About a week ago I ordered the first six seasons of Sex and the City, and yesterday, they arrived. I call it a guilty pleasure not just because the ridiculous amount of sex in them, but also because of the giant amount of stereotypical drivel. I admit it's not the most cultural show, but I love it. It also raises a lot of relationship issues, I suppose you could term it "research" for real life, though of course, highly exaggerated.
So many times in Sex and the City they use the phrase "well he's a man" as if it excuses everything the men are doing wrong. The stereotypical-streak borders on domination, and I sometimes wonder if that's all the show is based upon. Of course, being a man is not an excuse for anything except having a penis. It can't excuse bad manners, controlling behaviour, lack of romance, or even inability to connect with emotions. The only thing that can even begin to excuse things like that are upbringing and a mature member of the human race will take the blame themselves.
In the next two weeks Mark, once again, lands on British soil. I'm looking forward to it for obvious reasons. This Christmas is set to be a great one, probably the best yet. Maybe Mark is the missing ingredient in my life, after all, he treats me like every day we spend together is our anniversary. I love it, and hope it never changes. Even though Mark is technically not a guilty pleasure, being that I feel like shouting that I'm his from the rooftop (if you'll pardon the cliché), this Christmas I'll be indulging more than usual.
Just a short post today I guess. Have fun readers.
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