Disclaimer: I realize Sex and the City parodies are oh-so-1999 and everything, but I am coming down from a somewhat recent fourth season DVD box-set marathon viewing and all I can think about is how much the Single Life is glamorized to the point where I wonder when we are just going to cut through the bullshit and see the episode where Carrie, dead-broke from her shoe habit, is left with no choice but to install her very own window AC unit where she is forced to visit the shared storage hall closet and dig the huge and heavy AC out from underneath the strata of Other People’s Dusty Crap that has accumulated on top of the thing during the winter months, then wrassle its 80 pound bad-self back into her apartment where she tries to unsuccessfully hoist it into the window several times, only to watch it actually fall out the window where she has to pick it up off the ledge outside then finally, finally! gets it all snug in the window - all the screws in the right place and she finally, finally! plugs it in only to find out that big fall knocked the fan out of place so it makes a big old noise and will probably more than likely wind up causing a big electrical fire so she will have to open up the Life’s Lessons Text Book and rip out a big old page of Suck It Up and sweat gracefully in the 90 + degree weather by sitting on a bowl of ice or something.
And of course, Sarah Jessica Parker would be totally fabulous sitting on a bowl of ice.
Annfrankenstein? Not so much.
But you know, none of it matters because should this show actually air, even after all of these foibles, Sarah Jessica Parker would be sitting on a bed of ice in some bedazzled rhinestone bra with some hott man-servant tending to her bruises making all of the it all sexy and stuff.
Yes, yes. Blah blah blah. These observations couldn’t be more obvious; it is the illusion of the fabulous Sex and the City that you love and who is going to pay an extra $50 a month for HBO to see Sarah Jessica Parker wander into Payless Shoes looking for a pair of satin dye-able bridesmaid pumps?
I mean, really.
So here I am, stuck in real life, hot as hot can be, * dusty, and bruised and not only AC-less, but also man-servantless.
You bet your ass I am cranky.
Good thing there are a couple of things keeping me not-so-crazy …
(1) there’s a storm a brewin’ so it is only 82 degrees in here now, as opposed to 89.
(2) I have a really horrible, awful DVD rolling on the tube: The Real Cancun. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? Was in theaters for like, a nanosecond? MTV’s Spring Break Meets The Last 5 seasons of The Real World But With Real Live Nudity Meets Your Next Trip to the STD Clinic?
Seriously, I have only watched maybe 45 minutes of this thing and I feel like I immediately need to scrub myself down with a brick o’ Lava Soap and then book some blood work in the morning.
I mean, ish.
So why am I watching it? Good question. Sometimes, through work, our television department gets free DVD screeners.
And Kangaroo Jack was already taken.
Oh, you. You go ahead and judge. But SOMEBODY who-was-not-me paid good money to see From Justin to Kelly this weekend!
That shit didn’t make almost 3 million dollars on its own, people!
[INSERT WITTY SEGUE HERE]
I adore random links! It is my latest love. It will take you to places you forgot existed! It will make you weep with love! And cry with rage! And, more!
This random link thing is a new feature! A diary must! It will make you want to abuse the power of the exclamation point!
Get! Yours! Now!
*and clearly too tired to come up with any sort of fancy simile to convey just how freakin’ hot it is. Hey, at least I spared you the hot as hell cliché!
**for future reference if you ever want a random ann-frank link – just click on the mouse. No, not that mouse in your hand, I mean take THAT mouse and put it on the mouse there by the candlesticks on my page and click. Fun!