Without the Manolo Blahniks

(I could do a whole post about what life has been like these past few days without full computer capacity. But that would be boring. Many of you have been there done that. It has been a strange combination of maddening frustration and liberation. Oh sure, I could borrow Mr. Farklepants' laptop to check my emails and hit Twitter briefly, but he needs it to check his fantasy football stats for work because he's on two leagues very important. There's no way I'd have been able to steal it away with time consuming blog posts. We'd be like two smokers stranded on a deserted island and only one of us has the match and the last Marlboro Light. You might convince him to let you have a drag or two but he's gonna smoke the shit out of that bitch.)

**here is where I'd insert an image from Sex and the City but why jinx my luck? It's offical; I'm afraid of my computer and what it might do. So if you've been living under a rock and don't know what SATC is, Google that shit**

Friday night, three friends gathered together to watch Sex and the City, the movie. These three friends are not much unlike Charlotte, Samantha, Carrie, and Miranda. Except that there are only three to their four. And those friends are less slutty promiscuous, a bit less invasive of each other's lives, and don't have fictional incomes to support extravagant couture and lifestyles. But these three have been friends for nineteen years. They have been there with shoulders to cry on, all-nighters to sort out each other's problems, vacations and girl weekends, weddings and births, divorces, and celebrations. And even though they don't spend as much time together as the characters in the movie, it never seems as if time has passed when they eventually come together once more. Also, being in Los Angeles, the three friends do much less walking and a great deal of driving, because? You'd never make it to your destination walking in LA. One word: SPRAWL.

Two were born and raised in Los Angeles and the other a native New Yorker with the slightest hint of a Brooklyn accent. They met at work at a tender age; two of them teenagers and the other in her early twenties. The oldest of the three introduced to the younger friends the importance of a decent hair dresser, brow waxing, and imparted some wisdom about men. Real men, not those boys fresh out of high school. And in those early years she kept the younger girls in ample supply of Cosmopolitans Bahama Mamas. She was the shit.

They went out nearly every night after work together. There was that one time that they agreed to wait tables at the sports bar down the street that was hosting a rugby tournament because they were regulars friends of the owner; and they were all, why did we agree to this again? These dudes are whack! We have jobs, yo. Oh good look, the Miller girls are here. Oh joy. As they got older, the restaurants and hangouts improved immensely. Better food and prettier drinks.

And even as the years have gone by, and their lives took new and different directions; two marriages each for two of them and one never married and without children [kinda the Miranda of the group with less judgyness and bitchy...that Miranda, so hostile], they have always been a constant in each others lives. There have rarely been quarrels or hurt feelings, and if there were, it was quickly resolved and forgotten.

These three friends had heard the movie kind of blew. But they disagreed with the general consensus and thought is sort of rocked. But maybe that's because the three of them were together drinking goblets of wine just the way it's supposed to be.