Dear any man over 50 that works out at my gym,

I do realize that Austin is a big running town. Completely understand that you need to employ the short airy shorts so you can “breathe” when logging 22 miles. But I beg you, please do not wear these when you are working out in front of me doing crunchies on a balance ball. I do not demand beauty at the gym, but I also do not want to look at what hangs out of your shorts in this position. In fact, this is for men of all ages. Stick to the long shorts if you are going to be horizontal in any way. Thanks, I’m gagging, Jen.

Now for the part that is relevant to the title.

I met the ladies for a Sex in the City 2 night last night. First, let me say… holy hell, I did not know what I was getting myself into. Of course I knew there would be drinking, and laughing and loudness, because these girls rule, but the theater… wow. All I knew is that we were going to a new “fancy” theater. I figured it was the latest and greatest AMC with popcorn and captains chairs. Au Contraire, Mon Frere. No wonder the movie tickets were $23. You get your own cushy barcalounger, they bring you food and drinks and blankets and pillows. There is a cute little compartment in the arm for your purse and belongings (Finally, someone realized women don’t like to set their Gucci bags on sticky soda and melted Milkduds) and the chairs recline, by outer space buttons powered with electricity, not weird body flinging spring arm. The servers are in suits and cocktail dresses (and they have no clue what they are doing). If they weren’t still figuring out how to run the service and if I wasn’t still figuring out how to eat my calamari with my fingers, it would have been a pretty stellar movie experience.

That said, not gonna lie, the movie was pretty much meh. That’s what happens when you take witty HBO shows to the big screen. Got to cater to the Department of Motor Vehicle masses, and the humor level of the general population is not on par with us smarties (see Arrested Development. If you think its dumb, you are part of the DMV crowd I just referenced).

Afterward, we all chilled in the lounge for one more $3 champagne. Of course we began going around the circle to discuss what character each of us most resembled. Shit. These girls have known each other much longer than I’ve known any of them. As we made our way around the group, I was sitting there racking my brain for who the hell I should name for myself:

Samantha is the only single one at this point… so I guess we got that in common. But, I’m not having all that sex, I don’t dress like a 19 year old prostitute and, even though I sometimes feel old due to unhealthy eating and drinking habits and a tendency to trip over things and bruise, I’m not going through menopause nor a midlife crisis.

I definitely went through the career oriented Miranda phase, but I’m not uptight and bitter (ok, sometimes bitter, but in an endearing way. I’ve decided to justify all my faults by assuming they are endearing). Plus, I wouldn’t take back a man who cheated on me and she just kind of irritates me, so I hope I don’t remind anyone of her.

I can’t say I’m Carrie, because everyone thinks they’re Carrie and, really people,… she doesn’t exist. Plus, I have yet to meet a guy that actually thinks she’s hot.

I don’t even need to start on Charlotte. Anyone who has spent more than 5 minutes in my vicinity would smirk (or worse) at the idea of me resembling her in any way except that when I was 13 I wanted to be Jewish so I could have a fancy bat mitzvah just like my best friend with a DJ and gift bags.

I think I might be proud to say that I just don’t fit the mold of any of these four beings that everyone in America now wants to force us into.

I am not going to run into my ex in any foreign country and there is no way that Samantha keeps landing all these hot men by just giving them that awkward “do me” face. I’ve tried it. It doesn’t work. You just look like a mental patient.

Luckily, right before the attention turned to me, we went off on a tangent and started talking really loudly about abortion and shaking things up enough that servers came over to ask us if we were done for the evening. Phew. Dodged a bullet there.

Just got an email from one of the ladies saying “You know you’re uber hung over when rolling in your office chair makes you dizzy and queasy! $3 bubbly is baaaad.”

I believe that’s a sign of a good night.

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