The Wonder of Menopause
Greetings one and all. The following post you are about to read was conceived from a draft I had started in the year 2011. A whopping six seven years later, I decided to actually finish this post to fruition, for no particular reason other than I had a lot already written. Also, six seven years has really altered my perspective on Sex and the City, as well as the characters in the show. Their actions now have a remarkable truth to them that my friends and I can all relate to. To differentiate my present thoughts from my past thoughts, I will apply the Helvetica font to the past. Here we go.
Let me stop you there. No, this is not literally a post about the wonder of menopause. It is simply a title to refer to the utter genius of the Sex and the City movies. Clever, ain't it? No it ain't, you self-absorbed cunt. Well, they are really old women. Actually, not quite; they just act as if they're still in their twenties, which make them appear to be a lot older than they really are. Late forties. Yes, ladies. You are all in your late forties. Take a deep breath and accept it. Allow me to introduce you to the women I'm talking about here.
Carrie Bradshaw is a quasi-fashion/television icon. In the eyes of millions of women (relax), she is their idol: a beautiful, smart, witty, stylish woman. More importantly, Carrie views herself as a beautiful, smart, witty, stylish woman. And so we begin my undying criticism. Unlike the general population of women, I view Carrie Bradshaw as an awful person. Yes, awful, in every single way. Not only is she not beautiful, but she is very fake. How astute. She treats those around her like they are beneath her. Not in a nasty way, oh no, our Carrie would never. She treats them with excessive kindness and coos over those who buy their clothes at non-designer stores. "Aww! You buy off the rack! How adorable!" (That's just an example of her patronizing personality.) In this way, and so many others that I will get into, she is a bad person. No need to put the sugar coat on, she's a conceited bitch. But she wears some interesting clothing. Not stylish, interesting.
Seven years later... It's amazing how time can change a person's inclinations. If you refer to a previous post I made, I recanted my hatred for Carrie Bradshaw in exchange for a sober self-awareness. I realized that I identify with Carrie on numerous levels, including our shared aspirations to write and find love among the growing list of male encounters. Watching Sex and the City (the show) as I enter my twenties offers me an enlightening look into life as a young woman. Granted, I am not living in New York City and do not come into contact with men as diverse and adult. However, the behavior of these four characters rings so true to the actions of my friends and myself. Carrie and Co. have defined the single life, providing spot-on examples and rules to the dating scene. Just now I am understanding the landmark these ladies have established, and, in a way, it gives me solace in this endlessly frustrating society of pseudo-relationships and hook-ups.
Charlotte York is the prettiest of the group, as well as the least annoying. In fact, I have absolutely no problem with her; in fact, I actually like her! Wow, really?! A little bit. In the second movie, she became a tad irritating. She is centered around her husband and daughters, as well as the cliched delusion that her husband might be sleeping with the hot Irish nanny. I mean, have you met Harry? He's obsessed with Charlotte and they're actually married for crying out loud. I love how you used the status of marriage as an explanation for his fidelity, how cute. Anyway, Charlotte is the most proper, prim lady of the group. Actually, she is the only lady of the group. All the others just love talking about penises and sperm. Jesus christ, did you hit your head on your way from heaven, you sanctimonious prude? If only you could see yourself now. (Expect that kind of vulgar chatter in this post, as there is a lot of it in the movie. Makes sense. No shit.)
Hahahahaha. You have to laugh at prude observations of a sixteen-year-old, you really do. Don't get me wrong, I still love Charlotte. Although, I don't identify with her as much anymore. I admit, I can be as naive and hopeful as her, especially considering that I intend to meet my future husband in my twenties and here I am twenty-two years old already. Time is ticking and sometimes I feel like Charlotte: I, too, am exhausted of looking around and wasting time with randoms. I just want to meet my ideal man with flaws and have a fairytale wedding in Disney World. As for that comment I made about penises and sperm? Sex is probably what my friends and I discuss most and I'm not complaining. That's what losing your virginity and nearly four years of experience will do for your priorities I guess.
Miranda Hobbes is a career-driven woman, wife to a whiny E (as in Eric Murphy-lookalike from Entourage) and mother to a strange-looking little boy. Tight pop culture reference, loser. Miranda reminds me very much of Lynette from Desperate Housewives. (Is there any other Lynette? Sure there are, take it easy.) The only difference is that I can tolerate Miranda, and she does not strive to destroy the lives of others. In the movies, she's more family-oriented, and since that's how I know her, that's the one I'll be referring to. Disregard, motion to strike. She reminds me, appearance-wise, of Tilda Swinton. Okay? That's all I have to say on the matter.
This was a really boring description of Miranda. I have to apologize. While Miranda is much less aggravating than Lynette, I do have my disagreements with her. First of all, she's a livid, die-hard feminist. I've said this before: I am not a feminist. The modern-day kind, that is. In the past, when women had practically zero rights and authority in America, feminism was needed. In 2018, however, it's a moot point. I mean, we're about to have a woman president--let's face it, we are HAHA--and I bet feminists will still have their complaints. Modern-day feminist theory focuses on the idea that women are controlled by the domineering patriarchy; in other words, women are mindless drones who bend at the will of men? I'm not about to get into an argument with the feminists. I don't have to worry anyway, since no one reads this. Back to Miranda, what I admire about her is the advice and collected criticisms of Carrie. She reminds me of my one good friend who calls me out on mistakes I've made, in a way that allows me to recognize my errors and change for the better. She, like Miranda, also encourages me/Carrie to go through with decisions that may be considered controversial or wrong because it will make me/Carrie happy in the end. I'm being very vague, I want to clarify that these "wrong things" are not criminal or harmful to others. They mostly have to do with relationships and everyday choices. Moving on.
Samantha Jones. Ugh. That was a long, exaggerated ugh, by the way. I am forever amused by the sexual antics of this large lioness of a woman. She is such a big woman (not fat, big) it's almost frightening. Irrelevant, NEXT. When she acts seductive (which is pretty much all the time), it's quite funny to see such a woman succeed in her encounters with men. And, really, she's like sixty: what the fuck is she doing sleeping around with all these guys who are a quarter of her age? She's fucking killing it, that's what. Good for her. I understand why she's doing it, but why do the writers allow her to? It's almost sickening to watch. Whoa whoa, have you heard of female empowerment and confidence, you heathenous sexist? Let Samantha be her, geez. And her socialite-accent is beyond ridiculous. I'll give you that. Oh, I am going to have fun with this post.
That was actually pretty accurate. For movie Samantha, at least. I'm pretty proud of my young self for making such a good description. Pat on the back. Now, TV show Samantha is a different story. First off, she is far more attractive in the television series, obviously because she's younger. Not that that's relevant really, to each his/her own am I right? I understand that the writers wanted to send the message that, no matter the age, Samantha will be Samantha and that's what we got in the films. I notice I use movies and films interchangeably. Probably because they're practically the same thing. Unnecessary comment. TV Samantha was actually quite profound and insightful. The advice and humor she contributed were perhaps the most helpful and reflective of reality. She was cynical and relationship-phobic, though she comprehended love and applied that wisdom to her conversations with Carrie and friends. Of course, she tended to feel the need to sprinkle in some juicy sexual innuendo, and I'm not complaining. That is, if she doesn't overdo it.
Again, before you feel duped for having your time wasted (oh, just you wait), this post has nothing to do with the television series of Sex and the City. This post will contain elements of the two movies only, what happens in the films and all. If you're looking for criticism on the television show, look elsewhere. Don't you love when I take ages to get to the main point of a post? Don't you simply adore it? Fuck off already. Okay, let the fun begin.
Just kidding! I will be discussing both the movies and the show. I'd like to show a striking contrast between the two. While I still believe that the movies are just really long episodes of Sex and the City, I recognize the sage brilliance of the show as a hilarious and accurate look into the lives of women who have been on every spectrum of the dating scale. Whatever that means. Every woman has been single once in their life though. Obviously. What a stupid fucking comment, I am so sorry. Of course every woman has been single. Come on, V, do better. This post is probably going to be of considerable length. You've been warned.
Sex and the City (the movie) starts off as a continuation from whatever was going on in the television series. Apparently, Charlotte and her second husband, Harry, both Jews whether by birth or converting, had just adopted a Chinese girl named Lily. You see, they have issues with their reproductive organs...so they can't make their own baby...yeah. Oh my god, it's not that awkward. You're making it awkward, you tactless idiot. Miranda married Steve and had a baby with him. Scratch that, they had abastard baby and then they got married and moved to Brooklyn to live happily ever after. Yeah, that should be a safe and nurturing environment to raise a child and avoid getting raped. Good lord. Samantha, after numerous sexual conquests, settled down with Smitt Jared, one of her celebrity clients. Oh, did I mention that Samantha has her own publicity firm, and that Smitt is her only client? Because all you see in her office are posters of him. That's pretty funny. Well, the two are shacking up in L.A., where Samantha has problems adjusting away from her home of New York City. Carrie and her long-time on-off boyfriend, whom she and her girlfriends so obnoxiously refer to as Mr. Big (or Big...I wonder where they got that name from OH look at you with the knowing, tongue-in-cheek innuendo you dog), are finally in her dream-scenario: they are ridiculously in love and buying an expensive penthouse. Welcome home, baby.
Jesus, I was way more insulting before than I am now. Or at least I've matured enough to refine my insults with a bit more tact. I just shot out expletives all over the place, bastard baby and all. I mean, my god. Here is another instance to show the passing of time, for I clearly do not express myself as crudely as I did back then. I am not one to apologize for my actions, past present or future, but good god I need to apologize for whoever that cringey bitch was. Sheesh. Beyond that, I have moved away from petty playground insults. You remember the days when you just spouted out "rape" and "bastard baby" in the schoolyard? Far too well.
Like Depserate Housewives, money is an utterly irrelevant factor. Either that or the girls are tastelessly showing off how much money they have. Shoes that cost over five-hundred dollars? Really? Now, before I get carried away (get it? Carrie-d away? Oh, puns. Or limericks? HAHAHA wow!) and give you the entire synopsis of the movie, let me just stop and take a breath. Because I believe I am going to just do this all point-by-point, analyzing every detail. Are you ready for another Desperate Housewives-like juggernaut? Absolutely not.
Boy, was that a tough read. Talk about insufferable cringe. As much as I despise my writing style circa-2011, it can be nice to walk down memory lane and realize how much my talent has developed over the years. Sure, it's presumptuous and pompous to call whatever this is "talent," but you have to pat yourself on the back now and then. I mean, admit it, I've definitely honed this so-called craft of mine since the early days of petty nit-picking and out-of-place profanity. Ah, high school.
Alrighty, down to business. Now that I am faced with the task of writing a previously-deemed "juggernaut," I find myself at a loss for words. Not due to the poignancy of Sex and the City, but wondering where the hell do I begin? The Desperate Housewives post--which I keep referring back to as though that was my opus--was just a dragged-out synopsis of a wonderful show written by that bitter, bigoted bitch from 2011. She wrote the synopsis, not the wonderful show. In case that needed clarifying. Ugh. Granted, I had oodles of fun writing praise and seething criticism for the show simultaneously, but the post as a whole is sort of vapid in its content. You can read a synopsis anywhere, and while I did provide some insight minced with gratuitous swearing, I think I can do better. Remember Stepford Wives when Nicole Kidman produced a show called "I Can Do Better," which essentially emasculated men by breaking up their marriages and ruining their lives? Boy, was she a raging feminist, and that was back in 2004! Yet there's still talk of inequality? Ladies and gentlemen, times up. Rant over.
As divergent thoughts of early female-empowered films and financial management roamed my mind, I realize that this post is already becoming an undesirable juggernaut of lofty verbiage interspersed with tangents. True, that characterizes most of my posts, but for something like this where I want to really dissect and analyze a significant element of pop culture (you guessed it, Sex and the City) I would prefer to gather my thoughts and cut right to the chase. As I stated above, I do not want an insipid synopsis muddled with zingers and directionless slop. That being said, I will wrap up this post from here. "Are you fucking kidding me, V? All that fanfare and memory-lane bullshit, and you're just going to wrap things up? No, you know what, go fuck yourself, you goddamn wench." Or something along those lines. I know, this was all a tease and I promise I did not realize it until the beginning of this paragraph. The reason I'm going on and on right now is to bulk up the conclusion. I know, insufferable wench that's me. I love how I talk as though I have a substantial audience. Alrighty kids, I'm signing off. Again, this is not the entire post. I am not finished in regards to the Sex and the City saga. Consider this entire tease of a post a lengthy introduction, but also prepare for another introduction to the subsequent menopause analysis. Farewell, cunts.
Let me stop you there. No, this is not literally a post about the wonder of menopause. It is simply a title to refer to the utter genius of the Sex and the City movies. Clever, ain't it? No it ain't, you self-absorbed cunt. Well, they are really old women. Actually, not quite; they just act as if they're still in their twenties, which make them appear to be a lot older than they really are. Late forties. Yes, ladies. You are all in your late forties. Take a deep breath and accept it. Allow me to introduce you to the women I'm talking about here.
Carrie Bradshaw is a quasi-fashion/television icon. In the eyes of millions of women (relax), she is their idol: a beautiful, smart, witty, stylish woman. More importantly, Carrie views herself as a beautiful, smart, witty, stylish woman. And so we begin my undying criticism. Unlike the general population of women, I view Carrie Bradshaw as an awful person. Yes, awful, in every single way. Not only is she not beautiful, but she is very fake. How astute. She treats those around her like they are beneath her. Not in a nasty way, oh no, our Carrie would never. She treats them with excessive kindness and coos over those who buy their clothes at non-designer stores. "Aww! You buy off the rack! How adorable!" (That's just an example of her patronizing personality.) In this way, and so many others that I will get into, she is a bad person. No need to put the sugar coat on, she's a conceited bitch. But she wears some interesting clothing. Not stylish, interesting.
Seven years later... It's amazing how time can change a person's inclinations. If you refer to a previous post I made, I recanted my hatred for Carrie Bradshaw in exchange for a sober self-awareness. I realized that I identify with Carrie on numerous levels, including our shared aspirations to write and find love among the growing list of male encounters. Watching Sex and the City (the show) as I enter my twenties offers me an enlightening look into life as a young woman. Granted, I am not living in New York City and do not come into contact with men as diverse and adult. However, the behavior of these four characters rings so true to the actions of my friends and myself. Carrie and Co. have defined the single life, providing spot-on examples and rules to the dating scene. Just now I am understanding the landmark these ladies have established, and, in a way, it gives me solace in this endlessly frustrating society of pseudo-relationships and hook-ups.
Charlotte York is the prettiest of the group, as well as the least annoying. In fact, I have absolutely no problem with her; in fact, I actually like her! Wow, really?! A little bit. In the second movie, she became a tad irritating. She is centered around her husband and daughters, as well as the cliched delusion that her husband might be sleeping with the hot Irish nanny. I mean, have you met Harry? He's obsessed with Charlotte and they're actually married for crying out loud. I love how you used the status of marriage as an explanation for his fidelity, how cute. Anyway, Charlotte is the most proper, prim lady of the group. Actually, she is the only lady of the group. All the others just love talking about penises and sperm. Jesus christ, did you hit your head on your way from heaven, you sanctimonious prude? If only you could see yourself now. (Expect that kind of vulgar chatter in this post, as there is a lot of it in the movie. Makes sense. No shit.)
Hahahahaha. You have to laugh at prude observations of a sixteen-year-old, you really do. Don't get me wrong, I still love Charlotte. Although, I don't identify with her as much anymore. I admit, I can be as naive and hopeful as her, especially considering that I intend to meet my future husband in my twenties and here I am twenty-two years old already. Time is ticking and sometimes I feel like Charlotte: I, too, am exhausted of looking around and wasting time with randoms. I just want to meet my ideal man with flaws and have a fairytale wedding in Disney World. As for that comment I made about penises and sperm? Sex is probably what my friends and I discuss most and I'm not complaining. That's what losing your virginity and nearly four years of experience will do for your priorities I guess.
Miranda Hobbes is a career-driven woman, wife to a whiny E (as in Eric Murphy-lookalike from Entourage) and mother to a strange-looking little boy. Tight pop culture reference, loser. Miranda reminds me very much of Lynette from Desperate Housewives. (Is there any other Lynette? Sure there are, take it easy.) The only difference is that I can tolerate Miranda, and she does not strive to destroy the lives of others. In the movies, she's more family-oriented, and since that's how I know her, that's the one I'll be referring to. Disregard, motion to strike. She reminds me, appearance-wise, of Tilda Swinton. Okay? That's all I have to say on the matter.
This was a really boring description of Miranda. I have to apologize. While Miranda is much less aggravating than Lynette, I do have my disagreements with her. First of all, she's a livid, die-hard feminist. I've said this before: I am not a feminist. The modern-day kind, that is. In the past, when women had practically zero rights and authority in America, feminism was needed. In 2018, however, it's a moot point. I mean, we're about to have a woman president--let's face it, we are HAHA--and I bet feminists will still have their complaints. Modern-day feminist theory focuses on the idea that women are controlled by the domineering patriarchy; in other words, women are mindless drones who bend at the will of men? I'm not about to get into an argument with the feminists. I don't have to worry anyway, since no one reads this. Back to Miranda, what I admire about her is the advice and collected criticisms of Carrie. She reminds me of my one good friend who calls me out on mistakes I've made, in a way that allows me to recognize my errors and change for the better. She, like Miranda, also encourages me/Carrie to go through with decisions that may be considered controversial or wrong because it will make me/Carrie happy in the end. I'm being very vague, I want to clarify that these "wrong things" are not criminal or harmful to others. They mostly have to do with relationships and everyday choices. Moving on.
Samantha Jones. Ugh. That was a long, exaggerated ugh, by the way. I am forever amused by the sexual antics of this large lioness of a woman. She is such a big woman (not fat, big) it's almost frightening. Irrelevant, NEXT. When she acts seductive (which is pretty much all the time), it's quite funny to see such a woman succeed in her encounters with men. And, really, she's like sixty: what the fuck is she doing sleeping around with all these guys who are a quarter of her age? She's fucking killing it, that's what. Good for her. I understand why she's doing it, but why do the writers allow her to? It's almost sickening to watch. Whoa whoa, have you heard of female empowerment and confidence, you heathenous sexist? Let Samantha be her, geez. And her socialite-accent is beyond ridiculous. I'll give you that. Oh, I am going to have fun with this post.
That was actually pretty accurate. For movie Samantha, at least. I'm pretty proud of my young self for making such a good description. Pat on the back. Now, TV show Samantha is a different story. First off, she is far more attractive in the television series, obviously because she's younger. Not that that's relevant really, to each his/her own am I right? I understand that the writers wanted to send the message that, no matter the age, Samantha will be Samantha and that's what we got in the films. I notice I use movies and films interchangeably. Probably because they're practically the same thing. Unnecessary comment. TV Samantha was actually quite profound and insightful. The advice and humor she contributed were perhaps the most helpful and reflective of reality. She was cynical and relationship-phobic, though she comprehended love and applied that wisdom to her conversations with Carrie and friends. Of course, she tended to feel the need to sprinkle in some juicy sexual innuendo, and I'm not complaining. That is, if she doesn't overdo it.
Again, before you feel duped for having your time wasted (oh, just you wait), this post has nothing to do with the television series of Sex and the City. This post will contain elements of the two movies only, what happens in the films and all. If you're looking for criticism on the television show, look elsewhere. Don't you love when I take ages to get to the main point of a post? Don't you simply adore it? Fuck off already. Okay, let the fun begin.
Just kidding! I will be discussing both the movies and the show. I'd like to show a striking contrast between the two. While I still believe that the movies are just really long episodes of Sex and the City, I recognize the sage brilliance of the show as a hilarious and accurate look into the lives of women who have been on every spectrum of the dating scale. Whatever that means. Every woman has been single once in their life though. Obviously. What a stupid fucking comment, I am so sorry. Of course every woman has been single. Come on, V, do better. This post is probably going to be of considerable length. You've been warned.
Sex and the City (the movie) starts off as a continuation from whatever was going on in the television series. Apparently, Charlotte and her second husband, Harry, both Jews whether by birth or converting, had just adopted a Chinese girl named Lily. You see, they have issues with their reproductive organs...so they can't make their own baby...yeah. Oh my god, it's not that awkward. You're making it awkward, you tactless idiot. Miranda married Steve and had a baby with him. Scratch that, they had a
Jesus, I was way more insulting before than I am now. Or at least I've matured enough to refine my insults with a bit more tact. I just shot out expletives all over the place, bastard baby and all. I mean, my god. Here is another instance to show the passing of time, for I clearly do not express myself as crudely as I did back then. I am not one to apologize for my actions, past present or future, but good god I need to apologize for whoever that cringey bitch was. Sheesh. Beyond that, I have moved away from petty playground insults. You remember the days when you just spouted out "rape" and "bastard baby" in the schoolyard? Far too well.
Like Depserate Housewives, money is an utterly irrelevant factor. Either that or the girls are tastelessly showing off how much money they have. Shoes that cost over five-hundred dollars? Really? Now, before I get carried away (get it? Carrie-d away? Oh, puns. Or limericks? HAHAHA wow!) and give you the entire synopsis of the movie, let me just stop and take a breath. Because I believe I am going to just do this all point-by-point, analyzing every detail. Are you ready for another Desperate Housewives-like juggernaut? Absolutely not.
Boy, was that a tough read. Talk about insufferable cringe. As much as I despise my writing style circa-2011, it can be nice to walk down memory lane and realize how much my talent has developed over the years. Sure, it's presumptuous and pompous to call whatever this is "talent," but you have to pat yourself on the back now and then. I mean, admit it, I've definitely honed this so-called craft of mine since the early days of petty nit-picking and out-of-place profanity. Ah, high school.
Alrighty, down to business. Now that I am faced with the task of writing a previously-deemed "juggernaut," I find myself at a loss for words. Not due to the poignancy of Sex and the City, but wondering where the hell do I begin? The Desperate Housewives post--which I keep referring back to as though that was my opus--was just a dragged-out synopsis of a wonderful show written by that bitter, bigoted bitch from 2011. She wrote the synopsis, not the wonderful show. In case that needed clarifying. Ugh. Granted, I had oodles of fun writing praise and seething criticism for the show simultaneously, but the post as a whole is sort of vapid in its content. You can read a synopsis anywhere, and while I did provide some insight minced with gratuitous swearing, I think I can do better. Remember Stepford Wives when Nicole Kidman produced a show called "I Can Do Better," which essentially emasculated men by breaking up their marriages and ruining their lives? Boy, was she a raging feminist, and that was back in 2004! Yet there's still talk of inequality? Ladies and gentlemen, times up. Rant over.
As divergent thoughts of early female-empowered films and financial management roamed my mind, I realize that this post is already becoming an undesirable juggernaut of lofty verbiage interspersed with tangents. True, that characterizes most of my posts, but for something like this where I want to really dissect and analyze a significant element of pop culture (you guessed it, Sex and the City) I would prefer to gather my thoughts and cut right to the chase. As I stated above, I do not want an insipid synopsis muddled with zingers and directionless slop. That being said, I will wrap up this post from here. "Are you fucking kidding me, V? All that fanfare and memory-lane bullshit, and you're just going to wrap things up? No, you know what, go fuck yourself, you goddamn wench." Or something along those lines. I know, this was all a tease and I promise I did not realize it until the beginning of this paragraph. The reason I'm going on and on right now is to bulk up the conclusion. I know, insufferable wench that's me. I love how I talk as though I have a substantial audience. Alrighty kids, I'm signing off. Again, this is not the entire post. I am not finished in regards to the Sex and the City saga. Consider this entire tease of a post a lengthy introduction, but also prepare for another introduction to the subsequent menopause analysis. Farewell, cunts.
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