Sodomy in the Suburbs

Sex.
And the City.

This is the downfall of women like me and the rise of extremely high-maintenance succubi that care more about designer products than they do about finding any real substance in their lives.

Charlotte, Samantha, Miranda and Carrie have all equally contributed to the trend of pretending you're worth more than you are while you sip cosmos and slip more deeply into debt to hold up your high-class facade.

I am profoundly disgusted and simultaneously entranced by the fairy tale lifestyles these women lead in New York.

It disturbs me to see how captured women are by fashion, labels, designers, and extravagant purchases.

It also intrigues me that although so many American women are different on so many levels, Sex and the City gets to the core of what many women are concerned about, fantasize about, and what some are obsessed with: love, marriage, and sex.

I'm not quite sure what my position on marriage is at the moment, but in the past I have been wholly opposed to it. Watching Sex and the City causes me to consider the potentiality of all of my relationship and marital fears: infidelity, abandonment, custody battles, legal rights to property.

In addition, it forces me to be skeptical of seemingly near-perfect relationships; in my experience, things always go really well before they fall apart.

Sex and the City knows exactly how to make a woman feel beautiful, loved, and prosperous, and also how to take all of that away from her. And for those women who don't have three best friends who live in close proximity to them and will do anything at the drop of a hat for them, it knows how to make us feel incredibly lonely.

But here's some good news: if Sex and the City can fool so many women into believing the perfect love will find them eventually, then all we have to do is just sleep around until each of our Mr. Big's come rescue us from ourselves.