Sex in the City or: Tales of Irish Fish Wives

I can see how one can become addicted to blogging. Blog away, blog away. It's also interesting to see what other people blog about -- recipes, pictures of dogs, trips to Sedona, my life in Manhattan.Speaking of that, I always found myself oddly unmoved by "Sex in the City". I guess it's supposed to represent a free-wheeling female version of debauchery amidst sophisticates, and God knows I'm not a prude, but personally I see that more as a ticket to VD than to liberation. I also found the guy who played "Mr. Big" to be the exact antithetical opposite of what I would want in a man. Did they choose him to make Sarah Jessica Parker's nose look smaller? Oy, I'm going to hell. I actually think she's quite pretty, but hey, what can I say, I'm evil.Their characters have an affair, and roll around in their gorgeous apartments while Parker lights up post-coital cigarettes. Instead of coughing and demanding she put the damned thing out, "Big" looks at her like she's made out of filet mignon while his wife stays home alone, blissfully unaware of his treachery. I never watched enough of it to find out if she DID find out, but God help the bastard. I'm enough of an Irish Fish Wife without being anyone's wife to know that if my husband cheated on me, I'd brain him with the frying pan. Then, I'd take off for a remote South Seas location (if only I knew where those were), and spend time staring at the beach and catching up on my reading. It would be too dull to just stare at the beach. I'd have to do something, but lots of walking would be involved before I called up my lawyer.Although maybe I'd give him another chance. Maybe is the key word here.So that's that. Another Sex in the City episode involved a woman stripping at some party. Fast forward ten years and she's pregnant. The Sex in the City foursome visit her at a snippy party in CT somewhere and stare at babies. Career Women vs Mothers! Finally, Striptease Sally comes and finds them at Samantha's party a few weeks later and tries to, you guess it, strip again. But she can't, by golly, her fingers are too swollen and so is she.The whole thing was pretty pathetic, although Parker's character keeps a runnning narrative that's supposed to be deep as shit. How deep shit is, I don't know. Oh yeah, she also thinks she might be pregnant, but gets her period just in time to ruminate deeply on cosmic issues of life, love, marriage, children, but not, presumably, betrayal. Striptease Sally learns that she's no longer a stripper, and gives birth, we can conjecture, at some point. I would be more interested if it was Rosemary's Baby, and the baby came back to scare the living hell (no pun intended) out of the Sex in the City foursome.As for Mr. Big, I think we should send him packing to Siberia, where he can play tunes on his nose with his pinkie. The guy's too much of an oily slick bastard for yours truly.Where have all the gentlemen gone?Papa, can you hear me?Don't read into that, Dr. Freud.