Suck it, SJP

Living in New York is something I’ve always dreamed about, even before the Sex and the City wannabes decided to flock to my favorite metropolis and attempt to live the life of that beloved, horse-faced fictional character. Too bad that it’s virtually impossible for normal humans to afford a decent one bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side– not to mention comically ugly designer dresses and hard to pronounce brand name shoes– unless one marries rich, works in finance, or moonlights as Eliot Spitzer’s dominatrix.

Minus the dominatrix part, the Sex and the City World is actually sort of what my life will be like in a month. Except instead of a well-paying, low-intensity dream job, I’ll be an impoverished graduate student who will soon be an underpaid, overworked public school teacher in a low-resource, struggling NYC public school. I’ll have designer clothes too—exclusively from the House of Kohl. Psh, and who needs a newspaper column when I have all of THIS delicious grandeur? Oh yeah, baby. Livin’ the high life.

This show was about lesbians, right?

(This show was about lesbians, right?)

But that’s where the similarities between my amazingly glamorous life and estrogen-driven television fiction end. Instead of the posh Upper East Side, I’ll be living in the chic Upper West Side. Except by “Upper West Side,” I really mean Harlem. But whatever, my white friends tell me that it’s cool since Bill Clinton’s doing it. And he’s totally white.

So this is where I begin—my first step toward my New York City lifestyle. Excuse me while I compulsively check Craigslist’s housing section for the first time in approximately thirty-six point four seconds.

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