Sex While In My City

When I was in college, I thought Sex and The City was such a brilliant concept. While I didn't necessarily love the columns or the book they inspired, I did fall madly in love with the television show. It was new. It was fresh. It was boldly going where no clinically depressed, sex-obsessed woman had gone before. But, as is often the case, the liberation of womens' inner secrets gave way to more confusion and more angst.

I'm all for being frank and honest. But now there is a whole generation of women - largely in New York City - who find no topic or moment of self-doubt off the conversation table. As a result, I think we are back to square one - a sex more confused than ever before, struggling to find the balance between our inner Carries/Samanthas/Mirandas/Charlottes.

Today, men know too much. Now they know how filthy we talk about sex when we are together. They can sense our batshit-crazy behavior before we even pull it. But what's worse is that they judge us before we even meet. They assume:

- we all spend thousands of dollars on ridiculously over-priced shoes
- we all aspire to have our weddings announced in the New York Times
- we all over think every little fucking thing with our girlfriends
- we all talk about our lovers' penis sizes
- we all categorize men by their job/age/socio-economic class/religion

But the truth is:
- most of us buy shoes at Nine West and Filene's
- most of us are nervous about getting married and certainly don't want to see our faces splashed across some newspaper when we do it
- most of us don't piss and moan about every little thing men do…in fact, it's only when men majorly fuck up (cheat, lie) that we turn to our girlfriends
- most of us don't even know how big our lovers' penises are and we certainly don't share that info, just like we don't want men describing the hue and circumference of our nipples to their friends
- most of us look past status, age and creed in the hopes of finding someone who just makes us happy

The SATC phenomenon has also resulted in a proliferation of opinion, public opinion, about the battle of sex and love wills between men and women. I admit that most of the time these “columns” make me ill. I think they are inspired by watching TBS reruns of the show in question and re-hashing uninteresting dilemmas just to prove a point in the face of the exes that read them. And yet I still want my shot at airing my relationship laundry. As much as I mock and taunt those who write this type of shit while in my safe cavern of anonymity, I still think I have something to say. All I need to know is that some people want to listen.