Aidan shaw sex and the city

If you’ve come here looking for another serious treatise on the many misgivings of Sex and the City—how it disappointed me, lied to me, provided me with false hope, insulted my gender’s integrity, or made me feel like a female freak of nature because I’m not constantly surrounded by three fawning friends—you might want to move right along. It is and always has been aidan shaw sex and the city entertainment, and—in my opinion—should be treated as such. It wasn’t a documentary about how the female species survive a bustling metropolis. 200 words once a week—whose fault is that?

Vince and the boys drink, run around L. I’m noticing how grating the ladies can be—particularly Carrie Bradshaw. I happen to really like the character, and I know it’s not news that she’s needy and self-centered, but the more I delve into the series, the more I realize she is—to use her words—kind of an asshole. Which is great in a way—you want your characters to be flawed, even on a featherweight show like this—but it’s only recently become super-apparent to me how straight up grating, dense, rude, and crazy Carrie is at times. And, for the record, I’m aware this is a fictional person I’m talking about. Hey, we all need a hobby.

I think Carrie Bradshaw is kind of an a-hole. She sleeps with a man she doesn’t know—then complains he treated her like a prostitute. I think you treated yourself like a prostitute, CB. She brings bagels to her injured BFF—and forgets cream cheese. Nothing says self-involved like sending your boyfriend to help Miranda when she called you about throwing her neck out, but to come over with a few measly bagels without cream cheese or fixings is downright blasphemous. She acts like going to her boyfriend’s country house is a form of capital punishment.

For the record, Suffern New York is literally less than hour away from Manhattan. She acted like Aiden was asking her to take the Fung Wah bus to West Virginia every weekend. Ah, if only Carrie could see into the future. Even as a joke, it’s condescending.

The woman whose marriage you ruined ignores you in a restaurant, and you complain that she snubbed you? What was she supposed to do, come over and give you a hug? Way to turn the girl’s failed marriage into something ALL. She thinks it’s okay to show up at Big’s ex-wife’s office. Carrie makes an appointment to go see Big’s ex-wife without telling him—and lies that she’s interested in writing a children’s book about cigarettes. She tries to get a bank loan by complaining she’s single. When Aidan gives her the eviction notice, she goes to the bank to see about a loan.

Playing the lonely and poor card doesn’t work at a bank. You have no money, the end. And no banker cares you were anyone’s pick for city columnist, even over Pete Hamill. When Carrie can’t buy her apartment, she shows up at Big’s office and asks him how he made his money, as if his advice was something Carrie could replicate in 30 days. She went there knowing he’d offer her the money, which he did.

But then, she doesn’t even use it. She throws a full-on temper tantrum at Bungalow 8. She went with Oliver—the handsome gay man she met twice who didn’t kiss her ass at the club like he did the other times they hung out. He dared to talk with someone else for one second, and Carrie threw a temper tantrum and stormed out. The more I watch this bratty scene as an adult, the crazier it is—what normal human leaves anywhere because your friend talks to other people? She starts shrieking like a hyena when it stars raining. Listen, most of us would rather not get caught in a downpour without an umbrella, but when it happens to Carrie—outside the Guggenheim—she starts shrieking like an animal.