Although I apparently am the only homosexual in America who didn't watch "Sex and the City" when it initially aired on HBO, I'm making amends. Not long ago, I buzzed through the first season on DVD. Drooling, I then bought the complete series -- for only $99, I might add -- and am officially hooked.
As everyone knows, this is a "gay" show in drag. Yes, it's about four women's sexual adventures in NYC, but queers can totally relate to the plots and emotions. Maybe it's the promiscuity. I mean, we all know men are horny as shit 24/7. So are these girls. That alone makes it relate-able. Then there's the fashion, the sassy wit, the shopping, the ... OK, so I'm getting a wee bit stereotypical. And, of course, the TV series was created by a gay dude.
Anyway, the show's writing is hit and miss. But -- and here's where the "omg, i'm so gay" comes into play -- I watched an episode yesterday and wept like a 6-year-old girl. It's when a devastated Aiden comes to Charlotte's wedding and breaks up with Carrie, who had earlier told him she had slept with Mr. Big. So everyone's crying, including me. Then, as a still-tearful Carrie poses with her three pals in a wedding picture, she says: "It's hard to find people who will love you no matter what. I was lucky enough to find three of them." Lost it. Why, I really don't know. But sometimes, as cynical as I am, sappy romance knocks me flat.
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