January 27th, 2004


Sex and the City.


Every time I watch "Sex and the City" with my girlfriend, and that old Russian guy swirls tongue with Sarah Jessica Parker, she runs up the stairs screaming "Grossss!" Every single time.

"Is it really that bad?" I ask. "It's not like he's some lecherous mummy molesting a teen supermodel. The woman's almost 40 and looks like a horse wearing a wig."

"Is he done yet?" the girlfriend asks from upstairs. It's so bad she can't even stand to be in the same room when Baryshnikov kisses her favorite "Sex" character. How could it be even more repulsive than when the cute brunette makes out with that fat, bald guy? Man, women in their thirties really do get screwed in the dating scene.

Funny thing is, I overheard an account exec saying the exact same thing about Baryshnikov while discussing the show with another female coworker.

"I cringe every time they're together. Why couldn't she just get back with Aidan?" she said wistfully.

I was about to say it's because Carrie not only cheated on the poor Aidan bastard, but she also tore out his heart with her bare hands and ate it in front of him when she ended their engagement. Serves that dumbass Aidan right for even proposing to the witch in the first place ... But then I realized I'd be publically declaring that I've not only watched "Sex and the City," but that whole Aidan thing goes two or three seasons back.

And now I'm realizing that I'm publically declaring this anyway. Which is fine, because not that many people use the Internet. But to be on the safe side I should assert my manhood and club a wild animal to death tomorrow.

I'm actually sad to see the series end. Every once in a while it gave me decent insight into the female psyche, the same way my girlfriend's Instyle and Cosmo magazines do. And it filled me with a strange mix of amusement and terror normally associated with serial-killing clowns.

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