Sex & The City … Abso’fuck’inglutely

Tonight was the season finale for Sopranos, and if you didn’t see it or don’t watch it, dag.  It ended perfectly.

Just like Friends, The Practice, and Frasier.

But months later, the finale that I still have a hard time saying goodbye to is Sex & the City, and now that the movie version seems unlikely …

Yeah, I know.  Your mind is saying, it’s over, there’s more going on.  I’m not reading this.

Your loss, because it’s not as much about the show as what we show and need to know.

For six years.

Carrie.  Samantha.  Miranda.  And Charlotte.

I wanted to hate it.  The show.  I have this thing about blacks folks not being represented in a tv show … especially one set where there are loooooaaaaaddddsss of black folks.  But good writing, is good writing.  And the writing on this show was …

Abso’fuck’inglutely good.

It wasn’t about one woman – Carrie.  It was about women.  And their relationships.

It wasn’t about a city.  It was about the city – New York City.

It wasn’t about just sex.  It was about SEX.  And SEX.  And mo’ sex.

Most of all, it was about freedom.

Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte represented a piece of each of us.

Carrie – vulnerable, but hopeful.

Samantha – vulnerable, but sticks it out there.

Miranda – vulnerable, but okay to be strong.

Charlotte – vulnerable, and vulnerable.

We are a vulnerable people.

But we’ve also been taught that vulnerability is a sign of weakness.

Worse if we’re vulnerable then we can’t be something else too.  We’re one dimensioned.  Vulnerable.

And that is so wrong.

I am so shy sometimes, although no one who supposedly knows me well, believes it.

But let me walk into a room where I know absolutely no one …

Ask me to go into a bar … by myself … on a Friday or Saturday nite …

Approach a really cute guy when I’m not feeling exactly Ms. It even though I know if I don’t I may never see him again …

Sound familiar?

I’m also strong.

And I’m assertive.

And I can be aggressive.

And I’m smart.  And wise.
And witty.  And creative with occasional but rare brilliance.

And that’s Abso’fuck’inglutely good.

I want the white picket fence inside a penthouse condo.

I want the 3.2 kids after they’re old enough to cook, make their beds, and change their underwear when they pee on themselves.

I want the great career that makes me want to get up in the morning after I went to bed very very late the night before because I couldn’t tear myself away.  Okay, I almost have that.

I want the parents without dysfunctions (although that would be boring and give me nothing to write about).

The perfectly supportive friends.

The oh so great guy that I thank God every second that he was blessed enough to find me.

And that’s Abso’fuck’inglutely good and all right.

Sex & the City taught us, reminded us, that whatever we want, however we want it, it’s okay.

Because we are abso’fuck’inglutely okay people.

We also learned that there are no guarantees.

We can fall flat on our face.  Over and over and over.  Even on a runway (I once fell just walking down the street.)  And especially when it comes to relationships.

And that’s not good.

And that hurts.

And we cry.

Sometimes never recover.

But life goes on.

And we can go on …

Because we are abso’fuck’inglutely okay people.

Sex & the City reminded us of all this which gives us freedom.

And gave us the freedom to ‘I love my sistah girls.’

I cannot imagine my life without mine.  Geographically, we’re so far apart … mainly because I’ve lived from LA to New York with a side of Europe thrown in.  Emotionally … sometimes we don’t connect.  But I wouldn’t trade them for a lifetime.

Angela makes me realize the potential in myself.  While Latrell … Latrell is just special.  Tracy blesses me with her mere presence.  Joyce and I seem to go way back, but don’t really.  She doesn’t give herself credit for being such a great friend, but she is.  Rita, taught me trust.  Big time.  Jacci, also now as iccaj, carries my heart in her chest.  We are so in sync that we know before we know.

I couldn’t be the person I am today without my cousin Mariann.  And my sister Genie, the first person I call, even when I know she’s going to answer ‘what now!!’

Sonia, Chris, Chris, Eric, and Lee.

My grandmother.  My uncle Cliff.  My Aunt Lucile.

Wasn’t I talking about Sex & the City?  Didn’t you get I was still talking about Sex & the City?

Television is the most powerful communications medium in the world.

We form opinions and stereotypes based on that 20 second blurb that rolls across a 13” screen.

What black person didn’t feel pride when Vanessa Williams was named the first Miss America, Halle won an Oscar, Martin had a dream.

The Supremes on Ed Sullivan.

The Jeffersons on Archie Bunker.

And since so much of what we see on tv is not reality (forget what’s going on today), but we think it’s reality, it becomes our reality.

Sex & the City freed men and women to admit, we like sex.  We want sex.  We need sex.  But it has to be good sex.  Cuz we have angst about sex.  But if we can just get across this sexual hurdle, everything else will fall into place.

Come on, think about it.

Is there any act more ludicrous than sex?

Is there anything more physically pleasurable than sex?

Is there any other act on the face of the earth where we open ourselves more, physically and emotionally?

Sex & the City allowed some of us to open up a little bit more.

Nothing wrong with that.  Okay, it makes some folks squeamish, but that’s their problem.  And if it doesn’t make you ‘ewww’ read Zane.  She puts reality really in your face.

And like Zane it not only gave us the ‘Harold Robbins’ emotional aspects but a lot of physical description.

Which some of us, y’all needed and still do, because you didn’t watch the show.

Most of all, again, it gave us freedom.

To wear those bras and hike our skirts.

Say no when we meant it, and yes when we wanted it.

To put that societal shame, which says, ‘it’s only for procreation’, ‘only bad girls say/act like that’, and ‘skank ho’ in the closet (and some of you closet queens know you’re the loudest screamers – ‘say my name, say my name’).

I’m going to miss Sex & the City.  As I said, good writing is great writing.

But as it wasn’t the first, thankfully it won’t be the last.

And as Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte weren’t always the best, but better, so am I.

God, Sex & the City.  Friends, Frasier, and the Practice.  All special.  All …


* For those Sex & the City fans you know the origin and use of the term – Abso’fuck’inglutely.  For those who do not or are offended by it’s use, other commentaries are available for your perusal.

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