The other day I found myself home and pathetically sick. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t drink. I couldn’t think.

I spent the day with a bucket beside me curled up in the fetal position weakly channel surfing trying to find anything of substance on. What I found was a back to back marathon of Sex in the City. Now, I’m not a particular fan of the show. I don’t hate it, I just think the whole concept is … taxing. For me, anyway. I mean, really? No way that chic Carrie has that fabulous and dramatic a life. (The shoes! The clothes! The men! The parties! The paycheck! The orgasms!) 

Nevertheless, I found myself watching it for hours.

Previous to that day, I’d not caught more than a few episodes. Despite my lack of intimate knowledge about the show, I’ve always chuckled when people tell me they equate blogging with Sex and the City. I guess in their mind a blog = a column in the newspaper. A column in the newspaper = Carrie from Sex and the City.

Writing / Carrie Bradshaw

Doesn’t make sense to me either.

So like I said, my first chance to really take in this show was the other day. (Yes, I realize I am years and years late.) And I’m not gonna lie, it kinda blew my mind. Part of me loved the audacity of it all and the other part was completely perplexed.


Random thoughts in no particular order:

  • What the hell is she wearing? Seriously. No one wears that on purpose.
  • Okay, THAT character I can relate to. Noooooo. I take that back.
  • Ewwww!
  • Do any of these women have real jobs?
  • Dude. I don’t even know what that is. Note to self – Google it later.
  • Oh hell no.
  • Oh hell yes.
  • Wait, what?

And on and on…

My biggest amusement was, by far, her searching and poignant monologues.  Oh. Brother.

It cracked me up how much that women waxed poetic about EVERY SINGLE THING IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. Who the hell  has time for that type of introspection?

I’ll tell you who – someone who doesn’t have children and a full-time job.

I used to have deep thoughts too, you know. Okay, it was back in college, but still… Nowadays my deepest introspection revolves around if I have enough in the budget this month to cover ALL THE GREYS or if my boys have actually showered recently.

I’m pretty fascinating. OBVIOUSLY.

Maybe that is the little minx’s secret. Deep thoughts = deep pockets and all sorts of fabulosity.

Maybe if I spice up my own inner monologues a la Carrie Bradshaw, I’ll have a shot at a coveted pair of Manolos as well?


Maybe I’d better spend my time calculating the grey hair fund instead.