You Are Among Friends

I always think that I am Too Busy to Blog, but when I think this, what I am really telling myself, quietly, is that I am Too Boring to Write. This becomes clear to me every time I catch up on nogoodforme.com and settle in to read Laura Jane's newest work. Laura Jane writes a lot, and it's clear that she writes every day, which is something I talk myself out of doing for the most part, which is embarrassing.

Anyway LJ posts plenty of quotable quotes about seriously important topics, but this in particular seems immediately critical to pass on. You know how reading feels really important when you come across something expressing a feeling that you thought was particular only to you?  I have maybe never agreed more with the internet in my life. I always stood up for the show when people would criticize it for being anti-feminist on the basis that it was just about sex and shopping--women talking to women and about women is important, I say, and still do--but God, Sex and the City worked hard to undermine me with their constant insistence on Mr. Big. 

Oh, Big*. He's a strapping stockbroker, a tall drink of water. They share cigarettes after sex. "Abso-fuckin'-lutely" is a magnificent catchphrase, and it was abso-fuckin'-lutely awesome when he punched Aleksandr Petrovksy in the face.

As an impressionable sixteen-year-old irrationally compelled by the pursuit of glamour, a self-identified "Carrie" with an insatiable appetite for self-destruction, I deemed Carrie and Big's epic relationship "the shit." Having never known romantic love, I mistakenly believed that the greatest love stories should be bloody and bombastic; "no pain, no gain." Five years of game-playing and histrionics sounded so "worth it" to me. It worked for Carrie Bradshaw, after all!

I haven't watched Sex and the City in like eight billion years, except for the Jack Berger episodes (because Jack Berger is the only Carrie Bradshaw love interest who doesn't BLOW), but, based on my long-term memory, here is a list of all the assy shit Big did to Carrie over the course of Satc's duration (and movie): he never told her he loved her, was emotionally unavailable, was a dick about it that time she wore Cookie Monster jammies and adorably brought him McDonald's, moved to Paris like a douchebag, married a Normie Bitch in Paris, ruined her functional relationship with Aidan (who was a tool, but nice at least) by bullying her into an affair, showed up at Aidan's idyllic summer home pathetically drunk while mooning over a movie star, annoyingly sang "New York State Of Mind", which was CREEPY, moved to Napa, bullied her into a creepy phone-sex relationship, probably some other fucked-up shit, ABANDONED her at the altar, more fucked-up shit, wasn't that hot, sucked generally, sucked, was an asshole, etc.

Wow, doesn't that sound "fun"? Doesn't that sound like the behavior of the man you should eventually MARRY? No. The Big/Carrie relationship is a fallacy. In real life, he never would have rescued her from spry-yet-evil Aleksandr Petrovsky's Parisian death-grip. He would have stayed an asshole, because you can't teach an old asshole new non-asshole-y tricks. Not that I think Carrie Bradshaw is the greatest person in the world or anything, but she definitely deserves better than some flabby old guy who treats her like a disposable fucking camera.

One of the most annoying cultural ramifications of Sex and the City's massive popularity is that it has ignited a general "Assholes vs. Nice Guys" debate amongst women. Hey, guess what, guys- DON'T PICK THE ASSHOLE. Why are assholes even up for consideration? IT IS NOT OKAY TO FORGIVE A MAN FOR TREATING YOU THE WAY BIG TREATED CARRIE, so don't look to Big and Carrie's relationship as a means of justifying the crappiness of your own Tragical Shitstery Tour.

Instead, throw a Big Gulp at that motherfucker's face. Speaking of throwing Big Gulps at motherfuckers' faces, I personally wish I could throw a Big Gulp at SatC creator Darren "Dumbass" Star's head for propagating this misogynistic bullshit to such a vast female audience. I ain't sixteen anymore, Myutes.

*WHY IS HE NAMED THAT???

--Laura Jane Faulds, nogoodforme.com