There's one question I can always ask myself when times get tough in NYC - WWCD - What Would Carrie Do? Shop. And, like in Season 5 (probably my favorite), date the city. So I curled my hair (gotta be curly Carrie - none of that straight Season 2 bullshit), put on my pink coat, and t-strap (fabulous!) low heels (business. I had shopping and walking to do.)
It started out bad. On the subway, this man made me give up my seat to make room for his girlfriend. I almost pulled an SWF Rosa Parks and refused to move, to make a stand for single women everywhere. But decided I couldn't be that crazy - at least until I hit thirty. Anyway, they proceeded to hold their stupid hands and giggle their stupid happy giggles. Gag me.
But the minute my heels hit the 5th Avenue pavement, everything was suddenly better. I felt like instantly wonderful. Carrie was so right! There I was, right outside the Paris movie theatre where Carrie went on her "date with New York", and all I could think was, as always, Ms. Bradshaw was right - it's the greatest city in the world. And that is true love. I know money can't buy happiness. But I think a keen eye for fashion can. Gucci. Pucci. Prada. Louis Vuitton. Hello, lovers. To channel that omnipresent inane Confessions of a Shopaholic ad, "Becky Bloomwood has lots of men in her life (Ralph Lauren! Calvin Klein! Giorgio Armani!) but no romance..." As long as Marc Jacobs is the man in my life, I am so fine with that.
Mostly I windowshopped. But then I found a two floor, crystal chandelier, pink pink heaven complete with stuffed poodles and giant plastic ponies - the Juicy Couture store - "for nice girls who like stuff." Um, hello, it was like made for me! I grabbed a giant pile of dresses I can't afford, and camped out in the giant dressing room (fairytale toile wallpaper! Huge mirrors! Chaise lounge!) for a really, really long time. Glorious. And the salespeople didn't even bother me, because they were too busy like peeing themselves over how cute my shoes were and dealing with all the heinous bridge and tunnel tweens.
So I shopped my way out of my valentine's day funk, and headed home to cook myself a romantic dinner, throw myself an in-room dance party, and do the Carmen Electra aerobic striptease routine, for a little sexy time. And now I have a date with Jonas Brothers on SNL, and am taking way too many "Which Jonas Brother Should You Marry??!!" quizzes online. Apparently, Kevin is my best match, but I just really prefer Joe's hair...tough call.
Regardless. Lesson learned. Boys come and go. Couture is forever.
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