This weekend I had the pleasure of watching the Sex and the City feature film for the first time. It wasn’t a pleasure because of the film itself but because of the company I was in. An opinionated, Mr. Big-hating, Aidan-loving, heterosexual man, who paused the film throughout to blast the character’s decisions and reiterate his points.

“See, that’s what Carrie’s dumb ass gets for leaving Aidan for [Big]. She left a good guy and got left at the altar!”

What followed was a ten-minute back and forth about why women would take the man who can say “I got this” over the one who says “I need you”. I argued that women want to be taken care of. Some would prefer to marry a man they know will take care of home over one who will love them unconditionally but can’t manage a mortgage. The worst feeling in the world for a woman is to discover that she wears the pants in her relationship.

Fellas, please don’t misconstrue this with her being a gold digger. You don’t have to be a millionaire but you do have to show the self-determination and drive to make ends meets without question each month, year, etc. A woman wants to be secure in knowing she is with someone who won’t fail her.

But this is stuff I’ve already covered. The real story is how Sex and the City has f*cked up millions of women.

Dare I say it, Sex and the City has done more damage to the woman’s psyche, than Steve Harvey’s book, any Tyla Purry film, Essence/Cosmo magazine and The Rules combined.

Why?

Women think that Sex and the City is real! It’s kinda like Linus and the Great Pumpkin. Women of all ages and races believe that Mr. Big is going to rise like a savior, from the crowded rush-hours streets or order her and all of her girlfriends a drink at some after work event.

Let’s call it the Sex and the City Syndrome.

Just like every man wishes his d*ck was 12-inches long and he would sleep with Beyonce, Jessica Beal and Cassie all in the same night, every woman wishes she lived the life of a SATC character.

I wish someone would take an unofficial survey of the number of women who moved to NYC in hopes of falling of love (like J.Hud’s blah character) and having a fabu wardrobe as they prance across the city after seeing SATC.

In my opinion the realest character is Mr. Big. I know several men like him. Ladies, you do not want this man! If you think Carrie waiting 10 years to get married to Big was played up for the film, think again. Men like Mr. Big aren’t going to jump into a marriage, hell, they barely want to claim a woman as their girlfriend and only do it when it becomes unavoidable. You keep bringing the same cute woman to work functions, the fellas in the firm are going to start wanting answers.

Big-type-men have a hard time trusting women. Do ladies love them for them or the money they have? Valid question when you consider we are in a recession and they know you watch SATC no matter how much you downplay its trance over you.

If I hear another woman refer to herself or her friends as any of the show’s character I will throw up and not just in my mouth. Little kids have Mickey Mouse and Disneyland, a world of make-believe that pleasures them beyond compare. Grown women have Carrie Bradshaw and Sex and the City, a over-stylized, fantasy-filled depiction of a city that in real life is one of the worst cities to meet, date and marry someone.

FYI…I’m a mixture of Carrie and Samantha.

- SG

I came across this great new online radio show and last week’s topic was “Fun with a Four-Letter Word“. The hosts (shout out to Parlour Magazine’s Steely D) had a frank discussion about porn with adult star Roxy Reynolds. At some point during the talk someone raised the question: Where do you get sex tips from?

Co-Host Chloe replied: “Everyone has a ho ass friend. Ask your ho ass friend.”

To be clear, she didn’t seem like she was saying ho in a bad way but ho in a sexually liberated “I’m not a prude” way.

If this is the case, I can agree that I have a handful of Ho Ass Friends.

In college, one of my girlfriends stole a porno from her older brother over Thanksgiving break and brought it back to campus. Three of us sat in her room, glued to the TV. I think we even brought snacks and dissected every stroke and blow by blow. We all look back at that as the night we learned how to give great head.

My very first Ho Ass Friend was in elementary school. She was a wild child, parents were hippies. One day she came into school with The Joy of Sex. During lunch a crowd of us girls sat on a park bench as she showed us through pictures were our vaginas were. I learned through Facebook she’s a card carrying lesbian now.

I will admit, I’m sure some of my friends consider me to be their H.A.F.  I say I’ve done everyone at least once. Just last week my college age cousin asked me what would happen if her boyfriend used a banana on her. I strongly recommended he use a cucumber instead. Hey, if you gonna be a freak be an informed freak. Bananas break off.

I love all my H.A.F.s. They love who they are, have great sex and aren’t afraid to school me so that I can have the same fun they do. However, every now and then your H.A.F can shock you. While at a concert I noticed my dearest H.A.F. was lost in space.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her

“I’m horny,” she replies without skipping a beat. “I want a threesome with 2 dudes. I want to get banged out.”

Ho Ass Friends…gotta love them! 

- Says the Single Girl

*** What’s your best Ho Ass Friend story? Care to share with STSG…e-mail me @ Single Girl Notes (at) gmail Dot com