* Disclaimer Sex and The City spoilers.

Manolo Blahniks on a writers budget, a public relations exec that works two hours a day, a jaded thirty something lawyer with a bad hair cut who gets hot dudes and little miss slut pretending to be little miss priss, these are the central characters of Sex and The City and it's all lies. I truly believe that women are so thirsty for role models they will attach themselves to almost anything. Think about the last time you watched a show about liberated women? Charlie Angels? Three's Company? Facts Of Life? I was first into the show when I lived in New York City back in 1998 and it was a phenomenon. Women were wearing fuck me pumps before 10am and drinking Cosmos like they were the elixir of life. At first, it was cool and nouveau but then it became dated and quite frankly trite. Now it's ten years later and women are still eating it up and I think, am I the only one yawning?

I went to the Hollywood Archlight at an 8:15 show on a Tuesday with my friends Charlie and Jen. As I wait outside for my friends, all the women I see are dressed to the nines. Tight cocktail dresses, cha cha heels, hair done, make up in place and I start to think that Los Angeles has finally got some fashion sense. Oh no. This is all the girls getting dressed up for the Sex and The City movie. I think to myself, you're getting dressed up to sit in a dark theater for two hours? Seriously? The only time I spend this much preparation to deal with the outside world when I'm getting a 300 dollar dinner and the best head ever. I'm exhausted looking at them.

We take our seats at the 8:10 showing, the place is packed. It's a room filled with gay men and women so excited about the movie they are all giggling. I feel like I'm back in high school at a pep rally. Unfortunately, I'm not doing bong hits under the bleachers as the cheerleaders chant for the home team.

As the movie begins, everyone starts to go wild. I'm impressed at this. I have not seen a reaction to a film this intense since Mommy Dearest had a midnight show at the New Beverly. I'm not kidding. As the film goes on and Carrie is still holding on to Mr. Big, Charlotte is still annoying, Miranda is still a bitch and Samantha still has not evolved, I'm annoyed. Mr. Big leaves Carrie at the wedding but she still marries him at the end. I'm annoyed. We all knew she would wind up with him, but it's almost insulting to me how much shit he put her through and she took it. I don't find it acceptable for a man to stand up his beloved at the alter. I don't find it acceptable for her to take him back. I also think it's a bit outrageous that the people that bought her apartment were willing to sell it back so fast. I seriously think Carrie Bradshaw fell in love with the apartment Mr. Big got for her. Hey, if it was me and I was 40 and alone, I'd take him back too. The rents these days for a coop are out of control and Carrie Bradshaw ain't no spring chicken.

As the movie comes to an end, I look over at my two friends that are crying, I look around the theater and everyone is crying. They are weeping into their Pashmina scarves and Hermes handkerchiefs and I can't figure out why. Maybe my bitter little charcoal briquette of a heart can't comprehend human emotion or maybe I'm just not drunk enough, either way, I'm kicking myself for paying almost fifteen dollars for this film.

The biggest problem I have is how superficial the characters are. It was all about clothes and shoes and couture. They define their lives by the men they date and their strappy sandals. It might be fun on a shallow level, but do you really think this is real life? These people don't exist. . Sex and The City is the next Harry Potter or Star Trek. Maybe the outfits are a bit more pricey and glamorous but the fans are the same.

Listen up girls; Sex And The City is a story, that's all. You will not be the next Carrie or Samantha no matter how slutty you become or even if you by an Apple laptop and start writing about your life. Hey, look at me, I write a column, I live in a shanty on the outskirts of town, no man in sight, can't afford even a knock off pair of Manolo's. The only thing I have in common with those girls is vodka, lots of vodka.