Good morning! I am blogging with one eye open due to my midnight viewing of the Sex and the City movie last night. I’m running on two hours of sleep but have a large coffee in my hand and gold cowboy boots on my hooves which will sustain my superpowers until I can get home, put on some gigantic granny panties and crawl into bed.
Anyway! Sex and the City! You’ve got two types of women in the world: Those that have watched the whole series and can comfortably reference and relate their own life events to certain episodes: “It was just like the time Samantha masturbated to that sexy priest! All Thornbirds and shit!” This is what we all do in our later twenties and thirties to follow up our earlier life event-referencing to Beverly Hills, 90210 and Saved by the Bell episodes. I know you are feeling me on this. Then you have the group of women who think that Carrie and Co. are just bad examples of modern women. Those ladies have already been rolling their eyes all the way to kingdom come the past few weeks.
My best friend Reyna and I wanted to dress extra flashy, [even though we are overdressed for everything anyway], paying homage to the show’s strong fashion element. Naturally, every other group of gals was dressed up as well, and there should have been a competition for who could wear the highest heels because I’ve never seen that many five-inch stilettos at a movie theater in my life. Usually all you see is Fugg boots and sweatpants. VOM.
Because Halloween is every day, I wanted to dress up like a character, particularly the episode where Samantha spied on Richard wearing a trenchcoat and a black Raquel Welch wig, but I could not get a wig in time. This would have been a nice outfit but a hobo would have probably tried to steal a bite of my kielbasa.
Here is what I wore. I am dogging you mad style. Like my gold wrestling belt?
I won’t be a jerk and “spoil it for you,” but I will talk quickly about the fashion. There is a fabulous wedding dress montage. Yay Vivienne Westwood! Shoes, shoes, shoes. There was a scene where Carrie is wearing some thigh-high argyle tights. When I saw that, Reyna laughed at my reaction because she says I am a bad liar and my rubberface always reveals my feelings. I did a wide-eyed neck jerk at those thigh-highs. As much as I love argyle socks, thigh-high ones barely belong outside of a slutty Catholic uniform, let along 40-year old Carrie Bradshaw! Then again, it’s Carrie Bradshaw and we must allow her a couple of bad fashion meal tickets for the film. Also, who am I to talk when I will probably be wearing dolly dresses and pink tights at age 53.
I love the bright blue bird hair ornament Carrie wears with her veil. And man, how I love Samantha with her GIANT sunbathing hat during one of my favorite scenes which has her hungrily staring at a naked hunk while eating some chips n’ guac. Overall the movie is HILAR, but has moments of clichéd cinematic cheese, i.e. parts where I laughed when I was probably supposed to be crying. I am a softie though, so there were still plenty of heart-tuggers.
Okay, someone shits their pants. That is my only spoiler for you! Ha! I love Sex and the City. Always so glamorous, yet so very nasty.