Becoming Carrie Bradshaw

Sometimes, like most women, I want to be Carrie Bradshaw. I mean, its like, my ultimate dream.
I want to come home to my New York apartment everynight, curl up on the couch with my laptop, and write. For a living. The only problem is that I lack material. I don't have a Mr. Big. Now personally, I would have went John Corbett. Because Corbett is fucking hot. But the fact remains the same, I'm just too single.
Carrie spent a lot of time being single as well. But at least she had prospects. An elaborate rendezvous here, a one night stand there. Each leading her to write another brilliant revelation about relationships, or just outright sex, that every woman in New York related to. In turn ensuring her salary, allowing her to buy one more pair of Manolos, which she wore on her next date with Big. A perfect cycle. Thus is Carrie Bradshaw's life.
Me? No perfect cycle in this life. I would have to write something other than a sex column. It would most likely be boring and no one would read it. And so there I would be, alone and Big-less in the city.
I've never not been single. My friends have all had boyfriends, sexual misadventures. Me, not so much. Okay, not at all.
Once you've been single for so long, there comes a point when your friends stop being considerate in discussing your situation. They just become your own personal e-harmony. I recall when my friend Hannah began dating a fellow employee at Taco Bell and wanted to set me up on a date with his friend, also an employee at Taco Bell. She described him as "dinky," which, to me, meant that he was either small in stature or kind of a dumbass. Hannah explained that it was the latter, but that he was really nice.
I politely declined her offer. Not because of any fucked up standards I have, but because I didn't want to spend the night making small talk with someone I had virtually nothing in common with. Making small talk is probably the basis of my relationship problems. I could never take the initiative and simply ask someone out. I find myself intrigued by those who can.
But what would Carrie have done? Would she have went out with this man? Possibly. It would depend on whether he was good in bed. They probably would have skipped dinner (his minimum wage salary couldn't afford a New York restaurant) and went straight to her apartment to spoon.
I had no intention of spooning. I doubt we would have engaged in a lifelong relationship or a torrid affair. But what would have been the harm in going out once? What is common knowledge to most, has taken me 18 years to discover. Sometimes, you just gotta date. I've been waiting for this perfect geek with a great sense of humor to find me, when maybe I have to find him. Or maybe this guy I have in mind doesn't exist. Maybe he's someone completely different. Maybe my standards are fucked up. After all, Mr. Big was very flawed.
I haven't quite perfected the art of being Carrie Bradshaw. I'm sure it's something that takes many years to master. Perhaps its the search that shapes us; a string of bad dates, a heartbreak... creating our own perfect cycle. Only then can we appreciate, or identify, exactly what we've found.
Until then, I'm on a search for my version of Mr. Big, whoever he may be. And, just to put it out there, I'm available.