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Admittance Is The First Step…Even If It’s In Prada Heels November 14, 2006

Posted by doctorolove in TV.

To my fellow Y-chromosomed brethren,

I cried at Titanic (though I swore out loud through muffled tears, “This is from the guy who made the fricken Terminator!). I bought a shirt one summer that made people question my manliness, but I wore incessantly because it looked good and it flattened down my man-boobs. I read Cosmo in hospital waiting rooms because I really want to know if I’m touch in my inner rock girl. And I own each Britney Spears album, strictly for their musical merit and not because of any sort of schoolgirl fantasies. Yet today, I am going to say something that is so scandalous, so salacious and so, well, un-typically male, that it may result in some sort of public de-masculinization (which, if it does go through, will be aired in conjunction with “David Blaine Escapes from the DMV: An Eight Hour Event! On Fox!)

I have now officially seen every episode of Sex and the City.

That’s 94 episodes. Which roughly means that for 47 hours of my life I was allowed into a secret society of women who drink Cosmos and talk about men with all the ribaldry of the three guys I used to light my farts with. (Though replace the words “used to” with “have scheduled for Sunday.”) I have seen every disposable man, every feminine issue, every little scene where Carrie writes really slow on her keyboard, Doogie Howser style (In English class, we would call that “the theme.”)

Everything seems okay. I still let the seat up this morning and my laundry is still coagulating in a corner of my closet. My socks are still mismatched and I still have no conclusive definition for the words duvet, tea sandwiches, or temperance.

But having completed my journey, I have one thing to say. Guys, we have no better manual on how to succeed with women than the catalogue of this show. There are several reasons that make this show the greatest dating manual ever placed on any sort of modern medium (Except for maybe King of Queens, because I’m still trying to figure out how a heavy set UPS driver with a drinking problem lands Leah Remini…there has to be some sort of message there.)

Let’s do some simple math. 94 episodes with 4 women. Each girl blows through an average of about half a guy per episode, of course allowing for longer boyfriend story arcs because a guest star tested really well with audiences. Carry the two. Apply the Pythagorean theorem and you come up with the made up number of 287 men. That means that there are at least 287 guys who have been dumped on the show for whatever reason. Some are face lickers, others are addicted to porn. But some are dumped for reasons that we guys never really knew could possibly end our relationship. This show has provided for us some sobering facts. Those swamp feet you thought would always go away with age are a ticking relationship time bomb. The words “I Love You,” which we were convinced needed to be said as per some relationship book are simply a dull death knell we can’t hear. And don’t even try to become over emotional because odds are, the next morning the final time you’ll see this girl is when she tosses your clothes at you in a dark hallway.

But for all the failures the show teaches us to avoid, it provides a message of hope for all of us out there. The women on the show, sexually savvy and for the most part, quite good looking (If SJP bothers you, just close your eyes and envision what she looked like in Striking Distance…makes a difference, huh?) And for all these perfect, desirable qualities these women possess, they end up with regular Joes. Okay, maybe not the model/actor or the rich, “What Does He Do Again?” Mr. Big, but the other two. The geeky bartender who looks like the older version of what Horshack may have become and the bald, sweaty lawyer who is a couple of years and a shaky tie from being Rodney Dangerfield II:This Time, It’s Respect. And those guys we can all relate to. That means there’s hope for us. Even if in the minds of catty scriptwriters. We can get the girl even if we fail to reach any sort of level on the “Catch” meter.

And the conversations. It’s like a primer for just what women really want. They talk about sexual acts, positions and other things we thought were illegal in 46 out of 50 states (Who knew? They love Dirty Sanchezes in Wyoming!) And while I don’t suggest whipping these out of your bag of tricks quite so fast, it’s good to know that they don’t just exist in your perverted mind. Kind of like the net under a trapeze. Safety, security and at the end of a really good act, the gymnasts sometimes fall into it anyway. But not until the end of the act, so calm down.

Now, if this ability to gain insight into the female psyche doesn’t get you guys, there’s always this. The show is like a game of Boobie Roulette. You’re usually guaranteed one good boob shot per show. And if not, you get that weird faux half-boob, which on a cold and lonely night is an ample replacement for the Victoria’s Secret catalog. Now if Vegas gave you those odds, you’d throw down in a minute. And this comes with the additional ability to change the way you deal with women! Which is the exact opposite of Vegas.

All men, I’m calling out to you. Your life can be changed by watching Sex and The City. Understand your girl. Improve your chances with the next one. And have something for the interim in between. It’s like a dating and sex evolution chart. Stigma, be damned, I say! But if you still need to, you can leave the toilet seat up occasionally. I won’t mind.


The Doctor



1. Kim - November 14, 2006

I’m literally laughing my ass off. You rock.

2. doctorolove - November 14, 2006

Thank ya! Now if you’ll excuse me, the soaps are on! (Oh no, it’s spreading…)

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