NYC Moms

Sex In the City leads to Sex at Home

I finally made it out to see Sex in The City the other night with a few girlfriends. I’m pretty sure we were the last women over 30 in New York to see it. All of the other people in the audience had already seen it.  Twice. I am not a loser. I am just a mother of a toddler.

The four of us met at Starbucks and headed to the theater where I grabbed two tons of overpriced popcorn, and some much needed Diet Coke, both of which I only eat when at the movies. We got great seats – front and center -- a bonus for being the last people on Earth to see the movie. I finished the popcorn before the movie even started and settled in for a night of movie bliss that I was overpaying a babysitter to allow me to see.

I will not spoil the movie since there are some of you outside of NY who may have not seen it already (for those of you in NY, it’s probably been spoiled already!). But suffice it to say, it measured up to my expectations. I was very happy. I have to say, though, that some things hit home that I’ve been thinking about ever since.

Dancing with the Sub-Pars

Announcer: Welcome, tonight, on Dancing with the Sub-Pars, Nancy and her husband, a completely ordinary couple, will attempt to better their marriage through the miracle of ballroom dancing.

Beautiful Sidekick (BS):  That's right, Bill.  It's quite an amazing experiment.  For some time now our couple has been secretly stealing away during their lunch hour to learn how to Cha Cha, rhumba, salsa and tango.

Announcer: It's true.  Though possessing only four left feet between them, they've managed to make it here tonight, to the finals.

BS: They'll be competing against a team of three: The Lack of Romances, The Overtireds, and the Same old Same Olds.  All together, these three call themselves The Perils of Parenting. 

Announcer:  Tonight, we'll find out if Nancy and her husband have a salsa that can add sizzle to their sex life, a Cha Cha that can charge-up their romance, and a Tango to topple the Perils of Parenting.

BS:  Will they take home the coveted  "My Marriage Still Feels Fresh" trophy?  Find out live, tonight, on Dancing with the Sub-Pars!

It's true, every Thursday afternoon for a year now, my husband and I have been dancing fools.  And I do mean fools.  We're not very good.  We never plan on competing. And no one would ever compare us to the celebs on Dancing with the Stars.  But we love it.

After ten years and two kids, our marriage had started to feel a bit like a business partnership.  You know: "You get the kids, and I'll get the milk.  Then you pay the bills, while I give the baths.  The memo on appropriate affectionate gestures in front of the kids will be on your desk by 8am tomorrow."  We needed a little something to remind us that besides being parents, we were also a couple. A couple of not very good dancers, but a couple nonetheless.

The housewives of NYC, a reality

For someone who doesn't watch a lot of TV, I watch a lot of TV. At least I can speak "intelligently" about what's on the tube. I'm not sure exactly when I manage to watch, but I do, and am well versed in reality television. This knowledge reaches beyond the classics, such as Project Runway and Top Chef, and extends to the seemingly more obscure Girls Next Door (what antics are the Playboy bunnies up to today?) and the colossal trash that is the Real Housewives of Orange County.

I was a little unnerved to learn that Bravo anticipates a NYC version of Real Housewives to debut in March. It is one thing to watch a ditsy, rich Californian of Orange County, transformed by plastic surgery, pick up her son from juvenile detention and quite another to consider the New York City equivalent.