Every thirty-something woman in this God-forsaken city will be at the movies tonight watching the Sex and The City movie. Including me.
I never had that kind of experience. I grew up 45 minutes outside of NYC proper and spent a lot of time there but mostly with my parents. Maybe the closest that I ever got to experiencing the freedom of Noo Yawk was when I was 18 and went back to visit my best friend from high school along with my boyfriend, Angry Rocker Dude. We spent a whole day in the city doing all the touristy fun things, eating at Carnegie Deli, all that good stuff. The best part of the trip was the fact that Angry Rocker Dude had never been on an airplane before, so when we caught the small puddlejumper from our hometown up to Newark Airport, his whole extended family - who I'll call The Clampetts - showed up to see us off. My mother was mortified, but honestly she should've been glad that they left their pet chickens at home.
Most of my time in the city was spent going to various museums and cultural events. Mom was always really big into that, not to mention that my dad enjoyed driving our car into the city because it reminded him of driving a tank in World War II. I shit you not. His tactic usually involved not making eye contact and getting one fender in first. Make sure you pack an extra pair of undies for those trips.
When SATC came out on HBO, I didn't watch it because of the stars. Or the humor. Or even, God help me, for the sex. I watched it because I missed that damn city so much. I relished each and every episode and secretly envied the fact that not only did these people have a cool job where they got to be in the city all the damn time, but that there was a whole show about the consummate "single woman experience" based in the city. That's what I would've chosen for myself, but it just didn't happen that way.
I'm hoping against all hope that the movie will be good. Not great, but good enough to enjoy with the Badasses tonight, most of whom have never been to Noo Yawk and won't understand someone who wasn't watching the show for all the regular reasons. Nor will they understand why someone would leave the chickens at home or why you should pack a change of undies when riding with my father in the city.
Today was the class party. I made cupcakes with vanilla icing and red sprinkles on some and blue sprinkles on the rest.
The rest of the menu was pretty tame. Hot dogs, chips, watermelon, and cupcakes. Lord, did we have cupcakes. Because not only did I bring some, but one of the other Peanut Allergic kids' moms brought some too. Each kid ate at least 2 cupcakes and then were being shipped home on the bus to some lucky parents.
I somehow ended up helping serve the food to the kids, who lined up to receive this bounty on their red and blue plates. The boys all suspiciously eyed me and asked repeatedly if I was REALLY Monkey Man's mommy. The girls all told me I was pretty. Nothing like a little ego boost from a bunch of six-year-olds, huh?
It was fun, and even when he was trying to act all cool in front of his friends the teacher told me he'd been so excited all week about me coming to his party that she got a kick out of it. I guess I need to do a better job of popping in every now and then.