Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?

“I want to meet Mr. Big, get married, and live in New York.”

I am freezing my butt at the outside bar of the Bryant Park Grill, sipping shiraz, eating french fries, and fielding questions from two twenty-something German chicks who’ve come to New York for the first time, ostensibly on vacation. For tonight at least, they are on a fact-finding mission more so than a holiday. They want to know where to find Mr. Big and a good deal on American jeans–in that order.

The Dynamic Duo from Deutschland
The Dynamic Duo from Deutschland

The more animated of the two, or at least the one with the better English, is leading the charge. Even though she has barely touched her sweet-looking drink, she is more than slightly drunk. She waves her stick thin arms in the air a lot and slides her Size 0 butt around the stool a lot, and steals my fries when she thinks I’m not looking. So far, though, she’s more amusing than obnoxious, certifiably happy to meet me and anyone else who lives in New York. Even if it’s partly vodka-induced, that kind of unbridled, unjaded, over-the-top enthusiasm is well, kind of refreshing.

She smiles frequently and broadly, and I can’t help noticing her teeth could really do with a bonding. Still, she is lovely in that haphazard, waifish, just-breezed-out-of-my-bunk-at-the-youth-hostel sort of way, a look you pretty much stop being able to pull off the day you turn thirty-five. With her straight brown hair, full mouth, and pencil thin body, she also bears a striking resemblance to the 80’s supermodel, Paulina Porizkova. I’d tell her so only she probably wouldn’t know who Paulina is. You see, she was born in 1981.

“No, really, I want to know,” she persists, plumping her full lips into a pout which if I were a guy I’d probably find really hot. “Where do the Mr. Big’s go?” She tosses her bangs out of her eyes for the umpteenth time and slants her big round eyes at her friend, whom until now she seems to have forgotten. “We want to go there.”

Yes, well, good luck with that. Not that I say anything so remotely bitchy, of course. Instead I smile back and shake my head and admit it’s a worthy goal–and one hell of a good question.

Just what my friends and I need, another nubile twenty-something model look alike swimming in our dating pond which even though it’s Manhattan sometimes feels more like a puddle. Supposing I do know where Mr. Big hangs out? Does she really expect me to give it up out of what, the goodness of my heart?

The German educational system is reputed to be among the world’s best, but I’m thinking the curriculum must not include any Darwin.

To segue from science to literature–that’s litter-ah-chur–I’m reading or rather re-reading Candace Bushnell’s SEX AND THE CITY. It’s interesting how living in Manhattan has altered my perspective on the book as well as the HBO series. Before moving here, references to The Bowery Bar (B Bar and Grill now), Bicycle Boys, and yes, Modelizers seemed about as relevant to me as Ancient Egypt. I mean good to know, fascinating even, but really what does any of it have to do with my day-to-day? Now nine months into my Single Girl in Manhattan Life, I find myself sighing and shaking my head. And groaning occasionally. Okay, a lot.

The Paulina girl interrupts my momentary musing, her eyelids listing toward closed though her drink is more than three-quarters full. “You are Carrie Bradshaw, yes, but you have brown hair.”

I don’t smoke, either, but well, when you’re being compared, even remotely, to Sarah Jessica Parker, is it really any time to quibble?

Candace Bushnell, whom I met last month when she stopped by the Barnes and Noble in Union Square, is frequently likened to literary icon, Edith Wharton. The only Wharton books I’ve read are ETHAN FROME and THE BUCCANEERS and well, it’s been a while. (As for THE AGE OF INNOCENCE, so far I’ve made due with the Daniel Day Lewis film). For sure both authors offer an insider’s sometimes scathing perspective on Manhattan culture, though Bushnell’s take is a lot closer to the Age of Un-Innocence. And even though SEX AND THE CITY was first published in 1996, dating some of the references, it’s amazing how much of what she wrote in the 90’s still holds true. If you have any doubts, see my 9-22 blog on “Keeping It Real.” Believe me, modelizing is alive and well.

Fortunately, so are dreams. Yes, “girls” of all ages still want to have fun. But along with the fun, we want the fairytale. Sure, Prince Charming is now Mr. Big, the castle is now an Upper West Side high rise, and the glass slippers are Manolo slingbacks with some sort of really amazing detailing on the vamp, but otherwise the story, the fairytale, plays out pretty much the same.

And I for one am holding onto it with both white-knuckled hands. Even Bushnell’s Mr. Big got it right in the end, at least in the television and film adaptations of the book.

“Sometimes you just want to be with the one who makes you laugh.”

Happily Ever After–and Happy Halloween,

Hope

PS In celebration of the day-long Witching Hour, I’ll be pulling out my Inner Princess along with my ghoul-friends Liz Maverick, Elizabeth Kerri Mahon, Leanna Hieber et al as the Goth versions of popular fairytale princesses. I’m going as Goth Snow White and in addition to that Poison Apple, my costume’s corset is well, murder.

Happy Memorial Day

Memorial Day weekend in Manhattan overlaps with Fleet Week, made famous (or is that infamous) by that great “Sex and the City” TV episode. Literally thousands of U.S. sailors, marines, and Coast Guardsmen (and women!) make port in Manhattan for a week-long celebration that includes public visitation of the ships.

I can’t say I’ve celebrated Fleet Week Carrie Bradshaw style–ever notice how *she* never seems to have revisions, certainly none that interfere with her social life? Still, when I have gotten out to soak up the spring sunshine, it’s been fun seeing tribes of crisply outfitted Navy men and women roaming the city in packs, savoring their shore leave in America’s most exciting city.

On occasion it’s also been heartwarming. Take yesterday, for example. I was headed east through Greenwich Village when I fell in behind a foursome of white-suited sailors. A bright-eyed elderly woman stepped in front of me, not as it turned out to knock me to the curb.

She reached into her purse, pulled out her wallet, and shoved a twenty dollar bill in one young sailor’s hand. “This is for your service, to show my appreciation for all you do to keep this country safe. I want you all to have a beer on me. It’s the least I can do.”

Random acts of kindness and senseless beauty isn’t just a catchy slogan that looks good on car bumpers. Some people out there, quite a few, actually, are living the dream.

Happy Memorial Day,

Hope

You get what you need…


Last Friday my local Athenaeum threw a book launch party to celebrate the release of my Harlequin Extreme Blaze contemporary romance novel, The Haunting. The book is set in downtown Fredericksburg, VA, the 40-block historic district, to be exact. So was the party. Not in the heart of Manhattan where I’d always imagined my book release party would be, if indeed I was fortunate enough to have one but in Fredericksburg, the small town where I’ve made my home for the past six years–and counting.

Fredericksburg is very much a character in The Haunting much like Manhattan in the Candace Bushnell bestseller, “Sex and the City.” I jokingly refer to The Haunting as “Sex in the Itty Bitty City” to some people’s amusement and others’ chagrin.

If you haven’t already guessed, I’m a huge “Sex and the City” fan–the television series, that is. I faithfully watched the episodes when they were first broadcast on HBO, and I watch them in re-run most weeknights.

During the program’s last season on the air, I gathered with girlfriends every Sunday night to drink Cosmos (what else) and nosh on themed snacks as we counted down to the final episode. Like the ubiquitous spin doctors who rear their “talking heads” post-televised Presidential speech, we’d hang around afterward to dissect the underlying truth of that night’s episode, which invariably held far reaching implications for our own less-than-perfect romantic lives.

Most devotees of any TV program have their personal favorite episodes, and I’m no exception. I have a few. I actually thought the producers did a great job with the final episode and though it’s probably not politically correct to admit it, I really liked that Carrie ended up with Big. Heart of gold aside, Aiden was always a little too earthy for me and as for Carrie’s other main love interest, fellow author John Burger–“Burger”–well, he always struck me as a whiny wimp. I mean, dude, your book tanked. Get over it and write another one. (All joking aside, Burger would never make it in romance fiction. We romance writers are made of sturdier stuff.)

The mention of Burger brings me to one of my top favorite episodes, the one where Carrie’s publisher throws her a posh Manhattan style book release party. There is a Cosmo bar, an enormous blow-up poster of the book cover featuring Carrie looking fabulous in short black coat dress and f-me-pump designer high heels, and the two Tweedle Dee Tweedle Dum publisher reps cooing over our girl as though her book’s the greatest thing to roll off the press since Gutenberg invented it. For her part, Carrie sports a chic shorter ‘do, a killer party dress and even more killer designer shoes–either Jimmy’s or Manola’s, we’re not sure.

But all is not exactly paradise. Friend Samantha’s face is an angry orange from a chemical peel gone bad. Other friend Charlotte is down-in-the-mouth about…something and Miranda is characteristically sarcastic albeit supportive. The guest of honor is dateless. Love interest John Burger shows up to wish Carrie well but despite the quantity of lingering looks exchanged, he leaves to go home to his girlfriend. Standing on the balcony staring onto the crowd, Carrie admits to herself she isn’t just alone. She is lonely.

She ends the night solo in a cab headed for home. The female driver learns she’s published a book and insists on stopping for a celebratory hot dog. The hot dog vendor, equally impressed with her accomplishment, refuses to let anyone pay. Sitting in the backseat of the cab with a sloppy hot dog in hand, Carrie suddenly realizes the night isn’t just kind of perfect–it really is perfect.

My book release party was held in a converted third floor artist’s studio with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto Caroline Street, downtown Fredericksburg’s main drag. Despite the conspicuous lack of traffic noise–okay, lack of traffic in general–I could almost imagine I was in a trendy converted warehouse in the Manhattan meat packing district. There wasn’t a Cosmo bar but there was some really nice wine and nice noshes to go with it and best of all, a bevy of good friends who turned out to celebrate with me along with a sprinkling of new faces who, like the cab driver in the “Sex and the City” episode, stopped in not to curb my enthusiasm but to share in it.

At the book signing earlier that day, I’d sold out of books, the book store’s copies and finally my own personal inventory. The party was the proverbial icing on the cake. Like Carrie, I didn’t have a date. Afterward, though, instead of going home alone in a cab, I went out with a group of friends to Bristro Bethem, our favorite downtime restaurant, where the owners Blake and Aby treated us all to a champagne toast.

It wasn’t exactly as I’d imagined my book release party to be–it was a hundred times better. Like the song says, “You can’t always get what you want but you get what you need.”

What times in your life turned out differently than you’d envisioned–only as good or better? Are there events you look back on with the 20/20 wisdom of hindsight and thank the Universe, God or so-called “dumb luck” for *not* letting you have what at the time you really, really wanted? Is there “someone” or maybe a collective of someones working 24/7 to save us from the hubris driving our all too frequently blind human desires?

Wishing you a springtime blossoming with needs fulfilled and dreams exceeded…

Hope