Don't sweat the small stuff.

If I'm sober, awake, and blogging at 2:30 in the morning, especially on a Sunday morning, I must have something important to say.

Eh, turns out it's not really important, it's just a thought I had just now. About Sex and the City.

Now, I really didn't watch the show all that much. What I did see was pretty funny but nothing that kept me interested in following the entire show. But there is something that I've always wondered about it. You know how Carrie is the narrator of the show, and how her narration is always typed up in a word document in her laptop? Well, is that supposed to be her column? Because she writes a lot of stuff about her three slutty friends, and I feel like if they actually read the column and saw that she printed the stuff about them, those bitches would have beaten Carrie with her own Manolos.

So I think the answer here is that it wasn't actually her column, but why would she just type up her narration? I realize this is one of those stupid questions that I ask that really have nothing to do with the plot. I mean, shouldn't I demand an explanation for how Samantha escaped a herpes infection? For some reason, I don't dwell on those major issues with plot as much as I question the characters' small little flaws. The other night, Nicole and I watched Adventures in Babysitting, and after an hour and a half of her getting upset over things like how the major plot points made absolutely no sense (such as Elizabeth Shue's character coming up with a song on the spot to sing in some South Side blues club, as well as the whole car-theft conspiracy the kids were wrapped up in), I didn't question anything until the end when Elizabeth Shue sticks the peanut butter in the refrigerator.

"Why the hell would she do that?!"



I told you this wasn't important. I'm going to bed now.