Day 31: Shoes and Saviors

This outfit makes me wish I lived in a place where it was always summer. I could live in this ensemble. I would like to own every single piece here, please, oh clothing gods. I mean, what's not to love? It's all so carefree and cool, like a glass of chilled, white wine in June. We'll call it, "Livin' the (Effortlessly Chic) Dream."

"I've been dating since I was fifteen. I'm exhausted. Where is he?" Charlotte

"I lost my Choo." Carrie, after losing her shoe running to catch the last ferry from Staten Island

This is a very special episode, because it contains my favorite SATC quote, the first one listed above. The second quote might just be my second favorite, and I will explain why in due time. The question Carrie poses this round is, "Do all women want to be rescued?"

But first, a small review of a local boutique. If I visit a great place, I'll write a little something about it here. A friend told me about True Love, a vegan shoe store, last week and mentioned we should meet there for Denver's monthly, "First Friday" festivities. I was hesitant about the vegan thing but not hesitant enough to miss out on shoe shopping, fake leather or not. As I pulled up, magically finding parking on Broadway during rush hour, I felt a rush of excitement as I looked into the shop. About 20 fashionable, young women were trying on shoes and drinking pink champagne. It was going to be a fabulous time. I went in, and while I looked for my friend, one question kept repeating itself in my mind: "How much are those peep-toes in the window?"

An hour and a stack of shoeboxes later, I had my heels--a pair of deep red platforms my friend had suggested I try on. They were amazing. And they were $30. If only I could have stopped there, but I browsed the rest of the store, passing up cute boots for 70% off and a bargain rack of variously-sized flats and heels, but grabbing ribbed, brown legwarmers (remember, I'm addicted); a thick, elastic "leather" belt with tiny gold skulls on it; and a pair of brown aviator glasses for $10. I couldn't resist. By the time I got to the register and met Sarah, the owner, there were about 15 more women in the store and not a single man. She said it had been a good night so far. As for me, $79 down, I still felt up. I don't know if it was the tinted champagne, the good company of like-minded women, or my rockin shoes, but I left feeling a little less hard on myself for my shoe weakness and a little happier about life. It's funny what shoes can do...

...and onto SATC. It all starts at a firefighters benefit, where the beefy firemen are stripping for a room full of single women and judges. The judges are deciding who will make it into this year's calendar. The hotness factor of the men seems uncanny, and the girls decide it's because they represent the ideal rescuers, strong, fearless males who can save any damsel in distress. Samantha hits on one of the guys, later creating her fantasy, four-alarm sex-a-thon. Charlotte gets hammered and decides this year will be the year she marries. At a bar, she meets a charming fellow, who punches out a guy who won't leave her alone. Mesmerized, she asks him out, but she soon learns he just has a thing for fighting. Miranda gets eye surgery to correct her vision. She finds an unexpected "knight" in Steve, who picks her up from the hospital and never leaves her side. Meanwhile, Carrie attracts the attention of a local politician. Still reeling from Big, she initially turns down the politician's advances. However, when he rescues her from having to walk home in her new Jimmy Choos, she decides to give him a chance.

I love this episode, because it relates so much to how I met Hank. I know I've told this story before, and I won't go through it all again. But there's a darker side I don't think I've mentioned...

Almost right after Hank and I met, the bars were closing. He offered to walk me to my car, which I thought was across the highest bridge in town. I had drunk way too much that night and was wearing flimsy (but cute) platform shoes from Target. Since I had trouble walking in them sober, it's no wonder that along the way, I got fed up with stumbling and decided to go barefoot and carry the shoes. Somewhere between bar and bridge, I lost one.

Now, I loved those shoes, and I said so to Hank. Immediately, he stopped and told me to wait right there while he went to find the missing mate. He disappeared, and I found myself in the middle of the bridge. Now, reader, not only do I have a mild fear of heights, I have depressive tendencies (if you hadn't realized already) that tend to grow exponentially when I drink heavily. I'm the crier--that girl who is fine one minute and getting tears in her jello shot the next, though nothing obvious about the situation has changed.

So, there I am, on a really high bridge, drunk, shoeless, cars full of college kids whizzing by and honking, and I'm grasping onto the edge, wondering what it would feel like to jump. I wasn't suicidal, really, because that implies some deep desire to die. I didn't have that. I was just drunk, sad, alone, and curious. And I was waiting. At some point, I had decided that Hank was going to rescue me. I thought of how romantic that would be--me crying on a bridge, while my handsome man (younger AND buff, I might ad) puts his arms around me, slips my shoes on (including the one he magically retrieved), and takes me home.

This rescue fantasy never happened. What happened is this: I got tired of waiting, tore myself away from the edge, stumbled across the remainder of the bridge, and sat down on the grated stairs--cold, tired, and disappointed. When Hank finally showed up, he told me he was unable to find my shoe. He asked if I was okay. I said I was and just wanted to get out of there. I suddenly remembered that my car was indeed parked a block from the bar, which meant we had to go back across that dreadful bridge (I told you I was drunk). But in the end, Hank did save me. He carried me the whole way back, and I didn't even have to ask him to.

I do think all women secretly want a man who can rescue them. Maybe this argument will infuriate independent women everywhere (it even makes me cringe), but I have to hold to it. If it makes them (us) feel better, all men probably want the same thing in a woman. When you look at it that way, it's pretty cool, really. Perhaps, it's biological. Or maybe it's just love. But, we rescue each other--as the famous last lines of "Pretty Woman" describe.

What do we rescue each other from? It could be from a broken heart or loneliness. It could from taking ourselves too seriously. And it could just be from walking home with only one shoe. Whatever it is, it feels pretty good knowing someone's there with us on our side. Maybe we just need to be reminded of that once in a while.

When I was packing to move to Denver to live with Hank, I came across the mateless shoe from the night we met. Though I had no logical reason to keep it, I couldn't make myself throw it away. Now, it resides in a glass cabinet in our living room, and it makes me smile every time I see it. It reminds me where we came from, and it reminds me I'm not alone.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 27: A Little Family Lovin'

"I'm Sort of Neutral About It." Just when you think only color can be fun, accessories like these come along. I mean, look at those shoes! And that purse! Again, we're mixing opposite tones (warm gold vs. the its cool silver counterpart), but it works, especially since the bag and bangle feature both colors. This outfit is close to my heart, because I rarely leave the house without a bangle like this one. So far, I have about 20, but I plan on accumulating many more. Even if I'm wearing a t-shirt and jeans, something jazzy around my wrist takes it up a big notch. Before bangles, I relied mostly on statement earrings--either really colorful or really big. But I've nearly given them up. I like how a bangle balances out the whole picture--something about it carrying the eye away from what you're wearing and towards your hands I find very sexy.

Today's episode is about families--our own and the ones we date into.

I woke up this morning feeling thankful. "It's about time!" you may say. I wouldn't blame you. My entries have been pretty dapper these past few days. I wasn't sorry for feeling the way I did yesterday. I still think it's fine and healthy to accept my feelings. I just realized the monster of self-pity I was facing and that it--probably more than any job market--is what I have to fight to overcome. Two other things also happened last night to make me appreciative. The first was that I received a call from my sister at 11:00 pm, telling me that she and Mom had just sent me a funny email. I'm pretty sure she doesn't read my blog religiously, so I don't think it was out of sympathy. She just had good timing. The email contained pictures of the two of them that were stretched to look like reflections in a carnival fun mirror. Absolutely goofy. I couldn't help but smile and say a prayer of gratitude.

The other thing that happened was that Hank read my blog, came out of his study to give me a big hug, and then asked if he was doing something wrong. It seemed from what I wrote that I was sick of him. It melted me. I reminded him that he has been completely helpful during this whole time, that he's a wonderful partner, and that my feelings of being cut off from the world have nothing to do with him. They have to do with me. In that moment, I realized how good I have it. I have a family that makes me laugh and a boyfriend who does everything he can to make me happy. It was time I started making myself happy.

Speaking of families, Carrie dates a man who (surprise!) has wonderful parents and siblings. His mother and Carrie immediately connect. Unfortunately, things with the guy don't work out, and Carrie realizes that the hardest part of breaking up with him is breaking up with his family. Miranda starts seeing a divorced guy with a child, despite her reservations. Things are going well, until she accidently slams the door on the kid, giving him a head wound. The guy tells her to leave and not come back. Familial love first, I guess. Charlotte consoles her visiting brother, who's in the middle of a terrible divorce. She takes him out with her friends, thinking it will cheer him up, and it does. He sleeps with Samantha. Charlotte freaks, yelling at her friend for having a vagina that must be "in the New York City guidebooks...because it's always open." That must be one of the best lines in the entire series. She later feels terrible, brings Samantha muffins and thanks her for making her brother so happy, and the two make up.

Family really is a complicated part of dating someone. In my relationship history, I've seen what seems like every family issue known to woman. With Arnold, the first guy I was engaged to (remember there was more than one of these) who was and still is terminally sick, his mother loathed me, may she rest in peace. Seriously, she died two years ago. We had to live with her for a few months, and it was hell. Stressed out that her son was sick, disappointed that he was not settling down with a woman who dusted the furniture every week, and bitter about her own failed marriage, she tried to push me as far away from him as possible. It worked. It wasn't why I broke up with him, but it didn't help his case.

Then there was my ground school instructor, Tom, a pilot with a sweet 5-year-old girl. Although he was very nice and was a good father, I couldn't stomach that at 20 years old, I would be raising someone else's child before I had finished college. I liked him, but family planning was off.

I dated Travis next. Hanging around his family was so easy. They were accepting, low-maintenance, and real. Since Travis and I were together for three years, they fully expected us to one day get married. I even thanked them for their support in my graduation speech, right after thanking my own family. (To illustrate further, his sister came to hear me speak, while my sisters played hookie.) When we broke up, saying goodbye to them, like for Carrie, was one of the hardest parts. We all bawled.

Jorge, the second Peruvian man I dated and the second man I was engaged to, no longer had parents. His mother had passed away when he was 13, and his father had died when Jorge was 21. He and his two brothers had been alone, but for a sweet aunt, for most of their adult lives, basically taking care of each other. When I met his aunt for the first time, she hugged me for a long time and whispered in my ear, "Por favor, no hurt him. He had very sad life." It nearly broke my heart. I think I stayed with him for the last five months almost exclusively because of what she had said, even though things were clearly not working. Even when I took him to the airport to catch his flight to Argentina for work, though neither of us cried, I couldn't help but feel I was failing in my responsibility to take care of him (not a healthy relationship dynamic, I have to add).

After that was Brad, the man I dated right before Hank. His mother had been my 1st and 2nd grade teacher, and she had always encouraged him to date me (the doctor's daughter) throughout high school. He did. Even though we always felt an attraction to each other, her insistence was actually a turn-off for both of us. We both knew it was the wrong reason to be together. You want your partner's mom to like you once she gets to know you, not because of who your parents are or because she heard you did well on the ACT.

Then there was Hank. I first saw pictures of his parents on Facebook (ah, how times change). His mom looked so sweet and classic, with beautiful, long, grey hair and perfect facial features. She was also fashionable (that'll get me every time). His dad looked a little dorky (a really good sign in my book) and had on a great suit. I put a lot of stock into photos--how a person smiles, etc--and while I didn't want to meet them right away, they looked promising. I wanted to take that part of things really slow. I didn't want to fall in love with his family or he mine until we knew it was the right time. I didn't want to add that pressure to the situation.

But sometimes you can't help forming a relationship. The last time we were at his parents' house, we played a somewhat raunchy board game, and his mom let Hank and I sleep in the same bed--both big bonding moments. When she calls him, she asks to speak with me too, and has been known to talk to me longer than to Hank.

Yes, family brings complications, good and bad. I have cried when my sisters have broken up with certain boyfriends, and they have cried when I have. My Mom has gotten so attached to my significant others and their families in the past that when I met Hank, she said she was fine not meeting his parents until our wedding day. If two people are together for any significant amount of time, they are bound to form strong ties with their partner's family of origin. It would be sad not to.

So, for a post on families, let me just say that mine--my parents, my sisters, my boyfriend, my dog, and my friends--couldn't be better. Here's to getting along with your partner's family but not better than you get along with your partner.

Hope you'll be back. I will.

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 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 19: Dreaming, Eyes Wide Open

Now here is an outfit I would actually wear on a normal day. I'm calling it, "Dressing By Heart," because in the end personal style should emanate from your soul and should feel as natural as, well, singing in the shower. This is a soul outfit for me. As a matter of fact, I own a shirt much like this one, and similar jeans and jewelry. I have a bag that could substitute. The shoes--well they're still in daydream category. I'd probably just wear my black, pointy flats or black boots, even though the heels look amazing. I figure that until I a) live somewhere where other women wear heels with jeans, b) have a job that would allow me to wear jeans to the office, or c) have enough money to buy whatever shoes I want, I'll stick with flats for the simple reason that they're easier. But that's why I have this blog, right? To daydream.

Speaking of dreams.... Fairy tale weddings. Love at first sight. Someone to be with until the end. This is the stuff romantic stories are made of. It is also the subject of our next episode.

After two of Miranda's mutual friends announce their engagement after knowing each other only a few days, they proceed to plan the perfect wedding. The ladies--all but Charlotte, of course--nearly declare war on romance. Carrie wonders how two people can "know" so soon, when after months with Big, he has only just lent her his spare toothbrush. Miranda feels invisible, since the new groom had been staying in her apartment when he met his future wife. Miranda was hoping he would fall for her, not her friend. Samantha sleeps with a man she bedded 15 years ago. She comes to the conclusion that she has had sex with all of Manhattan and that she must now get married or move. Charlotte feels encouraged by the newly-engaged couple. When she meets a nice groomsman, she gets swept away by the idea of love at first sight--until the guy's father grabs her ass, and the guy defends him.

One moment sums up the entire episode. The four women are standing ready for the bouquet toss. The camera slows. The flowers glide through the air, headed straight for Carrie and the gang. Who's going to catch it? Charlotte? Carrie? Miranda? Samantha? Well, no one, as it turns out. The flowers fall on the floor in front of them. None of them go for the bouquet. Nobody wants it. It's a great moment. I laughed out loud. I wanted to jump for joy. To me, it signified that they have all realized in their own way that the fairy tale is a set-up.

I've been pretty clear about my cynicism (or at the very least healthy skepticism) about marriage (or at least weddings). It is likely impossible to have been engaged twice but never married and not feel like some part of it is just a sham. I still believe in love, of course. But I used to completely believe in every single bit of romantic fluff that crossed my path--including the fairy tale wedding and love at first sight. I still believe in the "'till the end" part. My skepticism only reaches so far. But the others? Naw. Attraction at first sight? Sure. Hope at first sight? Definitely. But not love.

And the perfect wedding? Not in the way we're taught to believe. A perfect wedding would happen on account of a couple's love together, as an expression of that love--not because of invitation designs and bridesmaids' dresses. The perfection is between the couple, and it doesn't matter if they get married on a beach, at City Hall, or in a dump yard. Before, I believed in the perfect wedding so much that I planned two before I was even sure I wanted to marry the men I was planning them with. Now, all I care about is loving the man.

Part of the wedding myth is that it brings a happily-ever-after ending. Yet, there really aren't endings in true romance. Each day sees the coming of each night, the beginning of a year sees the end of that year, but love's story doesn't end. It keeps retelling itself every day until the people part ways or die. And if a story has no ending, how can it have the perfect ending? When Carrie and Big leave the wedding, she decides that she's happy just going home with him at night and taking it day by day--even if the storybook finish isn't in sight and they're not on the big wedding bandwagon. It's as if she accepts that they're perfect for each other, and that's enough. Anyway, in the end, no one remembers the wedding. But they do remember the moments full of love. And that's what I'm here to believe in.

In an interview, the REAL Carrie, SJP, said that when you're young, grand gestures mean so much--what he got you for Valentine's Day, where he proposed. When you're older, you realize that the small gestures are what matter most. I can imagine this being true. Does he tuck your kids into bed at night? Does he field calls from your parents? Does he take out the trash? If he treats you like dirt in front of your friends, who cares what he got you for Christmas? If she says she'll love you forever but never lets you pick the movie, is that cool? Everyone has their deal-breakers, but the point is that love is a series of little moments of loving--and fighting. It isn't a fairy tale, with a tidy ending and no messes. But that doesn't mean it's not perfect. As Hank says, a perfect couple is where the two people are exactly what the other needs and wants, and they wouldn't change a thing.

For those curious readers, I am still job searching. After working in Montana and taking a month off from the depressing task of browsing Craig's List each and every day, I feel rusty. It is hard to get out of bed in the morning. If I didn't have Bela, I probably would have gone crazy by now. In a way, it's my own fault. I could be working at Panera or a coffee shop for minimum wage. At least I would be out of the house and not complaining. I could also be submitting resumes around the clock, never giving up, taking breaks only to eat and shit--like I was doing during the first few weeks of moving here. But I'm not. Instead I'm buying dog food, washing dishes, and writing. I'm lucky if I submit three or four resumes a day, and I'm getting picky. I'm looking for that illusive job that pays at least $10-13 per hour, provides health insurance and growth potential, and won't leave me wanting to kill myself at the end of the day (ie. no waitressing). It's not going well.

Maybe part of the problem is that I'm tired of jobs. I want a career. One day last month, I counted all of the jobs I've had. At 27 years old, I have held 22 jobs, most of which had very little opportunity for advancement--temp agencies, landscaping, customer service. Some did. I could probably be baking wedding cakes, teaching English, or managing an office right now. But I'm not.

So, in light of this, while I job hunt, I am also preparing to take the GRE. Who knows why. I don't know what I would study in grad school. I am hoping that six months from now, I will be able to make that decision. Until then, I may just have to waitress.

I hope you'll be back. I will.

Day 18: The Cheater Meter

“Just Put a Sweater On It (Or Don’t).” Wear this sheer dress ensemble for shopping or a lunch date during the day. For night, replace the hobo bag with a clutch, and sub a fancier shrug or light summer jacket for the sweater--or just ditch the sweater. I love the theory of mono-color ensembles. Don't try to match exactly. The idea is to keep the main pieces a single hue or shades of that hue, and make accessories simple and neutral. It’s such a nice thing to look at. As opposed to contrasting-color ensembles, which keep the eye from getting bored, single-color groupings give the eye a chance to relax. Both serve their purpose.

Well, I'm back up and running in Denver. Montana has its good points, but consistent internet (well, communication service in general) isn't one of them. And now that I've restarted this blog, it should be clear sailing until the end of this episode-watching journey. I'm feeling time pressure. Hank and I went to see the movie Sherlock Holmes yesterday, and I saw a poster for Sex and the City 2. It reminded me that May is not far off, and I've got 76 episodes and a movie to get through before then. With about 16 weeks to go before the premier, that means I need to blog about 4-5 episodes a week. Eek. Better get moving.

When we last left the girls, they were discussing cheating--what it means to cheat and whether or not one sex is more prone to crossing the line.

Synopsis of the episode's events. Charlotte's new boyfriend kisses a model and doesn't think he did anything wrong. He was just being "sympathetic." Charlotte ditches him and, in an effort to forget men altogether, starts hanging out with the lesbian elite of NYC. They eventually figure out she's not gay and let her go, somewhat like she was cheating on them with the entire male population. Samantha has a fling with her trainer, who makes his mark by shaving her hair down there. She later finds out she's not the only one with lightning-bolt grooming. Miranda starts seeing a guy who's addicted to porn and turns it on during their escapades. Every time Miranda and he have sex, she says it's like he's cheating on the video models with her, which turns him on. Carrie starts having a secret affair with Big--secret because she keeps it from the gals. In a way, then, she's cheating on her best friends.

Okay. Now cheating theories. Samantha, rarely committed to anyone, fully condones cheating (well, is it really cheating if you were never committed?). Her theory is that if men can do it (and they will), why can't women? In Charlotte's world, date two signifies exclusivity. At that point, both people should be completely committed to each other--at least until one of them officially breaks it off. That may be at the end of date two. Miranda thinks men are scum and fully expects them to cheat at any opportunity. Consequently, she often keeps her relationships casual and open, so she won't get hurt. Carrie wants the perfect man, who will never want anyone but her. But she isn't straightforward about her expectations. Hence, when she found out a few episodes back that Big was seeing other people, she was devastated.

At one point, the Samantha's trainer says something poignant. "Everyone cheats." Is it true? Even if you don't commit the basic acts of cheating--let's generally say everything from holding hands to sex--what about the smaller things? What about flirting with the bartender or talking with an ex via Facebook? What about hanging out alone with someone of the opposite sex who isn't your boyfriend/husband? How about withholding certain details from your friends or significant other out of embarrassment. Or what of that thought that runs through your head when a cute guy/gal walks by? After the obvious, where, exactly, is the line? And what is just human nature?

As someone who has both cheated and been cheated on (and been on one end or the other of almost every situation described above), my philosophy is this: if you're looking for a way out, you should probably get out. And you know if you're looking for a way out. I don't think we all cheat. But a lot of us do or at least have. I also think women cheat as often as men. I have found that the happier I am with myself and my relationship, the least likely I am to think about anyone other than my partner. But I haven't always been happy, and sometime it's hard to know what is benign and what's not and what to do about it.

In my relationship with Travis, I couldn't stop having sexual dreams about a certain married professor. This went on for over a year and became all-consuming. Every time Travis and I had sex, my professor's face would appear. The more I pushed it away, the stronger it became. Nothing ever happened with my teacher outside of my fantasies, but I still considered myself cheating. I enjoyed my imaginative journeys. I wasn't being true to the relationship I was in, and I probably should have ended it right then--especially since the union eventually terminated because I got drunk and slept with a total stranger. Not a proud moment, but I've already talked about that in another post. But it does raise the question, Is fantasizing a sort of gateway drug to larger forms of cheating? Is it possible to stop these smaller forms of cheating before they get out of control, or is the real test in never acting on it? Can we help what we fantasize about?

I don't fantasize about anyone but Hank. Seriously. I'm lucky, because I love him and am also so attracted to him. But I have had a few make-out dreams about handsome strangers. On the one hand, I figure there's no harm in something I can't even control. On the other, I feel ashamed telling Hank about the dreams when he asks--especially since he says that since we've been together, he only dreams of me. Before that, he only dreamt of whichever girlfriend he was with at the time. I believe him. And I feel like scum. I know there are far worse infringements. I know that I can't really control my subconscious. But I don't want to hurt Hank, not even for something as small as a dream.

I suppose all couples are different--and all people are different. Each individual likely has a widely varying standard of what is normal, okay, and immoral. I am more adventurous and creative than Hank and have a strong imagination, and maybe that accounts for the occasional sexy-stranger dream. Who knows? He says he's okay with the dreams, and I have to believe him. He certainly doesn't think they constitute cheating, and neither do I. I don't like having them or telling him about them, but I have to accept myself too. If they ever turned into fantasies, I would let him know and we could figure out how to get tuned back into each other. But I hope that doesn't happen.

In the end, the only agreement of cheating theories needs to be between the two people in the relationship. I believe two things about cheating. If deep love and attraction is there between two people, the desire to cheat will probably disappear. That, and if it feels like cheating, it probably is.

Hope you'll be back. I will.