carrie's dream closet

hey :)

saw sex and the city movie with hb last night, and it was a lovely little film, not the least because we're fans. have always followed the lives of those four women because, notwithstanding the sexualization (or glamorizing of sex), the romanticisation of so-called women's "choices", and the crass commercialism/materialism (that super ugly LV bag, hello?!?), there's still so much there that women like us (not in our early twenties, have undergone many ups and downs in our love lives) can relate to like the very real love/ friendship, the characters' endearing humanity, and their hopes and dreams. (completely forgetting for the moment, that hb and i have had much imagined/real fixation with New York City, hehehe, her for their scholarship year there, and me for a previous love interest. oh, and the shoes :P). oh, and in the end, they all ended up with really lovely men (including the villainous Mr. Big). see, loads of reasons.

and, it got me to thinking (on a new track, seeing as i do too much thinking already, anyway). and i thought that in some ways, some of life's more complicated problems are really quite simple. so simple that we can miss them for years. much like i can read the long words from the twisted -- up, down, diagonal, and across -- letters in a game of scramble/boggle, but often miss the words made up by directly aligned letters.

like the fact that, you can probably can actually tell (:p) which men in your life really do love you. they are the ones who actually care about how you feel. so simple but it's become so complicated. notwithstanding the roles out there that are so easy for us to play, that culture has so helpfully laid out all ready for us to assume (like the maligned suffering woman, the insensitive adulterous man, the ultra caring nurturing woman, the charming abusive dick), hence making it extra difficult to find and be our true authentic selves, the truth is that we are worth loving (despite ourselves, and despite the men who don't), and there are men out there who truly care (despite the men who don't, and despite them being themselves). but it gets so convoluted and we women will fail to weed out the ones who don't care (which we could have probably clearly seen after a few attempts), and then we die trying to make them care (a bit like rushing into rocks repeatedly). it's not helped that many times, those who don't give a rat's ass, really, will also make it appear like they do, occasionally. or that by this time, we'd have made ourselves care for them genuinely, that they themselves will find it impossible to let go of being loved up so nicely by us. we provide them endless, as one of my old fashioned psych books call it, "narcissistic supplies".