Men as socks. Some men are argyles. Safe socks. This column socks. Thus begins Carrie’s brainstorming in the second episode of the fifth season, Unoriginal Sin. “I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel here, ladies,” she says. “Last week, I wrote about my search for the perfect French fry.” I am both sorry and relieved… Read more »
Who’s that petite single New York writer I keep seeing on TV with the fabulous sense of style? You know, the one with the rocking bod and kind of unconventional face who so breezily mixes glamour with sarcasm and wit? I think her name starts with a C… Meet Carole Radziwill—Emmy and Peabody-award winning journalist,… Read more »
Big and Carrie had red balloons and “Moon River” and absofuckinlutely. My husband and I haveThe Wall. Nick and I met during our freshman year at Syracuse University. I was a nervous girl from Maine with a bad haircut and a boyfriend back home; he was a bandana-wearing, Marlboro Reds-smoking force of nature, swooping anyone… Read more »
Big and Carrie had red balloons and “Moon River” and absofuckinlutely. My husband and I have The Wall. Nick and I met during our freshman year at Syracuse University. I was a nervous girl from Maine with a bad haircut and a boyfriend back home; he was a bandana-wearing, Marlboro Reds-smoking force of nature, swooping… Read more »
I am afraid I have upset some of my most loyal readers with my oft-made jabs at Sex and the City: The Movie (I’m talking about the first movie here—I think we can all agree that Part 2 was…umm…horrendous). Listen, I’m amazed that anyone takes time out of their precious week to read my blog, and for… Read more »
I am afraid I have upset some of my most loyal readers with my oft-made jabs at Sex and the City: The Movie (I’m talking about the first movie here—I think we can all agree that Part 2 was…umm…horrendous). Listen, I’m amazed that anyone takes time out of their precious week to read my blog, and for… Read more »
I have a stockpile of “Almost Carrie” stories to tell, and I can’t post any of them. I’m stuck, stymied, silenced by the man. The “man” in this case being my husband, mother, boss, in-laws, sister, even my fellow Sex and the City guides. I’ve got a big piece of duct tape over both my… Read more »
Anyone who has ever given me a haphazard pat on the back knows the consequences of that simple gesture. Touching my back—out of necessity or concern or coincidence—means subjecting yourself to one of my full meltdowns. Literally I melt—my spine curves into a hump, my shoulder blades poke upward, and my chin falls to my… Read more »
There is a reason why I live in an apartment in New York, a reason that goes far beyond the reaches of Sex and the City, a reason so old and so dear it is now imprinted in my DNA. *** My father’s siblings, four in all, are a special lot, wholly different than my… Read more »
In this country, it is generally assumed that mothers are egregiously under-appreciated. No one really knows how much good work they do and how tirelessly they do it—not the fathers of their children and certainly not the children themselves. No one but fellow mothers know the heartache, worry, sacrifice, and exhaustion they continuously grin and… Read more »
