I feel like I should tell you that I watched Sex and the City 2 yesterday. You know, for reasons. They’re not good reasons by any stretch, but they are still reasons.

1. I managed to get Graham to go to my nephew’s soccer game. The 8 blocks to walk there isn’t strenuous or anything, but he works pretty late so getting him anywhere before 1pm is kind of rare. Also he bought me a Coke and a bratwurst while we were there. South City breakfast!

2. I completed everything on my to-do list before 3pm. I don’t think I’ve completed everything on my to-do list ever, mostly because I cheat when I make to-do lists and always include something impossible so that I can act exhausted and be like “well, it’s practically impossible to get that done with the way I’m feeling right now.” Yesterday’s to-do list was not only possible but necessary, and getting to smudge that last thing from the dry erase board on the fridge felt like a major nerdy accomplishment.

3. The turkey sandwich and giant Rice Krispie treat (which was actually made out of Fruity Pebbles!) I got from Macklind Avenue Deli was totally okay because I walked there and back to get it. I mentioned before that I chose this place like Liz Lemon would choose a place, in that one of my favorite delis is within walking distance. Totally true.

4. I had planned to go out and do something (like, actually socialize with other people in public), but then my sister said she couldn’t go. Point of manners here: if you can’t go somewhere because you don’t feel well for whatever reason, that’s fine. Just please don’t tell me that you started your period. Shit’s gross.

5. I have HBO. I have never had HBO. I’ve never had premium cable of any kind, so when I see movies on it that hold even the vaguest interest for me – even if that interest is something that hasn’t been active since 2001 – my formerly premium cable-deprived mind can’t help but watch it.

So yes, I watched Sex and the City 2, even though I remembered reviews saying it was crass and stupid and basically an orgy of things that nobody can (or should) afford. I felt the first pangs of frustration within the first 20 minutes, where the money being thrown around by these characters who were supposed to be relatable New Yorkers once upon a time was just…I mean, it was just obscene. Then I watched as Carrie, who is in her 40s by now and married, behaved no more intelligently than 5th Grade Me, who once flirted by beating the crap out of the boys I liked. Then the women went to Abu Dhabi for some reason, and proceeded to behave like arrogant, piggish Americans who deserve to be stoned to death in the public square.

It was a disgusting movie full of disgusting people and I eventually only half-listened to it while unpacking most of my books (I consolidated the stuff that still needs shelves into 3 boxes, which is better than 8 but I would really like to know when, how, and why I acquired a copy of Ice-T’s The Ice Opinion). The women of Sex and the City have become completely unlikable characters, and by that I truly do mean “unlikable.” There is nothing about these characters that is appealing or sympathetic, which to me means that they are very poorly written, as I want to like each character for some small reason, and I have always believed in the Vonnegutian rule that every character should want something, even just a glass of water. The women of Sex and the City want stuff but it’s not specific stuff. They just want more of whatever it is that makes them useless, awful creatures who still can’t get their shit together, no matter how much older and richer they become.

And I know this is a tired joke, but dudes. Sarah Jessica Parker really does look like a fucking horse. There was a time in the late 1990s/early 2000s when this look actually worked for her. She wasn’t classically pretty in that bland, woman-on-cable-TV way, but she seemed comfortable with her nose and her bone structure and I’d rather look at someone with a unique face than look at those same dead shark eyes on a skinny body all the time. But at some point between the middle late portion of the show and now, Sarah Jessica Parker has been to the face surgeon and gotten some things stretched, and her face is now a waxy rendition of when I took my sister’s Barbie and squeezed it on either side of its head. I know that we shouldn’t begrudge women for doing what it takes to make themselves feel confident and get work, but damn, lady. Damn. The work you get is shit and your face could star in a bootleg My Little Pony cartoon. Which, by the way, may be the only decent job you’re going to be able to find soon.