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Tag Archives: Sex and the City

Great for the Drug Dealer on the Go!

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I know the “stupid stuff on Etsy” blog is something that has been done before, but…


Oh no! You mean it’s sold? This always happens to me.

My only wish is that the mystery buyer was Patricia Field, planning to use it in the third Sex and the City movie.

Just imagine! Carrie could plant a huge hibiscus in her necklace- not only would it be on par with her fashions from the TV show, but it would have the added benefit of hiding Sarah Jessica Parker’s face.


Rant: Things I Can’t Stand About Sex and the City

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Disclaimer to male readers/those not familar with Sex and the City: I apologize. Please ignore this post, and expect more relatable comedy in the near future.

Disclaimer to all rabid SATC fans: If I hadn’t watched a billion episodes, I wouldn’t be able to be so irritated by these things. In other words, consider me one of you. Sort of.

These are in no particular order.

1. “Say, Aren’t You Carrie Bradshaw?”

Throughout the series, and in one of the movies, people have looked at Carrie and recognized her, and they all have been psyched to meet her. Really?

Carrie is a columnist for the New York Star, not the New York Times- and, even so, have you ever stopped to look at who’s writing the article you read? You might have glanced, but would you recognize them on the street? Furthermore, if you did, would you actually approach them? Even if, somehow, you answered “yes” to all of the following, would you actually be excited?

I recall Carrie once saying that her column is on “the page next to the Viagra ads” (or something similar.)

So- you have a trashy column in a trashy paper about one girl’s social life. She branched out into books, but what publicity does the average book get? Do you really buy this woman has fangirls? Which leads us to…

2. Carrie is a Mary Sue

Do I need to elaborate on this?

Carrie Bradshaw is elegant. She is in head-to-toe designer clothing, despite being, y’know, a columnist who can’t afford an apartment. Everyone finds Carrie charming. Everyone thinks Carrie is funny. Every man Carrie wants is attracted to her. When Carrie has a crisis, all the other characters completely put their lives on pause for her.

No one is ever mad at Carrie. No one ever faults Carrie for her actions- and when they do, she still gets her way (see: Aidan after she cheats on him with Big.) Carrie has overreacted about a million things, but has anyone ever stopped her and said “hey, Carrie, you’re overreacting?” No. It’s always “ugh, girl, I hear you. You are so right to be upset about getting a new computer.” Carrie has also interrupted other people so much I have literally adopted the term “Carrie Bradshaw” as a verb.

Carrie Bradshaw: v. To interrupt people talking about their problems, only to tell them your less important problems.

But does anyone care? Is Carrie ever forced to confront these issues, or forced to have a character arc? Has Carrie Bradshaw ever changed?


But the audience isn’t supposed to care, because the characters don’t care… because Carrie is a Mary Sue.

(To further prove my point… Carrie Bradshaw and Candace Bushnell share the same initials. Take any one of the Mary Sue litmus tests, and the very first item will ask if the character is in any way named after the author.)

3. “This is Totally Going in my Column!”

This is a simple question: why don’t any of Carrie’s friends or acquaintances care that she spills their innermost secrets, personal lives and sexual philosophies in her column? She doesn’t even bother changing the names!

4. Why, Miranda, Why?

Why does Miranda even hang out with these girls?

Let’s look at the facts:

1. They are three complete and total charictures. We have: the total nympho, Polly Prissypants, and the neurotic one. Sure, Miranda has been guilty of cynicism on a Janeane Garafolo level, but she is also someone who is, by most accounts, normal. She doesn’t live in la-la land or get preoccupied with a new man every episode. She is… a realistic portrayal of a New York woman.

2. Is she even compatible with the others? She is an extremely left-brained lawyer with an average sex drive, relatively drama-free existence and a moderate hunger for glamour. Carrie, Samantha and Charlotte all work in the arts and entertainment industry, have a constant need to be complaining or sharing details of their oh-so-dramatic and glamourous lives and feel empty without a man (in more ways than one.)

3. Do the girls even care about Miranda? Other than the episode with Miranda’s mother’s funeral, have you ever seen the girls team for Miranda’s benefit? Have her problems dujour ever been the priority of an episode?

Maybe Miranda is just people-watching… maybe she is secretly extremely amused by the girls’ total lack of a third dimension, and that is why she spends her time with them. Maybe every brunch is Miranda’s own version of Dinner With Shmucks.

This makes me wonder: what would SATC be like from Miranda’s point of view. I imagine it would be much like Will & Grace: slightly neurotic and cynical redhead as the lead, impossibly campy supporting characters for comedic effect. Hmmm… I sense a post coming up (“If Miranda Were the Star of Sex and the City…”)

And… last, but not least…

5. Mr. Big < Aidan

Enough said.

If Movie Titles Were Honest

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This was last week’s Cracked Photoshop contest. I will warn you ahead of time… I went kind of overboard on this one. I was desperate to make a good one, because I did not make the winners’ page last week. It is funny, then, that the very first entry I submitted ended up on the page, but none of the others did. There were about 550 entries, and I made it to #10. Yay!

Anyway, most of these are crap, but if you enjoy any of them, or want to say what you would have made for the contest, let me know in the comments section!

Click the thumbnails for larger versions.

Alternate version of this joke here:

This one looked a lot better, then I saved and uploaded it, and now it looks like crap:

There is an alternate version of this one here:

If Carrie Bradshaw was a Blogger: Carrie on Facebook

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Thanks to TBS’s late night/early morning Sex and the City reruns, I have become very familiar with the show. What I’ve also become familiar with? The unique and never-changing style of Carrie Bradshaw’s columns. Observe.


Facebook. There comes a time in every girl’s life she must face the inevitable- her first wrinkle, her first grey hair, and the pressure to join a social networking site. Eventually, we must all cave in.

That day came for me this week while I was in Barney’s with Samantha. While purchasing a pair of zebra pumps that would turn any man into an animal, I mentioned that my face was not on Facebook, and my bagging turned to nagging. After much convincing, Samantha set up a profile for me.

Although I have seen most of my acquaintances in the buff, and I have certainly seen my share of online porn, when I finally decided to face Facebook, I was shocked to see people so exposed on the internet. Is Facebook just a lookbook- but instead of fashion, it lets us view this season’s collection of personal lives? I knew who I needed to consult- Miranda.

Miranda, cynical over Cinnabuns, had a Facebook-phobia of her own. As she and I shared a bun, Miranda shared that she did not want to share her personal information. 

When I got home, I had a friend request from Keith Major- in high school, Keith was a major pain in my backside, but now, it seemed he had a major growth in his backside. I wondered- should I add him? By clicking ‘accept,’ instead of ‘reject,’ was I accepting his rejection of my feelings? By requesting my friendship, is he saying he already considered me a friend, or wanted me to become his friend? Does a Facebook friend have to be your friend? I needed a second opinion.

While noshing at Nobu with Charlotte, I mentioned my dilemma. A former art dealer and an admirer of DaVinci, Charlotte had her own Code. According to the York-Goldenblatt golden rulebook, hitting “reject” is simply rude. Charlotte insisted I add Keith to my network.  I did. When I got home, full of edamame and enlightenment, I clicked his profile. At first I felt dirty, like a citizen accidentally given Top Secret files, but then, like the time I accidentally obtained the Givenchy catalog a month early, I couldn’t help but snoop.    

It seems that Keith, who was so cool in the ’80s he was possibly the first member to wear a Members Only jacket, now kills yellowjackets- in an exterminator’s jacket. I learned that he is a divorced father of two, and, while he lost ninety percent of his hair, he gained ninety pounds on his body. I read the wall posts from his furious ex-wife and sifted through pictures of him at the 27th Annual Crossword Puzzle Tournament- and, just as he now kills pests, the thought of Keith as a pest was now killed.

And that’s when it hit me- Facebook is the cyber equivalent of a 10 year reunion- but, instead of free cocktails and awkward handshakes, we share Farmville gifts and shameless pokes. And, after my sophomore Sociology sweetheart- who dumped me on a staircase, leaving me with a broken heart and a broken stiletto- left me a photo comment, I relaxed. We were reuinited… and it felt so good.