It was October 2001, and I lived in New York City. I was twenty-two. I, like many of my female friends, suffered from a strange combination of post 9/11 anxiety and height of Sex and the City anxiety. They are distinct and unnerving anxieties. The questions that ran through my Ming were something like this: 'Should I keep a gas mask in my kitchen? Am I supposed to be able to afford Anglo Blank shoes? What is Barneys New York? You're trying to tell me a place called 'Barney's' is fancy?' Where are the fabulous gay friends that I was promised? Gay guys hate me! Is this anthrax or powdered sugar? Help! Help!

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?