Just like Carrie Bradshaw- if Carrie Bradshaw was a middle-aged mom in the suburbs

So, today's the day I learned that it's one thing to play armchair anthropologist when you're on vacation and your most ambitious endeavor is making an ass-print your sofa while watching football games, but quite another to attempt to come up with anything remotely profound when you actually have to go to work.   It turns out that I have a limited amount of brain cells, and most of them got blown as I attempted to reacquaint myself to the working world.  Brain cells, or no brain cells, I have new experiences to acquire and good deeds to do, so on my merry way, I go.

A recurring comment I've received in my two-day tenure in the blogging sphere has been "Wow, you're really just like Carrie Bradshaw now!"  Now, I loved Sex and the City, and I whimper at the watered-down version in syndication, but the fact of the matter is that I'm probably more of a Miranda with kick-ass footwear than I am a Carrie.    I'm much more likely to follow a script than to write one; more likely to play the game than to change the rules--hence this entire experiment.  However, I was curious, so I've compiled the following list (oh, how Miranda of me) to identify the ways in which Carrie Bradshaw and I are alike, and how we differ...

How Carrie B. and I are alike:

1.  Uh.....we both have MacBooks

2.  uhh...We both have blonde hair that takes hours in a chair with a skilled colorist

3.  uhhh- I think we're the same height and we've both been to NYC in the last year.

4.  (and this one's legit)....love.of.shoes.  

5.  (and this one's legit, too)--- fabulous friends.

How Carrie B. and I are different:

1.  While we're the same height, I'm pretty sure I outweigh her by at least 15 pounds.

2.  I have a real job that requires me to go to a real office and deal with real people.

3.  Pat Fields doesn't dress me on a daily basis (how great would that be?!?!?!)

4.  In the last 24 hours, no one has said "Mommy, I pooped, wipe my butt" to Carrie.

5.  Carrie Bradshaw eats in Manhattan's finest restaurants.  Right now, I have my hand in a box of cereal (a spoon would require a trip to the dishwasher that I'm unwilling to make), and i'm calling that dinner.....and i'm thrilled that i'm eating it in relative peace.

6.  Carrie Bradshaw lives in Manhattan in a charm-filled apartment.  I live in the freaking suburbs, and I nearly impaled myself on a rogue mega-block that didn't make its way back to the playroom, or anywhere near it.

To summarize: Carrie Bradshaw=fabulous all the time, under all conditions.  Me= fabulous if I happen to have a good hair day and am wearing yoga pants that don't have kid-crust on them while at Target. It's better than nothing.  Maybe by the end of the year, and after 363 more new experiences, I will be ever-so-slightly more fabulous. 

New Experience:  I'm a beachbody junkie, which means that I've tortured myself for the last 2 years doing workouts called "Insanity", "The Asylum", and anything with extreme in the title.  I've just started P90X2 and, for incremental masochistic torture, I've added in some Chalene Extreme as well.  I just survived something called "Plyocide", which is exactly as it sounds.  I'm either going to be in awesome shape in 88 days, or I'm going to reek of Ben-Gay....not entirely sure which.

And on the good deed of the day:  Childhood cancer sucks.  No one deserves cancer, much less a child who has not had a chance to live a full life.  If you have or love healthy kids, thank your lucky stars and DO SOMETHING for those who are fighting. 

Maybe I won't be Carrie Bradshaw by year's end.....and that's okay.  Maybe I'm destined to be more like Sarah Connor--- a mom who can kick some serious ass.

Limping to bed now,

Little Miss Sunshine