If Hank didn't like something I suggested, he made no mistake about telling me.

As far as the hair goes, he had always worn his hair buzzed in grade school. Then a girl told him he should grow it out, because it didn't look that good. Bitch. So he'd kept it long ever since. Every time someone brought up "hair," Hank would get self conscious and run to the bathroom. No, that's not true. But he usually would make some joke about himself. One day, in the hopes of restoring my guy's hair pride, I did some research about men with his predicament. The verdict was in: buzzed (as short as possible) was the way to go. I sent him the articles, the pictures (I figured who wouldn't want to look like Jason Bateman?), and the different possibilities. At first, he was wary. What if it looked crappy? But he did it, and it looks great. He says he always liked it buzzed better anyway.

These are changes neither of us cared about, but it was funny nonetheless. I guess if you're with someone for any amount of time, how can you not change? Look at me. I now listen to heavy metal music on occasion and tolerate it, something I thought was impossible before I met Hank. And I even know something about the football season this year.

They do say that most relationships deteriorate over small stuff. Whether or not he puts his own clothes away or does the dishes can end up being bigger than whether he wants kids. But in the end, maybe it's like Miranda and Steve. Part of the test (and fun) is figuring out how to work things out. Together. Despite the differences and despite the changes.

Hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 20: The Man vs. the Myth

I'm calling this one, "Street Cat,” because it radiates chicness. I love white jeans. Ironically, I don’t actually own a pair. I own white capris from a zillion years ago, but I reserve them for beach vacations, which I don’t often take. I have never quite worked up the courage to spend the money on a nice-fitting pair of white jeans for fear of them getting ruined quickly. It is some law of nature that the moment you invest in an expensive piece of anything, you better guard it with your life. If you don’t, it will no doubt end up with a tear, stain, frayed from the dog chewing it, or will suddenly disappear within three months. Guaranteed. I am convinced that the only reason my Louis Vuitton clutch has lasted six years of everyday use is that for the first four of those, I had no idea how valuable it was. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have dropped it down a storm drain. This year, I am resolved to buying white jeans. I will wear them all year round, paying no heed to the “no white after Labor Day” rule. I will spend ten minutes each laundry day making sure all the stains are addressed, but it will be worth it. Why? Cause they’re cool.

This is one of my favorite ensembles so far. As I was choosing it, the leather coat seemed an obvious partner to the tank and jeans. But then I had an “Aha!” moment. What if I stuck something else under the jacket to give it a little pizzazz? I love the result and wish I could lift the pictures from the page and put the clothes into my wardrobe for tomorrow. I'd wear the coat and button-up open, in order to show off the necklace. If it gets too warm, ditch the coat and roll up the sleeve of the shirt. Voila! Instant style with attitude. And of course, here is my $1,800 LV dream bag in another ensemble…Love that Louis.

So, today’s episode also happens to be one of my favorites. It strikes a personal chord. It's the first time Miranda meets Steve, and it reminds me of when I met Hank. It's also the first time we see Miranda respond emotionally to a man. Steve somehow breaks through all her barriers, convincing her that he’s not like other guys, and the result is a beautiful, tear-filled kiss in the rain and a promise to move forward together. (Sigh....)

This episode also happens to be one of Hank’s favorites for similar reasons. He loves Steve, and he says Miranda reminds him of how I was before we met—jaded, defensive, scared to believe in the great man who was suddenly in my life. Like Steve, Hank had to do a lot of convincing. When we talked about the episode last night, Hank asked what I was going to write about. He suggested talking about how awful my relationships were before him, and how everything was perfect once he came along. I reminded him that that wouldn’t be interesting for anyone to read but us. Instead, I’m going to write about “urban relationship myths,” a term Miranda coins before Steve comes into the picture.

First, a synopsis: Carrie and Big are peachy. He’s making all the romantic gestures of a man in love, proudly calling her his girlfriend and singing to her in a restaurant (fully sober and in front of about 50 people). Gotta love a man who sings. Carrie decides to “test” him (of course she does) by inviting him to dinner with the gang. He agrees, but backs out at the last minute, leaving her to meet her friends alone. Just when she’s about to tell her posse that Big isn't coming and that he's just the same old commitment phobe he's always been, he shows up. All good feelings and faiths are restored. Samantha, after meeting a charming old—very old, like 72 old—millionaire, tries the gold-digger approach to dating. After receiving loads of diamond jewelry and getting awfully close to doing the deed, she gets a peek at his sagging ass and bolts—keeping the jewelry of course. And Charlotte, who I think it’s now safe to say has the worst dating luck of the four, actually doesn’t date anyone this episode.

So, dating myths. The girls have a great time discussing what later became the topic of an entire movie called He's Just Not That Into You. For those of you who haven't seen it (I'm sure most of you have), the premise is that women create myths about romantic situations that give them false hope when faced with the real dating world. According to this theory, Disney movies about princes rescuing young ladies when all the world leaves them to die; the tale of the lonely woman who finally meets her dream man on a blind date; and finally, the story of the married man who leaves his wife for his mistress and lives happily after all belong to the "urban relationship myth" category.

While I think that there's something to this theory (Let's face it, most married men don't leave their wives for their mistresses, nor should they really), I also think there's a good case for romantic stories being true. I mean, every relationship has a romantic beginning, right? We all have to meet our partner somehow, and how can that story not be the stuff of romantic "myths"?

Take the show. Carrie meets Big through a series of chance encounters. First, she drops her purse, and he helps her pick up the contents. Then, they see each other at a party, then an art show, then a cafe and so on. Eventually they figure out that they're supposed to talk, then supposed to date, then maybe supposed to fall in love. Take it from me, if you accidentally run into anyone more than three times in NYC, it's practically meant to be. So that give credence to two"myths"--first, that you can meet your soulmate by chance, and second, that friendship can turn into love.

Then there's Miranda. What's more romantic than this: a cynical, career woman arrives at a pub for a dinner date with her friend, but the friend never shows up. The barman sees that she could use a mood booster, so he buys her a drink and begs her to stay and talk a bit. They hit it off. Later, they go home together, and she learns that not only is he amazing in bed, but he's also sensitive and caring and really, truly likes her to boot. A relationship is formed, and another urban myth is verified--the one that says a one night stand can turn into love.

Now, take real life. One of my former employers makes wedding cakes for a living. After over ten years in the business, this independent, sharp, thirty-year-old had seen her fair share of bad matches and crazy brides and had decided that all that lovey-dovey stuff was probably a bunch of crap. For over a year, I listened to her flaunt an I'm-way-above-falling-in-love attitude regarding men and romance. Maybe you can see where this is going. One day at work, she said she was going on a blind date that evening, arranged by her friends. It was probably going to be silly, and she had little hope. However, at least it would be interesting. She had never been set up before. The next day, she was glowing. It had gone really well; she liked him. Two months later, she had dropped ten pounds and said she was in love. Six months later, the woman who swore she would never have a wedding announced she was getting married. She was making her own cake. I kid you not.

Another friend, Jill, met her husband, Ron, on a summer fire-fighting crew. He was seeing someone else at the time but became so interested in Jill, that he immediately dropped his girlfriend. Since they lived in different states, Ron and Jill started a long-distance relationship. After two years, he secretly flew to the town where she went to school and proposed to her in the middle of one of her nursing classes (we're talking hundreds of people here, folks). I made their cake.

And then there's Hank and I. Like Miranda and Steve, we met in a bar and didn't know that what we had would turn into a relationship. Unlike them, we didn't meet by chance. We were set up. However, since we lived in different cities, the coincidence of us being at the same place on the only night we would have been able to meet was pretty weird. I, the fire-cracker who always said she would never date a younger man, fell for a guy three years younger than me. Hank, the science guy, who had accepted the fact that he would never find a woman he could talk to and was prepared to leave for med school completely alone, found the girl of his dreams and took her with him when he left. It happens, people.

So, are there really myths? Or is a myth a romantic story that just hasn't happened to you yet? That's for each person to decide. But even if you don't believe in tales of lovers meeting and connecting despite all worldly forces, it doesn't matter. That's the great thing about romantic stories: you don't have to believe in them for them to come true.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 12: Endings and Beginnings

We'll call this one "Start With the Shoes, Baby" because that's just what I did. Sometimes all you need to feel glamourous and ready for anything is the perfect pair of heels. You could wear this ensemble almost anywhere after hours--club, bar, the theater, dinner, though probably not dinner with the in-laws. Mixing elements here--conservative and flashy, delicate and structured. I particularly love the black, sequin skirt that would otherwise be super racy. (That's not to say I would wear it under any circumstances. I was blessed with a lot of things, but legs for that thing wasn't one of them. But if you've got them, flaunt them.) Since it's paired with a more conservative suit jacket and traditional white button-up, it becomes a stand-in for a suit skirt--but with enough glimmer and edge, especially with the heels and accessories, to be fun not formal. And of course these are the Manolo Blahniks that Carrie made famous (yes they're pricey, but nothing else is too steep)...though I found out today that the designer has never even seen the show.

So, episode twelve ends season one, and it ends sadly. After Carrie deliberates about why Big won't say, "I love you," or introduce her to his mother, she decides she doesn't want to wait around to find out. She doesn't think she'll ever "get inside" his emotional barrier. Big has been around the Manhattan block (a few times), with a failed marriage and lots of bitter exes to show for it. He wants to take things slow. He wants to be sure. Carrie is in love and wants to know if she's the one--right now. Big can't do it. They say goodbye. Carrie is heart-broken, and Big takes a trip to the Caribbean alone. Poor guy. That is a joke.

Carrie and Big seem like a good match, but things fizzle, they want different things, and they part ways. Man, we've all been there, or at least I have. The relationship seems good, but it just doesn't last. The two people are like planets moving in different directions. Someone once told me that the most important thing in determining whether a relationship will survive is timing. Timing. Not strength of love, not emotional connection, not religion or where you grew up, not what color hair he has or if he looks like your father (I never got that one, but the theory exists). Just plain and simple timing. According to this theory, the only question that matters is: Are you both equally ready to settle down?

But is timing really that important, or is it the person that matters? Or is it both? About a year ago, I started seeing Brad, a guy I had known and dated in high school. After ten years of not seeing each other, we hit it off again. He lived in a different town, but we started talking every other night. We made regular weekend trips to see each other and started thinking about future trips and plans. Things were great. About a month and a half into the relationship, I told him I thought I was falling in love with him. Silence. The next weekend I said it again. Nothing. Each time, I waited with that pitiful, questioning face, expecting him to say something, anything. He didn't. I should have taken this as a sign, but I thought it was just a matter of time before he would tell me that he loved me.

In fact, two weeks later he broke up with me via a drunken phone call. He said he was still shaken from his previous, seven-year relationship and that he wasn't ready for anything serious. He said he also didn't think he was totally in love with me. I spent a week analyzing what went wrong. Was it something I did? That time I mentioned being nervous to meet his mother? The fact that I didn't snowmobile or know much about sports? But he had said he liked all of those things. No, I decided, it was nothing--as in no one thing. It was everything, the whole package. And there was nothing either of us could have done. We were just being ourselves. It was bad timing, and it wasn't right.

Two weeks after Brad and I broke up, I met Hank. The timing couldn't have been worse. He was getting ready to move out-of-state for med school and wasn't looking to start a relationship. I was still depressed about what had happened with Brad. I wanted to be single for a long time, spend time alone, you know, to meditate or something--like that girl in Eat, Pray, Love. I wanted existential clarity. Sure, I wanted to meet someone eventually, but only the right one. I was too tired to deal with anything else. I was going to be very, very picky, and make sure it was right before jumping in--and that wasn't going to be for awhile. I told all of this to a friend who had known Hank since childhood and immediately demanded that I meet him. As luck would have it, Hank was in town just for that night. Under extreme protest, I went. We've been together since. As Hank says, "Maybe timing does matter, unless it's with the right person."

Maybe Carrie and Big were victims of bad timing. On the other hand, maybe something wasn't right. Big wasn't as head-over-heels as Carrie, though he cared for her. Of course, I know the ending to this story, as may most of you. It's Hollywood, after all. There are only a set number of people in the cast. Big has to return--he's called "Mr. Big" for a reason (and it's not for what's down there). But to keep a little suspense, I won't say another word. Just that there's more in store for these two.

Maybe timing does matter. Who knows if Hank and I would have hit it off five years ago or even two. Though it seemed like bad timing when we met, maybe it was perfect. Neither of us wanted to fuck around anymore. But maybe it's the right person, too. Even if the timing is ideal, if the depth of love isn't there (the attraction, the shared interests and goals, the respect, etc), there are no guarantees. Actually, the relationship probably won't last. Timing AND rightness. There has to be both. I have always said that true, committed love is a miracle.

In employment news, I received a phone call the other day with a job offer--from my mother. She is moving her medical practice back to Dillon, my hometown and the place where she and my dad live, and she needs serious help. She has two weeks to get everything to her new office and be ready to see patients. She wondered, since I haven't found a job yet, would be too much of an imposition to ask me to come back and save her? I asked if she was paying me. She said of course. I said she was saving me, too.

Come January 5th, I'm jobless again, but it's nice to have a little silver lining, especially around the holidays (and holiday sales). Meanwhile, I'll be submitting resumes for positions and hoping that the right one comes along. I've found that it (or he) usually does.

Hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 11: Farting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Okay, so I lied about the under $200 thing...at least for this ensemble. Unfortunately, there is NOTHING cheap here. This is the definition of a dream outfit. The shoes are over $300, and the shirt (!) is even more...I think $350....good lord. But it's so freakin adorable! We'll call it "Dinner with the Boss," because I don't have a boss and think that's funny. It could also be "Take Me with You, Santa" for all those holiday parties (for people who have lots of parties to go to, that is).

Now...you're probably wondering about the title. Well, the big question in relationships--and the one the girls address in episode 11--is not, "Do I marry him?" but "Should I fart in front of him?" This is serious stuff here, folks. All the women hit a dry spell, and Carrie blames hers on a fart she accidentally let rip in bed with Mr. Big. Mortified, she spends the entire episode analyzing whether or not the budding relationship is doomed or whether she can still muster enough sex appeal to keep Big interested. We'll get back to how ridiculous this is later, but first, the others....

Samantha goes on a sex fast after talking to her handsome, young, celibate yoga instructor who swears ongoing foreplay beats copulation any day. Miranda hasn't been laid in two months and is bitter. So bitter that she attacks a Latino (of course) construction worker who whistles at her as she is entering Blockbuster for the upteenth time. Charlotte thinks she's in love (surprise) and wants to consummate her relationship, but the guy isn't interested (what?). He has chosen Prozac over sex and is just fine with his inability to get it up.

Okay. Back to Carrie. Maybe if I lived in New York City and dated multiple people a week, I would be worried about a little fart early on in a relationship. But isn't real love a little deeper than that? Isn't it a really bad sign that a fart can scare a guy away (not to mention guys are generally more farty than us ladies and better not be pointing any fingers...or butts)? Besides any guy I know wouldn't leave a girl for a fart--especially if she was hot.

See, maybe some guys think they want a goddess who doesn't fart, shit, or clean out her earwax. But I've found out that most guys prefer comfortability. We're not talking peeing with the door open (Hank still gets mad at me for this--Hey! I've always lived alone, why close the door?) or having farting contests with your mate (even I don't want that--talk about killing the moment). But if a little poof sneaks out once in a while, it's not worth WEEKS of morbid analysis. The first time this happened with Hank, I admit I was embarrassed. We were walking to dinner, and I think I laughed and said, "Oops!" or something. Right away he just said, "What? Hm?" with a little smile. I knew he had heard and was just acting as if he hadn't. He's sweet like that.

So I'm at Starbucks today. I am about two blocks from the Panera that offered me a job last week. Yes, I got a job offer. I almost can't believe I turned down a position in this economy. Lord knows job searching sucks. But Hank, a certified math wiz, worked out that I couldn't afford to take the job. It didn't have any health insurance, almost no chance of promotion or mobility, and paid $8 an hour with virtually no tips. That's slave labor, in my humble opinion. My health insurance is over $200 a month, people, and there is no way I'm working an entire week for money I'll never even see. So, I'm back looking.

And shopping. Just a little. Well, what did you expect? It's Christmas. So, I've activated another credit card (oh, yes, I hope you're cringing right now, because I am) and have been using it frugally, but using it nonetheless. I used to (meaning yesterday) feel panicked about this, but I am consoling myself by thinking that not only am I stimulating the economy and raising my own spirits by buying presents for people (and myself), but I am probably not unlike most Americans. Sad but true.

Last night, I tried to imagine my life without any debt--the way it was a mere two years ago. Honestly, I felt pretty proud of myself then, but other than that, not much different than I do now. Debt doesn't cause you to suddenly loose all of your teeth and die of shame. I can now tell you that firsthand. Just like money doesn't make you happy. (Though, I wouldn't know. It just might.) No, debt only holds you by the neck until you pay it back. Actually it really blows. But we are all held by the neck by something financial, no? School loans? Mortgages? Children? Wait, those are investments....oops. (Well, children are debatable, and I can say that, because I am one and am not so sure I've been the best investment.) Anyway, I do have to watch it, or I'll probably end up being that person crying on national TV about how bankruptcy ruined my life, caused my mate to leave me, and put me on the streets. I'm convinced this is what would happen.

Well, this has been a coherent posting, right? I guess I blog like I order coffee drinks, according to coffee guy--just throw a bunch of crap together. (You know--like decaf and regular. OHHH, you devil!) Better go. Bela is home with his head cone on, because he has been licking his paws obsessively. I guess we all have our obsessions. He licks his feet, and I just buy cute shoes to put on mine--proof that dogs take after their owners or something like that. By the way, Happy December!

Hope you'll be back. I will.