By Sechavar

I was recently directed to a fellow blog posting entitled Carrie Bradshaw Math on The Frenemy, by my Wifey-Cakes Brittney. Besides the wonderfully written hilarity I found there throughout many of Alida’s articles, it reminded me that shortly before then a male co-worker asked me which of the Sex and the City girls I was. Now don’t get me wrong, I love watching these female characters prance through their sexual escapades thinking their issues are so incredibly important while wearing things I can’t afford or drinking things I can’t afford while living in places I can’t afford, but the last thing on my mind is “Oh, wow, I can’t believe how much this is like my actual life.” Even when I was actually living in NYC (one of the biggest mistakes I have EVER made), my life was massively unlike anything I saw in those episodes.

So, being the person I am I responded to my co-worker with a face punching “No.” I say face punching because some men, when they want to include women in conversation to show how sexist they’re not (read as “they are”), they try a conversational topic that they feel their female counter part can identify with. I can’t really blame him, to his credit he has a penis and knows enough about Sex and the City to use it in conversation, but I still feel I have a duty to correct this notion that the female population can be split into fourths based on these characters and tropes. Translation: I’m about to correct your ass and make you hate yourself for the next five minutes. Because of course, not being able to foresee the verbal ass whoopin’ in store for him, he had to ask a plaintive, “But why?”

“Because I am not a whiny white bitch.” Yeah. That may have been uncalled for. But, for the record, this guy curses more in the office than I do, and louder than me. So I doubt he was offended by my dirty mouth, but all cussing aside, he’s not white either, so I don’t think he felt I was attacking his phenotypic female kind. Some of you may be reading this thinking it’s racist. I’m not going to defend myself because I honestly don’t care. Seriously. You could be any kind of bitch, but if you’re a bitch and you’re whiny no one likes you. Pppbbbfffttt!!!!

The truth is it would be pretty sweet to have the lifestyle of one of the SATC women. Incredibly fashionable wardrobe, intelligent and funny lady friends, and a ridiculously large crop of tasty menfolk to pick from are not things I’m going to say no to (although I would personally like the option of le hawt women to choose from as well). But the other truth is that I have never had pity sex, gotten knocked up, never dated a guy for more than sex who wouldn’t introduce me to his mother, slept with a married person, stopped dating a guy because we disagreed on styles of place settings, and I would never take on a career that would mean promoting my significant other’s career. Yeah, I would not choose to do any of that stuff. When met with most of the boy problems these women face my answer is usually “No.”

You want me to wear a pearl thong? Ok. You want me to wear a pearl thong during the day while I go about my daily activities? No.

You want to get married? Ok. You want to pussy out and ditch me the day of because I wouldn’t answer your cell phone calls knowing I’m busy as shit about to get married to your ass and you’re about to see me in like ten minutes anyway? Bull.

You want to sleep with me? Ok. But you’re married? Fuck off.

A lot of things happen on this show that I would simply not agree to, participate in, or stand for. This may account for why I spend as much time being entertained by this show as I do yelling at the screen between spoonfulls of sugar free triple chocolate Jell-o pudding cups. Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte, you lead interesting and screwy lives, but to be honest,  I would never want to be any of you and it’s nice to know that my personal life is fairing much better than the expensive ones you lead in fiction land.

Because instead of smoking a cigarette pensively in my window wondering why the guy I have strong feelings for pisses me off so much, I’m going to call him and tell him it’s over unless he gets a pair that are at least as big as mine. And to my co-worker, I hope you’ve learned your lesson.