Last Thursday night, my husband and I went to a party that Esquire Magazine* hosted at a 23.5 million dollar apartment. The apartment, known as the ClockTower Penthouse, is a triplex in DUMBO, Brooklyn, and is the most expensive piece of real estate in the borough. The main floor features four enormous working glass clock… Read more »
6:43 PM, Thanksgiving Day Carrie’s cell phone rings. It’s Miranda. Carrie picks up. Carrie: Is this the annual I’m-in-hell call? Miranda: I’m in hell. Are you in hell? Please tell me you’re in hell. Carrie: Well…. Miranda: Carrie, Steve is leading my entire family in a Piano Man sing-along. Please don’t let me… Read more »
As most readers know, I am not from New York. I am from Belfast, Maine where, as you can imagine, the taxi culture is limited. If you peruse the Yellow Pages, you will find a few taxi companies that service Waldo County, but the companies are usually just folks with a spare station wagon looking… Read more »
When you’re a tour guide in a city like New York, you often have to supplement your income with other jobs in order to pay the bills. As regular readers of “Almost Carrie” know, my primary job requires me to follow in the footsteps of Miss Bradshaw. What readers may not know however, is that my… Read more »
I got married in a BCBGMAXAZRIA party dress that I ordered online from Nordstrom’s for $288. Because my dress budget was low, my shoe budget was high. Until that point, the most expensive shoes I’d ever purchased were a pair of Steven by Steve Madden satin paisley d’Orsay pumps for $89.99, which I adored and… Read more »
Can you be in love with a city—real, complex, complicated love? Absofuckinglutely. Can you be irritated, frustrated, and pissed with said city? Posifuckingtively. After posting last week’s ode to New York, I read a refreshing, candid article in W magazine (I know—it’s the last place I’d expect to find anything refreshing and candid either) by… Read more »
Last week, as I re-watched “Models and Mortals” in preparation for this column, I realized something startling: I am finally as old as Carrie was in Season One. I am finally 32. Ten years ago, on September 11th, 2001, I was living in New York for the first time, subletting a place on 137th Street… Read more »
Last Saturday night I went to a get together at my friend’s apartment in Astoria. The event was a clothing swap, a popular phenomenon of late. You prepare for a clothing swap by going through your closet and removing all of the items you know you’ll never wear again. You put your pile of discards… Read more »
Faithful readers may recall that last week I was traveling through the Scottish Highlands with my husband and his friend (Almost Elaine?, 9.1.11). When I got home, I looked up the Highlands on Wikipedia, and according to that highly reliable source, the area is “one of the most sparsely populated in Europe. The average population… Read more »
I had a genuine Sex and the City weekend. I went to Atlantic City with my three best girlfriends (real-life translation: my husband’s five girl cousins). The initial plan was to take Richard Wright’s private jet, but due to unforeseen circumstances I had to catch the bus (real-life translation: the initial plan was to take… Read more »
