Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Carrie F*****G Bradshaw

As I plunged the toilet for the 5th time today, because my 10 year old doesn't understand that less is more, I came to the conclusion that I want to be Carrie Bradshaw when I grow up. I bet that she doesn't plunge toilets, or feed her dogs disgusting sardines that make me gag when I open them and see them all floppy and slimy in their can coffin. She doesn't sit on the couch, watching The Carrie Diaries, wishing that she was even a 17 year old version of herself, while her children scream through the house, tearing shit up. ,

Now, before you go getting all "You know she's a fictional character that doesn't actually exist" on me, I DON'T CARE. I want her life. I want the shoes, and the outrageous dresses, and the sex life, and I'll even take the hair. I want to spend my life writing and going out for cocktails and lunch with my friends, and talk about sex, and walk down the streets of manhattan like I own the damn place. Okay, maybe not Manhattan, because I'm too country. Maybe the country version of Carrie. I don't know. This is so totally stuck in my head.

I know that I CAN'T be her. I know this. Why, you ask? Because, she doesn't have children. Or a car. Or dogs. Or baggage. I have all of this. I know I can't step out of the life I've already started. A girl can dream though. My life isn't horrible. It has it's bad moments, moments where I wish I was a frizzy haired, slutty fictional character instead of myself. Now is one of those moments. What am I going to do about it? Well, I'm starting by putting super glue on the toilet paper, so he only EVER NEEDS ONE SHEET.

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