That’s right, I feel betrayed by the four women to whom I have committed so many countless hours. I went to college after high school, took out a crap-load of loans and after 5 years (yes, I indulged in a victory lap), I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree. This was all in preparation to move to New York, land an entry level job at a little company like Hearst or Conde Nast and quickly become the real-life incarnation of Carrie Bradshaw.
Someone should have seriously slapped me across the face all those times I sat starry-eyed watching rerun after rerun. A bachelor’s degree is the new high school diploma and the closest I get to anything name-brand is when Skippy peanut butter goes on sale for less than its generic impostor.
Carrie’s life is the epitome of any young female writer’s idealistic fantasy. What the show doesn’t portray is all the nitty gritty shit that comes before, which is the current state of my own life. My life isn’t a complete and total mess, but let’s just say I couldn’t even get approved for the credit card to buy me a pair of Manolo Blahniks and my hourly jobs are anything but riveting and glamorous.
Can we talk about Carrie’s apartment for a minute too? I should have known that her New York apartment was too good to be true when I saw it sitting on a lot at the Paramount Pictures studio in Los Angeles. Even Paramount knows that such a place does not exist. My search for an apartment in New York seemed like one of the most drawn-out, soul-crushing experiences and the longer it ensued, the more my price range rose and the lower my standards dropped.
While my basement apartment doesn’t hold a candle to Miss Bradshaw’s comfortable dwelling, there is something we do have in common. I moved into this apartment with three friends and just like in SATC, we have been each other’s support and sanity since the beginning. Whether it’s frantically killing roaches, getting locked in our own apartment or butting heads with belittling brokers, we have been taking on New York together.
It can be hard to see my once crystal-clear visions of the future sometimes through the very literal blood, sweat, and tears. Yet, I have this amazing support system that keeps me from crumbling every time. There is an amazing, and very convenient dynamic in our apartment where the rest of the roommates seem to become stronger and more confident when one of us is feeling dejected or tampered with by life. For that reason, I think I can forgive Carrie for boldly lying to my face for so many years, because she was spot on about one thing: “They say nothing lasts forever; dreams change, trends come and go, but friendships never go out of style.”