So, today, come 1:50, I'll be sitting (in between two very dear girlfriends) at a little Manhattan theater with a sneaked-in bottle of Caffeine Free Diet Coke and a bucket of popcorn the size of the Empire State Building, watching the long awaited Sex and the City movie. Yes, it's true: I'm a total (moved to New York 'cause I wanna be a writer) cliché, but I sweat this stuff.
I've watched every single episode--have watched on Christmas, my birthday; when I'm sad, happy, need to be writing, grading, working out; was watching, obliviously, on the morning of September 11; want, right now actually, not to be posting but instead to be sitting eating a Fudgsicle and watching some more.
Anyway, even though I already know the ending, I couldn't be happier. The thing is: Carrie has to marry Big. The entire show (if dissected from Episode 1 to infinitum for, say, "writing research") is a narrative arc of their love story. I'm glad I have pregnancy to blame, because I have a feeling it's going to be one of those weddings where I ball uncontrollably.
Okay, that's it. I'll try to spare you the popculture references from here on out...though I did hear that Jamie Lynn and Casey are expecting a girl. I bet when she grows up she'll wanna watch Sex and the City too!