Slowly a Convert

Alright.

So in a nutshell, this show is about four thirty-something white girls in new York City trying to find love while managing their careers, friendships, and the fabulousness of living in the Greatest City in the World.

And yes, I know what you're all thinking: How could Kaila W. Montanna possibly go through life without watching this iconic show from the glory days of Napster, the iBook and the first Bush administration?

Well, I don't know. Maybe it was because I was far too busy having sex in the suburbs with closeted straight men in the backseat of my car in darkened parking lots.

So with the wonder of TV on DVD's, fellow fag friend Markus has so graciously lent me all six seasons of this proverbial estrogen fest.

I watched the first five episodes of Season 1, than skipped over to Season 2. I couldn't handle the cheesey direct address to the audience by Carrie and all the other random street people of New York City. What also bothered me was Skipper, who I had originally liked but then he just became really annoying. But, I guess the old adage is true: nobody ever wants the good boy.

One of my favorite characters so far? None of them, because I relate to each of these four girls in very different ways, which must be the reason why this show is so appealing. Between Samantha's love of sex, Charlotte's vapid traditionalism, Miranda's cynicism and Carrie's heart, I can't help but love and hate and want to go out for drinks with all of these girls...but not really, because I don't think I could ever handle them in real life. A little too fabulous for my tastes, except for Miranda (only when she has short hair).

Out of all the men so far, I like Steve the most. He's adorable, sweet, and everything I could ever ask for in a man. Aside from Neil, my current lover. He satisfies me in every single way. In many positions. And with a wide array of outfits.

Now, this show isn't all that great. It most definitely contributes to the unbelievably cliche standards of love, sex and materialistic wants that millions upon millions of gay men and women all over the world strive to achieve.

We want to dress like these girls, talk like these girls, date and even fuck likes girls. We want to psychoanalyze our very own foursome-friends like these girls and no doubt internalize the fears, beliefs and neuroses of Carrie, Charlotte, Samanatha and Miranda into our own lives so we can cry like them and find love like them. Hell, my life would certainly be more interesting if I were Carrie, and fuck, I buy into the glam of it all as well. But the more I watch, the more I see what I don't want to become: just another gay guy in the city looking for random sex, love and the perfect partner while nursing my Prada Loafers everywhere I go because my paycheck can only buy me one pair every two years. It sets too many unachievable standards because... well, I am just way too far removed from these women...racially, sexually and well, I have a penis that likes other penises.

As the gay show that all gays must watch, I will continue to fulfill my duty until I can't stand it anymore.

And poor Carrie, she just found Mr.Big's wedding announcement in the paper.

Maybe I should light some candles, smoke a cigarette, nurse a glass of wine and cry with her. It would be the proper gay thing to do.