I Just Had a Carrie Bradshaw Moment

Sorry ladies this isn't one of those fab moments of Dior saddle bags, cosmopolitans and it restaurants.



Rather I sat in my office and listened to my adjacent co-workers talk about their investments, how they've diversified their IRA's and opened money market accounts when they were seventeen and how it's a great time to buy up cheap stocks.



I mentally dipped out to fix the buttons on my Ben Sherman dress shirt (patterned after the Marimekko I'm inspired by but can't afford.) I took the premature withdrawal in hopes that the continuous calculations of how to juggle birthday parties this weekend, holiday parties the next and new years the next while still paying rent weren't legible to anyone nearby. Plain and simple: I don't fit with this financially fiscal crowd. Nothing's fomenting for me in some stowed away account except hopes and prayers

See much like Sarah Jessica Parker's signature role, my interest over the years was towards inappropriate dress, magical evenings and witty banter

My stocks are null and void but my late nite liaisons have been quite diverse. I got no home equity but an unending portfolio of tales for the grandkids.. or at least the next cocktail party. Invitations being the bold print letters I'm getting in the mail.



Luckily for fantasy land Carrie Bradshaw she learned how to marry well and all was happily ever after and a walk in closet

My real life self worries. I know my fair share of creative types who ain't got a house of their own to piss in. Rent paying, still struggling. And that's definitely one list I don't want to be on.



So with my impending birthday on Sunday, I can't help but wonder: is it possible to never give up the youthful pursuit of play and still have to work for it?

Ten Years Later...

And the question remains:

"Excuse me sir, do you know the restaurant where the Sex and the City girls had lunch?*"

* real life question proposed to me today on my walk through Soho. -sigh-

Give it Up, Girl; You Are Not Carrie Bradshaw

According to The New York Post, a crazy Long Island business man has hired a "Sex and the City" set designer to recreate Carrie's closet for his wife for a mere $175,000.

Once a guest room, now only 400 pairs of shoes call this space a place to lay their weary soles. Well and drawers "full of sunglasses and bling".

Oy, please don't feed into your wife's delusions that she is a fictitious character with an unrealistically huge but telegenic New York City closet and the ability to get anything she wants just by snapping her finger. Other people have to interact with her and she sounds like a real cuckoo bird.