Defend Sex And The City. (SATC2 Review)

(No Spoiler-o.)




Dating an obese man who won't change AND dating a man with kids whose mother prefers the ex.

These are the sole two topics my BFF and I figured out are the only two stones unturned in the franchise span of Sex And The City's six seasons and two movies. And until they cover that shit, we won't stop going to see anything Michael Patrick King dreams up for our four favorite heroines.

I'll have you know that I've gotten too much shit from guys about my love for SATC. Too much. Sorta sounding like this...

"Not YOU Nye!"
"I'm so disappointed!"
"Oh shit. You really ARE a girl!"

Yes...I am. Complete with a vagina and estrogen. Sorry to disappoint fellas.

Wanna know why women love SATC? (Well, aside from knowing there's nothing better than sitting on a couch next to your boyfriend and watching that shocked look on his face that says "Do women really think like this?!". Please resist the temptation to say "no". In other words...try not to lie.)

Real talk...SATC is our grown up version of the Disney Princesses thrown in a blender on high with some Barbie added in...all poured in a fabulous martini glass. And just like little girls like to dress up like the Princesses...well...you get the point.

The stories? Totally Princess. Strong female leads who don't fit in, ugly ducklings in their own worlds. They want more and live in a world that doesn't realize how fabulous they are until one day...

The fashion? Totally Barbie. I don't need to explain this, do I? The gazillion types of Barbie? A closet that never ends...and that was BEFORE the gays got a hold of her. And speaking of the gays...

This is my only beef with the movie. (Aside from the shock of how old everyone looked.) The series itself was gay and campy, sure. But that was balanced out with a healthy dose of a writing team comprised of women & straight men to tone down all that....ALL THAT. Because as we can see, Michael Patrick King, left to his own gay-vices, gives you Liza Minnelli.

Doing "Single Ladies" in a body suit.

At a gay wedding.

With swans.

I almost wanted to throw a football at the screen to see if it would burst into glitter due to the sheer force of the gayness radiating out of it.

But I digress.

My point is...SATC is not real. It's not supposed to be!

It's a comedy people...lighten up! And it's contributed a much needed service. Get women through the sheer hell of dating in your 30's with a laugh while vicariously playing dress up in some outrageously priced clothing. What? This is wrong?!

We know its fake...but those flaws and doubts and dating disasters are as real as they get. And for anyone who has watched an ex get married and asked, "Why HER and not ME?"....

For every woman who has found herself an unplanned mother while trying to maintain a career...

For every woman who has had to watch all her friends get married and start families while she seemed to fail at it over and over...

For every woman who saw a hot guy and wished she the had the balls to just...well...fuck him and forget him....

THIS show got you through it all....without wanting to off yourself.

As for the movies...with some schmaltz and a smile, they've answered the question we were dying to know after Big told Carrie..."You're the one." (..And we found out his name was "John". Eww...BTW. Just...EWW.)

That question being....umm...OK.....Now what?

Everyone is married...so is life over?

I mean...it took soooo much to get Bradshaw to Preston...now what? Huh?
What do we do NOW Carrie?!! ANSWER US!!

And that's the reason we needed the movies. Not wanted. NEEDED.

When the "Now What?" arises, we know that somebody...even if they are fictional...has been through it. ("it" being "marriage". Territory that the single woman finds dark and mysterious and frankly...wonders why the hell she's even heading towards it...)

And these fake/glammed out chicks will offer wisdom and calm your ass right down. And when you get through it in your personal life...ALL of it....you can pop in that DVD box set and laugh at their mistakes.... and yours.

Knowing where they've been...and how far they've come, you can DO that. You got through some of the very same bullshit. It's just not all wrapped up in a pretty pink velvet box set...(Thank GOD.)

I'm currently living season six...where the ladies are just a little older than me (Thank GOD x 2) but that's cool.

I like my Sex And The City ages decades from me. At least one decade to be safe...

And to be honest...I don't care what happens to them next. All I ever cared about was them up to this point. Especially since the "boring married couple scenario" has always scared the shit out of me. Almost as much as "I wanted a kid and now I hate it" fear. And now, as they told me before when I had my "I'm gonna get jilted at the altar" panic attack, they've calmed me right the fuck down with this movie. Right the fuck down.

"Life goes on. You will survive if it does happen. But please look fabulous while doing it. And when you go through menopause, get that Suzanne Sommers book.
-Love, The Girls."

And now...I can slip off their little tiny Manolos, and put the dolls back in their carrying case. There's nothing more to say. Life's training wheels are off....time to close the book and live it. I don't need another sequel. I get it...I know the last line of the book.

"And they all lived happily ever after...most of the time. And when they didn't, they survived anyway. ...In gold encrusted Louboutins. The End."

And yeah. I know it's not real. But it makes me feel better, OK? Lay off. It's my thing. And I love it.

P.S. BTW...Miranda DID date a fat guy in Weight Watchers after she had Brady. (Glazed donuts...remember? He kept trying to kiss her after he went down?)
She also dated the guy with the kid from the gym.
Charlotte dated Trey who had "Bunny"...the back washing mom.
I'm sure if we combined all three episodes, we've got some answers here.

P.S.S. Charlotte and Harry's baby is ugly. Sorry...but she really is. At least they kept that real.
There's no WAY Charlotte and Harry would make a cute kid. No. Way.

Cost: $12.50 for a ticket. But if you know some bootleggers... $5.
Black Factor: There are no black people in Sex And The City. I mean, the assistant was a cute attempt, but really... we weren't fooled. There are, however, plenty of brown folk in this one. Plenty.
Would You Do It Again?: Oh for the love of John James Preston...of course I would. And will. Over and over... and over ...


- Posted using BlogPress from my NyePad.

Location:A coffee shop. (How "Carrie"...I know.)

Run 10K's...Through The Effin Mud

Nah... we don't. Especially black women.

We don't run. Well not unless we have some sort of background in the military or some shit, and even then, we don't like it.

For example...

My older sister came home from the Army in amazing shape back in the day.
She was a cheerleader, but this took her body to a whole other level.
Cut. Ripped. Toned. She was Linda Hamilton in T2, with deltoids and abs not to be fucked with.

She looked nothing short of amazing and attributed her sweet...sweet..back to waking up every morning with her troop and running five miles.

Five. Fucking. Miles.

Running.

Every. Single. Morning.

"No, but it's fun!", she insisted. "We run to cadence so it makes it easier."

Now maybe it's just me, but when men, traditionally, had to make up songs to get through some shit, it wasn't pleasant.

Chain gangs...slavery... You get my meaning.

So there's no amount of sugar filled spoons that was gonna convince me running was a happy experience. I mean, of you look at the faces of people who run, they are, very clearly, the exact fucking opposite of joyful. They look like death.

Death with bad knees.

So no thank you Sis. You ran cuz the govt paid you. You want me to die for free? Nah...I'm good. Mama didn't raise no fool. Well, not more than one, anyway.

Fast forward twenty years. (Ouch. When did I become able to speak in terms of multiple decades?! Stay tuned for my Mid-Life crisis after these important messages.)

My body has decided to turn into Artex the horse in "The Never Ending Story". Wait...let me back up.

I broke my foot, couldn't workout or walk. THEN I caught a painful wart. Couldn't workout or walk. Seven months later....15lbs. Boom. I can't fit my jeans. Double boom. I refuse to buy new clothes. Pow. I retreat into the Swamps of Sadness. I'm gonna be fat...sigh. Let me just give up. Fuck it.

Then, the gays decided this couldn't happen. Not me. The gays. And once you get gay husbands, you are bonded for life.

"It's not cute." No, they didn't actually say this. Instead, they made suggestions...

"Hey...why don't you RUN the Army ten miler with us?!!"

...Run? 10 miles? Even with all the hot Army guys surrounding me, this seemed like a bad idea. I can see me now. On mile 4...looking like a big bag of what-the-fuck while a crew of tight bodied, buzz-cut army dudes cadence their asses right past me, chanting to the top of their man-voices about fat people.

(Oh yes. It's a real cadence.)

Needless to say, I passed. Even though the race would take place well after my foot was healed...still. No thanks.

Then they asked me to go to Hip-Hop dance class. Knowing I am a part of the Rhythm less Nation, I said no thanks.

And this is how weight gain happens. Suddenly, you find yourself saying no to anything active and yes to Hot and Crusty. And Cheeseburgers (but they're SLIDERS). And pizza. And garlic fries from Trader Joes.

...the whole bag.

Now, shit doesn't get real however, till you have to go somewhere requiring "dress up" clothes. Well, at least, that's when shit got real for me.

A healed foot, beautiful shoes...and a closet full of "a size too small". And for someone who was once "ten sizes too big" (and didn't notice till I was in a Vegas bathroom standing next to Playboy Bunnies looking like the "before" photo)...attention must be paid.

So that said, the next time I was asked to participate in something that would facilitate the shrinking of my ass...I had to say "Yes" to it. And that meant I would be participating in the "Down And Dirty" 10k in Philly, this July.

Where (in costume), I'll be running 10k....AND hurling myself over and through military obstacles, water crossings, cargo climbs...

I HAVE to work out. And run. Or go back to "before".

I'm presently on week 3 of training and it's ugly. Its reeeeeal ugly. Up to 4 miles run/walk...with miles to go before I sleep.

So...apparently, Momma did raise a fool. But this fool's body will be incredible...and back in a 6 shortly...or close to it, by race day.

(Oh...and I DID take that Hip-Hop dance class. That entry is coming. It wasn't pretty. Just gonna put that out there.)

COST: $60 (if you register before July 1st.)
BLACK FACTOR: Aside from my group? Ehh. We don't normally run and we DEF don't run in mud...or water. (Hair thing...helllloooo) but there are enough brown folk there to feel comfy. Besides...after the mud, everyone is brown.

WOULD YOU DO IT AGAIN?: Well...let's just see how it goes, shall we?

www.downanddirtymudrun.com