being carrie-d awaybradshaw

what defines a new yorker, in my opinion, is that you started out as a nobody. perhaps, the least, for the sake of giving it a prettier description since we lack any specific title, you’re this girl who came from a small town. you’ve come to the big city to chase your dreams and is adamant to make it yours. then you meet this man-about-town who is dashing, handsome and rich. he took notice of you, but you know you have nothing even close to what the other girls he dated have. you don’t go to gym, to spa, and you do your own mani/pedi read: nailbiting. but not the toenails. eww. you hair is taken care of by the those brands sold at pharmacy and at the mercy of your friends’ suggestions and references to their stylist at ‘discounted’ price. how do you maintain your weight? coffee. which helps in boosting your brain as well.
being the hopeless romantic, you still heart for that dashing, handsome and rich man. yes, yes, he took you out for dinner. you feel like for the first time, you are alive. and glamorous. and part of something oh-so-fabulous. but you go home with a sinking heart and it even gets more depressing when you wake up the next morning, knowing you have run out of your cinderella moment. you keep in touch with him, uh-hm. you. not him.

twenty-seven. and still stuck at twenty-six. but you’re getting there. that’s about the most achievable aim right now. unless you die first. well, at least the pain will stop. look at the bright side of things. you win some, you lose more.


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