If a Movie Premiere Is the Most Exciting Day of My Year, Do I Need a Life?

If you live under a rock, you might not know that May 30 is the premiere for the Sex and the City movie. I am beyond excited. I must confess, when the series ended, I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my life. Or what I was going to wear.

Picture it: It's the evening of the final episode. I'm on the couch, sad and distressed since mid-afternoon. Frank, who watched the show with me every week (ha! Outed!) is sitting on the enormously ugly brown recliner (which, sadly for him, moved out of our home soon after for a new life at the Salvation Army) watching me more than the show. Why? He found great humor in my pouty face and the way I spontaneously burst into tears even during funny parts. Then, it's time for the final scene. I'm now lying across the couch, watching through the holes of a ratty afghan that is covering my face. Carrie reads her text message from Mr. Big. He signs it (SPOILER, LOOK AWAY IF YOU HAVE NO SOUL AND HAVEN'T SEEN THIS EPISODE) John. I swear it, I stretch out my arm to the TV and blubber, "His name is John!" At this point, Frank falls off the ugly chair, laughing his ass off. My eyes stayed swollen until the following afternoon.