I will admit to the utterly hideous fact that I saw Sex and the City on opening night. I will further admit that following the movie, I had several cosmopolitans and got very drunk, as evidenced by my Twitter and also one (or maybe several? I’ve been too afraid to check) entirely regrettable text messages. I can’t say that I disliked it, but I also can’t say that I did. For that reason, it was the perfect sequel. It merely perpetuated my ambivalence towards the franchise.

However, Carrie Bradshaw would totally have started smoking again after the wedding incident. At least once, probably when she was standing on her stoop in the rain. She started again in Paris, so she fucking would have started again after the bird-festooned debacle that was her attempted matrimony.

Also, I have been watching old episodes and found myself asking for a pack of Marlboro Lights rather than my usual Parliament Lights. And still I am thinking in rhetorical questions narrated by Sarah Jessica Parker. It is driving me very perilously close to self harm.

In other news! Keith Gessen is pretentious and All the Sad Young Literary Men has been making me terribly angry. Apparently, I have stopped reading for pleasure and begun reading solely to increase my inner rage.

In yet other news, I will be reupholstering a(nother) couch this weekend! Next weekend, I will be bedazzling the costumes for my upcoming cabaret which remains untitled, but it will be ~*fabulous*~.