New York, Depressed Vaginas & Carrie’s Brownstone
Some people are Buddhist, others believe in reincarnation but when I’m down and out there is only one god I turn to…my curly hairy jesus – Carrie Bradshaw.
She’s just so damn relatable, apart from the expensive shoes and the amazing body. But beyond the gloss, Sex and the City is real life and it always makes me feel like my champagne problems are being understood.
Who hasn’t had a depressed vagina or felt like an average man couldn’t handle their sassiness? Come on…be honest. No one’s vagina is perfect.
So to finally be in New York City and on the Sex and the City tour was a dream come true.
The first stop was the Pleasure Chest, the place where Charlotte bought her first vibrator. For a sex shop with such high foot traffic you think that would have found something a little classier than a rubber fist to put in their window cabinet.
Since vibrators are something I encounter every day at work, I decided to check out another near by hot spot, Two boots Pizza. While the others were getting down and dirty with vibrators I was getting frisky with pizza.
New York pizza is the best damn thing ever. And so is touring Manhattan on an air conditioned bus in the middle of Summer with your favourite episodes running on the overhead TV’s while the real locations unfold before your very eyes.
It all started to feel very familiar as we left the buzz of the Garment District and turned into a street lined with trees and brownstones.
The bus stopped on the side of Bleeker St and we all filed out onto the footpath.
“The plan is to see Carrie’s famous brownstone and then you can meet me back here for cupcakes at Magnolia bakery.” the guide announced.
While the others strolled behind admiring the offering of designer shops, I kept up at the front of the line with the tour guide matching her stride for stride.
My heart raced as we approached the corner of Perry Street. A cute guy flew past me on a push bike and an old lady wash watering the medium strip in front of me.
It had the same peacefulness and serenity of my favourite Bourke street and yet nussled in the middle of the busiest city. It was certainly a beautiful spectacle.
A little further down the street I spotted a small group of women cowering on the steps of a handsome brownstone.
“It appears that we are not the first group through here today” she said.
For the next five minutes I stood in awe at possibly the most fabulous place I’d ever been.
The group of tourists on my bus walked up in a sensible fashion, posed in front of the house then disappeared as quickly as they came.
I held back until the very last girl left before unleashing my inner nutcase.
“Ok I need you to get one of me standing…portrait, then sitting on the step…I fucking swear if you make my arms look fat” I threatened my photographer.
I was almost hit by serval taxis in the process of showing my photographer how to get the shot I had envisioned.
It was then I was approached (at the exact speed in which you would safely approach a nutcase) by a girl of a similar age.
“Is there something special about this place?” she asked with an Australian accent so lovely and homely I almost wanted to embrace her.
“Ah…look…I don’t want to freak you out but this is THE apartment of Carrie Bradshaw” I said, a vein almost popping out of my head.
“Ohhh…I thought it was around here somewhere.” she said.
“Would you mind taking a photo of me?” the girl asked shyly.
WOULD I MIND TAKING A PHOTO OF YOU!?
I felt like I had just converted another A list celebrity into the Church of Scientology. OF COURSE I’LL TAKE A PHOTO OF YOU!
After the girl left, I stood alone for a minute or so visualising myself running down the steps in Manolos and into Mr Big’s arms.
And then as I was being waved over by the tour guide, a group of girls stepped out of the house next door looking prim and polished.
I thought for sure that they were going to run over and hug me and beg me to move in and be the Carrie to their group.
Instead one yelled mockingly “ohhhhhh Sex and the City, how funny” as they disappeared down the street laughing.
Anyone who takes the piss out of SATC does not deserve to live in such close proximity to house that Curly haired jesus built (or fictitiously inhabited).
While I could have wished the worst for them like an incurable depressed vagina I decided to take the high road.
At least I had found something that I believed in more than my sanity. That’s a lot of belief man!
The tour terminated at Times Square and I made my way to yet another New York institution… Saks Fifth Avenue. Home to the biggest shoe department in the world.
Saks Fifth Avenue boasts a shoe department so large it has its own postcode. I weaved my way through Christian Loubiton and Jimmy Choo, then found a boyfriend chair, connected to the wi-fi and found the exact mint condish Manolos I loved for $300 cheaper on Ebay.
For anyone traveling to New York in the near future I highly recommend doing the SATC tour. And for those of you who live in Sydney and don’t see travel on the horizon any time soon, don’t worry. The Carrie Bradshaw worship service commences at the SATC Church located in my Dirthouse on Bourke Street every Sunday after you crawl home from some random guys house and before brunch with the girls.
There will be coffee, there will be shoe therapy and there will be talk about vagainas…both happy and depressed.
See you there!
Miss P Patron Saint of Sexuality.