Put that right there

I don’t know exactly when it started but suffice it to say it’s just going to be known as my mid-life crisis and get it over with. It’s my version of buying the red Mazaratti, Armani suit & place at the beach and schtupping a much younger version of everything that turns me on. Nope, I’m not going there, except as I write it, I want to meet that guy, but that’s another chapter of what I will call for now an updated version of The Awakening.

60 shades of pink



4 women in their mid-to-late 30s in the L.A. entertainment business struggle with their biological clocks: 4 friends, one slid into the perfect marriage / had 2 kids years ago, a little too perfect but you can’t help but love her and she’s about to deal with a cheating husband (with one of their dearest friends)–she’s the ideal woman archetype, grass is always greener parable.

# 2: an entertainment attorney so we get lots of opportunities to speculate on the secrets of famous people, one is a reality tv show runner which gives us a wealth of material —  one minute she’s talking about working on Cops, the next she’s taking a call at the bar — from some crazy potential cast member. Through her, we hear the story of America, so to speak, as she covers the reality tv waterfront. And the fourth friend has yet to be determined–maybe a famous dominatrix who rules a certain portion of Hollywood. Knows where the Armenian mobsters live and helps out certain very important people when it comes to being discreet.

Yet, these three have all almost found the exact right person but something came up and there’s either a ‘the-one-that-got-away,’ ‘timing was off’ or ‘another time, another place’ man who might have been. They can’t seem to shake it on the bad days. The barrage of baby notices or 10+ year anniversaries, how the people they thought were so fucked up ended up with the house in the suburbs, picket fence and 2-car garage. Their husbands make good livings doing something no one quite understands–they don’t get their hands dirty in the least bit yet they are out of the line of fire at the top. They were khakis and long white sleeved shirts and know a lot about mid-level business. These are the people we think we wish we’d become. Instead, here we are the movers and the shakers in the completely amorphous world of providing the gestalt of short-attention-span theater, committed to the specialty of ‘here today, gone tomorrow’ with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel.

And yet, they can’t find love. These three. It’s very much what “Sex in the City” might have been had it not been written by gay men obsessed with $ 400 shoes that  no NYC sex columnist could ever afford without a sugar daddy (the deep dark secrets of how that character would actually have to survive to maintain that fucking apartment in Manhattan, but that’s another story for another day) meets “Desperate Housewives” (on a good day, for the extremes brought to live by those women playing such crazy characters) and “2.5 Men” for its writing, brazen raunchiness and wit.

But, it’s got a Norman Lear aspect to it, a dark side, there will always be those moments each episode where you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. But you always laugh. Sometimes laugh-cry.

I need to revise this. Don’t go breaking my heart is definitely on the gin and juke box.


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