Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Steam & The City

So on Friday, hell opened up and the city of new york was flooded with hot humid air. All breeze departed for the weekend, possibly to the Hamptons, and we all suffered. Thank Jesus that I have an air conditioner, albeit the noisiest air conditioner in existence, to save me from drowning in a pool of my own sweat.

I mean it was 100 degrees and raining. That is just fucking disgusting. Not to mention how dirty that water is, and probably full of acid and pollutants. I should really have been showering more, but all I wanted to do was lay in bed in my air conditioned room.

I did however, see the Sex & The City Movie which I went into with low expectations. I'm not a super fan, I mean I've seen all of the series, mostly on DVD, but I didn't dress up for the movie or anything. Oh and there were PLENTY who did, let me tell you. It was blistering hot and sweaty and yet swarms of suburbanite teenagers and overly-orange soccor moms from Jersey out on 'Girls Night' flooded the Times Square AMC in their A-line halter dresses and high heels, hair perfectly coiffed, make-up caked and painted on in broad strokes. It was a sight to behold. Like some strange, tribal female right of passage or fertility ritual. Plus Gays.

Anyway, I had heard tell that the movie was like one long female-audience-inclined fart joke. I was ready to be underwhelmed.
And you know what? I had a grand old time. I laughed my ass off, I made side comments to Ian, I cried (that scene on the bridge - oh my god), I gasped and stared in awe at the breath-taking designer couture (bridal! eeeeeee!!). I wondered at how Jennifer Hudson can be such a powerhouse of soul when she sings and yet can't act her way out of a paper bag.

All in all I left that movie utterly satiated. Was it over the top? Oh god yes. But that's the beauty of the show. It's like crack, pop-culture crack for women who spent their early lives dreaming of prince charming and now have been dating for several years and wonder what fucking rabbit hole they fell down. With designer clothes and shoes. And gays. Did I mention the gays?

And girlfriends. Every woman dreams of having a close-knit group of die-hard girlfriends who would spoon-feed you yogurt in bed if the man you loved devastated you. No judgement or pressure, just total love, support and acceptance. Who would let you double-fist the margaritas if you felt like it. Tell the man who broke your heart that they curse the day he was born and let their water break all over his imported dress shoes. That'll show him, amniotic fluid will never come out of that Italian leather.

Anyway, a toast to my girlfriends who I love so very much! One of whom is getting married (bridal! eee!!!) the weekend after next and one of whom is flying 3000 miles to complete the trio at the wedding. I love you girls, in that true sister love sort of way where you can completely be yourself and be a better person at the same time.

:)

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