All weekend long I’ve heard the creaking of floorboards from the flat above, the unfortunate sounds of a happy couple proving just how happy they are. In order to distract myself from the noises upstairs, and the inevitable thoughts of whether I’d always be the girl listening to other people have sex running through my head, I decided to revisit one of my favourite single girl pastimes: Sex and the City.
The fashion, friendship and pushing of boundaries in terms of introducing sex into mainstream television have meant I’ve had a livelong love for Sex and the City. As a Miranda though, I’ve always been able to watch it with both feet still firmly planted in reality: how do these women meet so many eligible bachelors wanting to whisk them away? From episode to episode, whether it be at the gym, the bookstore or the local coffee shop there’s always a tall, dark, handsome man just waiting to ask Carrie out for cocktails. Just this past week I visited my local Aldi twice and the most interaction I got from a man was accidentally touching his hand whilst we were both reaching for the avocados. This didn’t result in witty banter, a critique of what’s in my shopping basket and an eventual invitation for coffee, all I got was a withering glare and the last of the avocados – and that’s on a lucky day.
Is it unrealistic to expect that the right man is just waiting to do a Big and bump into me on the street or have years of no real success in the dating game turned me into a hardened cynic?
“I’m sorry, I’ve been too busy dealing with the death of a fictional character to reply to your text message” – Helen Fisher, emotionally numb (2014)
As an incredibly sad human being who likes nothing more than spending an evening circling the tv guide with a glass of wine, I become emotionally attached to television characters. I know some of them better than I do my real-life friends and can’t think of anything better than sitting in front of my laptop reading a snark-filled recap of the most recent episode of Gossip Girl. I’ve spent hours during the summer hiatus researching spoilers and finding out who’s set to guest star in the next series. In short – I’m a fucking loser.
Despite my years of experience in dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a television addict, nothing could have prepared me for the heartbreak I felt after witnessing Will’s death on The Good Wife. Never again will I be able to look forward to scenes where Will clears his desk in anger and desperately wish I was Alicia Florrick or live in hope that one day they’ll end up together. If anyone needs me I’ll be crying into my pillow and questioning why good things happen to bad people.
RIP Will Gardner, you were the first man with a larger than average sized nose that I’ve ever found attractive, your well fitted suits and ballroom dancing skills will be sorely missed.
When I was younger I always thought that by the time I was 24 I’d have my shit together and have become the perfect hybrid of Elle Woods and Florence Nightingale: a saint with a sassy attitude and a pink business suit to match. After all I left my mother’s womb when she was 24 and Emma Watson’s younger than me and she’s already achieved world domination. By the age of 24 it becomes much harder to convince people that you’re doing well just by quoting Oscar Wilde or claiming you do things for the ‘experience.’ By the age of 24 you’re an adult and there’s nothing you can do about it.
This weekend I turned 24, and as many of my friends regaled me with various tales of their success I realised that I haven’t achieved anything I set out to do as a teenager. Not only am I poor, single and a couple of pounds overweight but I still haven’t received any tweets from Anna Kendrick or Taylor Swift which makes my dream of us becoming the new Destiny’s Child seem even further away.
In an attempt to be more Emma Stone meets Jennifer Lawrence and less Stig of the Dump chic I’ve decided to make a few adjustments to my life such as reading ‘The Times’ and watching documentaries about saving the penguins. Combine that with switching from white to red wine and I’m basically the modern day Audrey Hepburn. As long I seem like I’ve got it together surely there’s no harm in spending my alone time watching reruns of Cupcake Wars and eating an entire bag of Doritos?
I was watching a Tarantino interview recently in which he paid tribute to ‘Dazed and Confused’ and the rare quality it possesses: being “a real hangout movie” and every time you watch it feels like you’re hanging out with old friends. Naturally, my thoughts then turned to whether there was anything I could relate to on that level and the HBO series ‘Girls’ written and directed by the brilliant Lena Dunham immediately came to mind.
As a shy, insecure, teenager I tried relating to television characters who’d been through similar struggles and come out the other side with a polo playing boyfriend and a shiny college degree. The OC, One Tree Hill and Gossip Girl all shaped my adolescence and fed into the irrational insecurities of a sixteen year old girl. This continued into my late teens when I started watching what is considered a rite of passage for any woman: Sex and the City. Questions such as: ‘Am I a Miranda or a Carrie?’ plagued me whilst I watched episode after episode of them having casual sex and purchasing over-priced footwear. In reality: I’m neither. I don’t meet men at the gym who salivate over me doing squats before practising an alternative form of exercise back at his place. In fact I just ate peanut butter from the jar and seriously considered whether it’s acceptable to wear perfume as deodorant tomorrow because I forgot to repurchase my Nivea roll on.
Then ‘Girls’ came into my life, and suddenly I was watching people I knew. Instantly I knew my best friend was a total Marnie and I saw myself in the slightly narcissistic, self-involved Hannah. Life in your twenties isn’t painted as picture perfect as I’d planned it to be whilst I was going through my awkward teenage years. Their failures are my failures, every insecure, embarrassing thought they have, I’ve had too. Girls doesn’t glamorize life for a twenty-something or create characters that feel too perfect and surround them with unrealistic drama: it feels real.
It’s back on screens next week and just like Tarantino I can’t wait to hang out with my old friends again.
Posted in General
Tagged girls, gossip girl, hbo, humor, humour, lena dunham, one tree hill, opinion, review, sex and the city, tarantino, Television, The OC
Insanely jealous that I’m at work all weekend calling bingo and serving tea to elderly people rather than attending Comic-Con. All of the best things come from America: Pop Tarts, the Harry Potter Theme Park and Hanson are just a few of them. Never mind though, perhaps I can sit at home wearing a Batman costume whilst watching old Buffy the Vampire Slayer episodes and reading live-tweets about the Panels instead. Seth Cohen would be so proud.
Posted in General
Tagged America, batman, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Comic-Con, Hanson, humor, humour, sdcc, Seth Cohen, Television, twitter, USA, work
Gordon Ramsay, the ultimate DILF. The amalgamation of his furrowed brow, anger issues, snarky attitude and passion in the kitchen is as delicious as a frozen margarita on a summers day. Combine that with horrendous cooking, family drama and a makeover and you have my perfect television show: Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares USA. Take one delusional patriarch, a repressed but loving wife and an abrasive English chef and you have a recipe for success. Reality television at it’s contrived, theatrical best. Basically I’m having the most delightful evening, Crabbies and a guilty pleasure that’s simply full on pleasure. Move over Nigella, neither Shania Twain or I are impressed, leave sex appeal to the experts. See below for further details…
Posted in General, humour, men, TV
Tagged crush, DILF, gordon ramsay, humour, men, reality tv, sex appeal, sexy, Television