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Tonight I finished my marathon, 4 month run of Sex and the City. In January I bought the series, hoping to watch it from beginning to end before the big movie comes out. My best friend Jeff and I began watching the episodes in late January, hoping to get a season done per weekend, while taking some weekends off. The story of single woman in New York who write a column about sex in her endless search for love is the premise of the show. She and her 3 best friends are successful, beautiful women who are all searching.

Perhaps it’s the writing of a generalized character, the fact that I wish my life were a movie, or maybe just crazy coincidence, but I began to notice so many crazy parallels between myself and the character Carrie Bradshaw. My computer crashed the week hers did. She got a pink cell phone, and I carry a pink cellphone. She has a Mr Big, and I apparently do too. Looking through my life as a single gay male in Minneapolis, who is working on becoming a writer (a different kind of writer, of course) but one who is enthralled by fashion, lives beyond his means, and who has a man who is incredibly hard to read and will never fall out of love with.

I really can’t say that I can spoil the end of the series for anyone, but I would like to call into question the possibility of my gay fairytale. When will it happen for me? Will I too have a russian, a berger, and my eventual Mr Big sweeping me off my feet in Paris? The one thing I do know is that for people like me and Carrie Bradshaw, the possibilities and fantasies contain more romance than any number of karats on a necklace.

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