I’m sorry. I can’t. Don’t hate me.

In an effort to prepare myself for the upcoming Sex in the City movie, I've been watching re-runs of the foxy foursome religiously over the last few months. It is strangely ironic how closely this show can mimic the real-life relationships I have suffered. No wonder this show is so hugely popular!

I've tried the young boy who lives in a trashy apartment with video games and posters taped to the walls. I've dated the too-feminine straight man. For all I know, I've dated the too-feminine gay man. I had unfortunate run-ins with several boys with the Mommie complex. I've accidentally dated a religious person. I can't stop talking about my own Mr. Big. I've fallen off the sidewalk because someone tried to hold my hand. And, I've even had two actual boyfriends. The creator of this show has relationships of our current generation down to a tee.

I just finished the episode where Carrie gets dumped on a Post-It Note. Then she goes on a rant in a nightclub about how guys are cowardly and immature. Then she gets high and almost gets arrested. Then she eats ice-cream and laughs about it all. When said like this, it sounds rather boring and unbelievable. BUT, the truly unbelievable thing is that I've very nearly had that same night. In fact, so many of my girlfriends have. I think the point of this episode is to remind women that we can be prone to craziness and irrational anger. Here I have to stop to ask in a very Carrie Bradshaw sort-of way: It is really us?

Being broken up with on a Post-It is one of the least horrible abuses women are subjected to in our real-life relationship adventures. I feel that the occasional rant, however absolute the probability it falls on deaf ears, is our right. God forbid after being stood up, lied to, cheated on, ignored, used, taken for granted, disrespected, and, in a plethora of other ways, mistreated we dare get angry and raise our voices. Frankly, we should do it more often. In fact, women who don't speak up only make it more difficult for the rest of us. If I am a crazy bitch because I won't communicate solely via text message or I want you to keep your urine confined to the inside of the toilet or I expect kindness, equality, and respect before AND after sex, than so be it.

I'm just sooooo tired of always trying to remain calm and classy in a sea of classless jerks. I know that there must be some normal men out there, someone who rides my same wave. I guess I'm a little bit Charlotte in that way. But when my boss found the printout for my movie tickets for Friday's opening night of the big Sex in the City movie and asked me what character I was, I could only very sadly answer Miranda, the jaded, cynical one.

However, when I am alone and feel sad about how Miranda I've become, I can always count on Samantha to help cheer me up with fabulous words of wisdom:

If you're never someone's girlfriend, you can never be someone's ex-girlfriend.

Now i think i'll call up my girls and eat ice-cream and laugh about it all in the most unfunctional shoes i own. I feel better already.