I've always kind of wanted to own the seasons of SATC, but for some reason I could never locate season one. I'm such an OCD freak that I couldn't bring myself to start with two. I'm sorry, but you don't start with two! If you were supposed to start with two, it would be called one. Get it? So imagine my euphoria when I finally came across a season one that wasn't part of the $200.00 box set.
But I digress...
I'm sure Man believes-- as I'm also sure you do-- that I'm holed up in our bedroom with a mug of chamomile tea and my favorite pillow (faux leopard to commemorate my coat) watching episode after episode (In order!) to revisit some fantasy about being "A Carrie" or "A Miranda" or whatever. No. Ever since the advent of this show and the accompanying "I'm a..." merchandise, I've been searching for my "I'm a Candace" tee shirt or coffee mug.
Right after my mom, and just before the Ab Fab gals, Candace is on the top of my list of heroes. She wrote the book that became the show that captured our hearts. I never understood running around with your "I'm a Carrie" tee shirts. I'd rather be a Candace; the Goddess that created the world where the characters live. After all, that's all they were: Characters. Fictional women who don't actually exist. If I wanted to be someone non-existent, I'd be happy as Emma So-and-So from small town New Jersey.
I'm bigger than that.
I'm a Candace!
P.S. The peanut gallery can keep their comments about my "bigger than that" ass size to themselves, kthnx.
This Blog Is Dedicated In Memory of My Awesome Fur Coat
Winter 2004 - Spring 2009
May You Rest In Peace In A South Jersey Storage Facility, Old Friend...