Female Trouble for the Press
So I read this book last night, (yes, the glamorous nights of a swinging NYC single gal), and it was really strange, because it was written by the girl who writes "Female Trouble" for the Press and I had no idea until halfway through the book there is an article of the main character's, (who is also supposed to be a sex columnist), and its the exact same article as I had once read in the Press.
So then I flipped to the little author's blurb and all became clear. It was a really interesting book, because it seems almost completely autobiographical and I feel like I sorta know her in real life from reading her column here and there.
It was also fascinating because it was all about this chick's struggle between her inner sex pot and her inner housewife, which is a fight I know all to well. And her insane fantasies of love, fame, marriage and a baby carriage she drums up after ten seconds of talking to a guy were all too familiar.
I thought I was the only psycho who meets a guy at a party and occasionally, (ok, almost always), has this running movie in her head of my future with Mr. Whomever.
Him: "Hi, I'm Random Music-Obsessed-Guy-With-Serious-Commitment-Issues-and-I Really-Just-Wanna-Get-In-Your-Pants."
Me: Hi, I'm Cat!
Him: Blah, Blah, Blah, Music, Blah, Blah, Blah, Expression, Blah, Blah, Plah, Post Modern Existential Dilemma of Man, Blah, Blah, Blah
The Movie Narration Man in my Head, interrupted intermittently by swelling romantic music: Even though she is 10 years younger, there is this intense wisdom and breathtaking beauty in her sparkling green eyes that he can not resist....(weeks go by)....He is amazed by all she has to teach him, HIM, the older, wiser, thought-he'd-seen-it-all tough guy, reduced to wide-eyed amazement at this gorgeous creature. He feels the hard shell of his heart crack open, he tries to run away from the vulnerability she induces, but it is no use (Insert hand-to-forehead type dramatics here)....(years go by)...[Final pan out of happy couple with baby living in some unspeakably cute and hip apartment and living happily after.]
And I wonder why I can't keep a boyfriend. I'm sure my "sparkling green eyes" must just be dripping with delusion and pipe dreams of lazy afternoons in Thompkins Square, him with his guitar, me with my book....
Sigh. At least a girl can dream. And dreams I've got in spades.