Rant: Why I get to be Carrie
Yeah, well I'm one of those girls, although trust me-I keep it under wraps.
I'm sure there are lots of healthy well-balanced females out there that don't equate their lives to an over the top HBO sit-com, but like I said, I ain't one of them. So when three friends and I got together for a schmancy little lunch of honey dijon spinach salads and grilled salmon at a local restaurant, we couldn't help but to divvy up the characters. And woo-hoo-I got dubbed Carrie. (I'll let you in a little secret-most girls silly enough to compare themselves to the show think they are Carrie and become super offended when told they resemble the ball breaking Miranda or sex-crazed Samantha. They will go to great lengths to prove how Carrie they are. Like showing up with a handkerchief around their upper arm and a giant sparkling apple necklace the next time you see them. Luckily-my friends and I have stopped just a the threshold of full on insanity and don't do this. I think.)
Now I would say my reign as 'Carrie' is tenuous at best-I have darn cute and funny friends. But after a marathon 8 episode, two bottle of wine and too many cigarettes Sex in the City evening with my 'Samantha, ' a little Carrie osmosis must have taken place. My outfit today is accidently but unmistakably Carrie-esque, if lacking the perfect body and overall expense factor. Complete with designer poofy skirt (bought at about 99% off original price), stiletto sandals and black bra that clearly shows through my thin shirt. I've even got the 'Carrie' silver necklace only mine says my name in Arabic (note that in turn, it also says fisherman in Arabic, since that is what my name means in Arabic, but I digress). What is the point of describing this outfit to you? To make myself sound super stylish, you ask? To parade around like a pretentious freak? To sound like a total cheese who compares her little Seattle life to that of a fictional HBO show?
None of the above! Instead to describe the state of ruin said outfit is now in. Because I just got sprayed by a bus. Not a little spray-but a head to toe (sandals! white shirt! silk!) drenching from Metro as rolled through a puddle on 5th Avenue. And I wasn't even walking close to the curb!
So you see-that clinches. I get to be Carrie. I just f*%king earned it. I swear I could hear the goddamn “do doot de do” music playing.
At least it didn't put my cigarette out.
And while I have yet to be dumped by a post-it, I did just get brushed aside in text message. I'm telling you...
this is in or around 5th Avenue