There are things worse than being 17, single, and female in New York City. Like: being 17, single, and living in bumblefuck, upstate New York. It's a rite of passage most girls would not want to repeat. The sad little parties in dirty basements, the near water Coors beer, the dumpy jeans from J.C. Penney, the immature boys who would grow into only slightly more mature men, the chronic low-self-esteem which would grow into a consistent thrum of self-loathing. It was Spring Break in bumblefuck, and Carrie Bradshaw was sprawled on her Laura Ashley comforter, wondering when she would finally emerge from the childhood of her discontent and flee to the bright lights and better cocktails of New York City. The low self-esteem she was working on; she had just recovered from the rhinoplasty she'd blown all her Bat Mitzvah money on. But after spending $3,000 to fix her "deviated septum," now she was too poor to take the bus to the City. Carrie had planned on meeting her best friend from Lake Gitchigumi Summer camp, Harmony Rothschild, at Palladium later that week. Since she couldn't flee to the City, Carrie was contemplating whether or not to attend Seth's party that night. Seth Bateman was incredibly bland and yet vaguely offensive, just like the rest of the lacrosse team. But ever since Carrie had broken up with Jeremy, she was constantly searching for something different. Not that Jeremy wasn't wonderful — he was kind and had a Thunderbird and was Rob Lowe gorgeous — she just assumed there had to be something else out there. They hadn't even had sex! After all, she was only 17. After a careful deliberation including four outfit changes, Carrie, clad in head to toe Benetton, figured that as long as she was stuck in Saratoga for the week, she might as well get away from her mother for the evening. Ever since her mother had been dumped by John Garrett Wiley III, Saratoga's leading real estate baron, she'd been badgering Carrie into a series of forced mother daughter bonding rituals. There were only so many nights Carrie could spend ritually painting her toenails and watching Murder She Wrote, so she flounced downstairs and as she ran out the door, called back to her mother, "I'm just going to a party…don't wait up!"
*Gawker Media does not have a team of hackers, nor is this a real page from Ms. Bushnell's manuscript...although it could be!Candace Bushnell To Pen "Sex and the City" Prequels