I don’t like Carrie anymore. Which is not to say we were ever friends. She was, for a very long time, my TV friend. The girls were all my friends. More than that, they were what I aspired to be when I come back in my next life as someone who made far better decisions. Oh, I knew it at the time that their collective jobs, wardrobes and especially men, were a ridiculous fantasy. Of course, I’ve never lived in New York City (again, next life) or had a kick ass job which begets the kick ass wardrobe (I have one but apparently it’s not doing it’s job) and therefore, gets the ‘fabulous’ men who buy you couture dresses to go the opera, chase you until you relent to their undying love or simple are too pretty to be men. All, of course, fabulously wealthy.
What was the straw that tipped my feelings towards the gals on SATC? Hard to say but let’s call it the mother of all breakups. He didn’t do it on a post it (That I would have welcomed). His weapon of choice was a phone. Perfect aim. Hit the target (me), dead on. He didn’t have to reload. That implosion set me off on a journey that I would have preferred to have been either A) with a fabulous man in Europe or at least B) biking through Europe solo.
There was no “mans” to do the former and no funds to do the latter. You see, under the misguided and emotionally deranged notion that if I wasn’t’ takin’ care of mah man’, someone else would as well as gee whiz, we’re partners and I should give every dime I’m making to our life, home, his kids, etc. while he pursues a software project that required him to leave a lucrative job. I could wax prophetically on all the mistakes I made, all the signs that were there (very large letters, written with a thick sharpie pen I might add) but then I would fall into a funk and not be able to finish today’s missive.
Back to Carrie and the girls. I had always, always been a glass is half full, tomorrow is another day, every problem has a solution kind of gal. Not to say that I’m no longer that,. I just prescribe it for my children, friends, strangers and the like. I’ve adopted, much to my chagrin and hopefully only temporarily, a bit of a cynicist’s cap. Historically, I don’t care for hats nor do I wear them. Rut Roh.
I’m a nanny now. For two families. I watch a total of 7 kids. I’m going out of my mind. My fabulous wardrobe sits, waiting, longing to be worn (Aside from the occasional date) and my mind sits, waiting, longing for a real job that requires me to get dressed up and be with adults. Either that or someone that’s rich and terminal. This is my new criteria for dating (more on that in another post).
Back, again, to the girls and my cynicism. Several months ago, and with ample time during the day from my ‘job’ I purchased a wind trainer for my bike in order to ride indoors. I started riding and watching SATC. I found myself yelling at the TV. Every time I watched. I was not cheering them on in their endeavors to be fabulous. It was “Oh. Right. SURE!!!”, “Are you kidding me?”, “Never happen!”, “Give me a break!”. You get the idea. Thank goodness the neighbors aren’t around to hear me. No doubt the sound of my riding is drowned out by my yelling.
It is, of course, the emotionally fall out from falling off the horse. That horse was on a ledge and I did not fall off the land side of it. One has a great deal of time to think when one is falling through a black hole. Not easy to do when, in that fall, you’re bouncing off the walls. Thusly, I know, without a doubt, that my decision to kick the girls off my lunch table is simply a reflection of having made very, very poor choices, for a very long time. Consequently, I don’t want to see what might have been, even in a tapered down version.
Don’t get me wrong. The girls are being kept company by the cast of Friends and How I Met Your Mother. Have I stopped watching? Of course not. A girl needs some unrealistic comic relief. They’re not the problem and I know it. They, in a small but to me glaring way, reflect all the choices I could of, should of made. Even the very fact they are actors who pursued, regardless of any roadblocks, etc. their dream to do so. I admire that determination and fearlessness. Part of the reason why I watch is that I want that to rub off on me.
I haven’t banished the Girls completely. I still don’t believe that you can live the way they did, with the wardrobes, etc on their particular career incomes (Miranda could) and that elicits another round of finger point and yelling from my perch on the bike. I’d like to think (and hope) that once I have a real job and the dignity, social life (at least during day) and to some degree, self worth, that go along with it that I will take off that unfashionable cap that sits on my head and life right now and welcome them back with the knowledge and feeling that it’s just a TV show and everyone needs a little harmless entertainment
