New York Cliché

I’m a struggling actress trying to survive in New York City and make it in all the ways that everyone wants to make it. My posts are personal essays about living life in NYC- dating, theatre, work, trials and tribulations. Stories that make you think, “That’s so New York”. Sometimes my life is like Sex and the City, sometimes like chick lit, but most often just like me. I strive to find the humor of situations (I love making people smile). I confess a penchant toward wordy descriptions and dramatic flare (and parenthesis).

The Supporting Cast 

My girlfriends and I are in our twenties, we live in New York. It goes without saying we’ve played the OMG-Who-Are-We-On-Sex-and-the-City! game. In terms of this blog, I am obviously Carrie, the narrator. My girlfriends are as following:

Miranda: My BFF. We moved to Manhattan together and have lived in the same apartment together ever since. We’ve never gotten in a fight. I can always go to her for advice. She’s easily the coolest person I know, in an incredibly modest way. She’s been an amazing, loyal friend (just like Miranda Hobbes) to me since we were ten years old. Used to work in advertising (I got to see Lady Gaga in MSG thanks to her perks), now has an even cooler job as a scientific assistant.

Samantha: My newest bestie and newest roommate. If you were to stumble across our apartment randomly, she is the one most likely to be in some state of undress. Case in point: the last time I had a boy over, she came out of her room in a black lace bra and panties. She was not trying to seduce my fellow, she was merely getting ready to go down the hall. Why? Because she’s dating the guy who lives down the hall (but she won’t call him her boyfriend: totally Samantha). Don’t you wish she had a blog? However she does have a blog entry all about her, written by the lovely lady who sublet my room over the summer. Find it: here. I would have hated this girl in high school, but I love her dearly.

Charlotte: My other best friend. I’ve also known her since I was ten. She was part of the original 3-some in the 3-bedroom apartment. She left us to move in with her boyfriend in an apartment that overlooks Central Park. She works at a preschool and often falls asleep before 10pm. But when she’s in the right mood and got some energy, she has an incredible magnetism and every one wants to be around her. She has two cats and she talks about them too much, but she’s aware of it so that makes it ok. Knows how to throw a dinner party like no one else I know.

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I have been on my fair share of dates here in New York City. The grand majority of which never turn into anything, certainly not anything blog-worthy. But sometimes they do. I have yet to meet my Mr.Big. Here are the main men of my New York City dating experiences. (I could also say, “Meet my ex-boyfriends!”- in an homage to Patti Stanger and guilty pleasure TV.)

Central Park Guy: My foray into Manhattan dating, he picked me up in Central Park on my first full day in NYC. What a beginning. Kind of a jerk because I let him be one. Well, and because he has the words “NO SHAME, NO REGRET” tattooed in large letters, one phrase on each forearm. Taught me a valuable lesson.

Cute Theatre Boy: We met at a theatre company. He’s an actor. Dated dramatically for several months during which he held my hand while I cried in the ER and helped me wash blood from my hair. He broke up with me while we were sitting on his bed. He was wearing pajama pants with polar bears on them, I was wearing rivers of mascara down my cheeks (that means he made me cry). Remained friends with him for far too long before I finally realized he’s toxic and the most selfish person I’ve ever met (though not in bed).

Trader Joe’s Guy: He checked out my groceries (and probably my butt) at Trader Joe’s. Yes, I actually dated some one I met at the grocery store! An actor of only 20, he was super sweet to me when I was sick but there was no way it was going to work out.

Banjo Guy: Struck up a conversation with this hipster on the street. That was the high point of the relationship. It lasted way longer than it should have, he turned out to be kinda crazy. Claimed we “weren’t really dating” when I broke up with him, then later referred to me as his ex-girlfriend.

Safa Boy: Nineteen, South African, a drifter/traveler. We met while both working different promotions in Times Square. A whirlwind, romantic, crazy, destined-for-disaster fling. Found out he cheated on me by reading his diary. Worst breakup of all these boys but I have no regrets.

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GBF. My gay boyfriend. The guy I turn to when all the above ones fail. Decidedly more Brad Goreski than Stanford Blatch. He has a whole blog post devoted to him: here. He still hasn’t come out to his father and I’m almost self-absorbed enough to still think it’s my fault!