DEAR SARAH JESSICA PARKER, FUCK YOU!

Something inexplicable happened to the youth of the late 90's.....We were all graduating from college....ready to embark on bohemian journeys to New York with a somber tone set in mind thanks to RENT. Dreams of East Village life. Coffee shops. Used book stores. Angst. Slumming it. Sleeping with whoever to be cast in an Off Off Broadway show. We were armed to be invincible.....and then....this fucking little show about 4 bitches who have everything on a quest for love and shoes seeped into the mind of every early twentysomething. Suddenly, we were left heartbroken with our gypsy dreams and were now hopelessly in love with the notion of NY real estate and Zagat rated restaurants. Rather than fantasizing about running into a french film maker named Guinevere or an Argentinian guitarist named Alessandro in a pee smelling bar and sleeping with them both....we started manifesting 50 yr. old emotionally unavailable powersuits who don't call back. We started buying magazines....looking for sample sales. Eating out every night and talking about babies. Marriage seemed romantic. All topics of conversation became about everything that was wrong with the sex we had last night.
But then the worst thing of all happened. We turned 30....and our dreams came true...but only the unglam parts. We have no steady relationships, sometimes we have lots of sex....that is mostly unsatisfactory. 30 has turned to 34 and we are now embarking next year on a new age bracket, yet most of my friends are single, depressed, and can still only afford Converse.
Is there any hope? Well, if the recent movie is a crystal ball, then all we have to look forward to at 40 is being left at the altar way too super-old or having our loved one commit adultery....oooh, OR sitting on our fire escape eating chips while watching the younger next door neighbors doing it.
So dear 30something ladies...and some gents...if you wore an oversized fuckin flower on your chest please find it now and burn it. The Hamptons are fucking boring....save your "waiter" money and get on a plane to Rio or Bali or Greece this summer...or anywhere else that doesn't have wasps in sarongs crawling about. Stop caring wether or not "How Into You" he is and do things (and people) that make you happy. Keep shopping at The Gap...it always pulls through for you.
....and SJP.....I know you are not entirely to blame, but....we don't believe you anymore. Grape seed and avacado seed oil are doing nothing to prevent your cigarette stained face. Nobody wears tutus in NY and most of us think your husband is possibly gay.
Although we loved you in Footloose and Hocus Pocus, we can not look past Did You Hear About the Morgans? or Garnier Fructisse. Please stop making S.A.T.C. movies because they are starting to look like "The Golden Girls: The Early Years." Be the cute character actress we've always loved.
....and P.S....Downey got sober and I'm sure would take you back. Yeah, yeah, he's married. Madonna had dinner with Sean Penn recently. Somethin to be said for the second time around. Get on it!