Sex and the City 2! I know women and children all over the country are going bonkers over the new movie. They are especially crazy in New York because every girl living in a 200 mile radius of Manhattan feels they are Sarah Jessica Parker. As men beat their heads into a wall having to deal with another summer of Sex and the City I am here to tell you fear not! This could be the best news since hearing “The A-Team” was being released.

The thing is, men see Batman and think one of two things. They can rob a bank with war paint on their face or they can construct a cape that will help them fly the streets and keep the city safe at night. All people are like that. We see something we love on the silver screen, we tend to mimic it. Women love Sex and the City. What is Sex and the City? It’s a show turned movie about 4 women that if they existed in real life would be considered the 4 easiest women on the planet.  Chalk one up for the drunk dude who hasn’t gotten laid in the year 2010 yet! This one’s for you! Yeah, by the end of June you won’t see most of these girls out on the town anymore because they will no doubt bankrupt themselves on shoes and hand bags they see in the movie, but for a solid month they will find it OK to meet a guy on the first night and sleep with him. That is, as long as over brunch the next day they can give a witty reason why they did it to their other girl friends. “He said he was French! I later learned he just eats French fries for lunch every day! Ha Ha!” Or “He had an eye patch and a fake leg. You all know how sexy I find Johnny Depp in those pirate movies!” “And you do love rum! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

Ladies, you do know a gay man is the head writer right? Libido and morality of a man, fashion sense of a woman. Why do you think they’re so classy and fashionable but end up having sexual relations three times with 4 different men in a half hour episode? It’s simple math really.

At the end of the day, everyone is really a winner with this movie. Women get to see their favorite fab foursome in action then get to pretend to be them. Men get to sit back and enjoy the ride. I guess the only loser in this situation is the guy in a relationship. He doesn’t get to take advantage of the moral depravity and will most likely get dragged to the theater to see the movie. Sucks to be you guy.

If you haven’t heard, all the NYC doormen are striking. Considering most of my viewership pulls in 250K +, you feel my pain. Those of you who don’t have doormen like to throw stones at our ivory tower. I’m here to tell you, I could care less about the fact I don’t have to have an awkward exchange with people that speak a completely different language. Sure it’s going to suck having to take my own garbage out and deal with the awful odor and puddles of spoiled milk in the elevators because people don’t know how to pour their sh%^ out before throwing it away. Leaky garbage? Who needs it? Not me. Not my garbage, not my problem. But that's not why I am devastated by this strike.

You see, I am an avid online shopper. I know that sounds like a chick thing, but since I have been introduced to the world wide market place, I haven’t been able to stand on line at a store. I’m not buying Jimmy Choo’s so save the gay jokes for another time. Underwear? One click away. Chocolate Cheerios? Hello fresh direct. Wheels for my sweet ass new roller blades? Here’s my credit card and shipping address.

Everyday for me is like my own little Christmas. I figure, it’s the best day of the year, why not make it all 365. So I get to come home, get a package and because I order so much crap, I never know what I’m opening! If you don’t think I shake and examine the package, you’re crazy. Ripping through those boxes is the closest to the ignorant bliss I got as a child. So sure it’s not Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures, but I have never been so excited to get a pair of tube socks to wear while I’m shredding through central park on the new blades.

So with the doorman strike, nobody will be there to sign for my prized possessions. Now I will have to go to UPS, wait online for an hour, and pick my stuff up. Kind of defeats the purpose for online shopping. Personally, I think they should waive the shipping charges.

It's no real secret that I don't like Tiki Barber. So I can rant and rave about what a d-bag he is for dumping a wife and 4 kids to trade up. Let's not fool ourselves people. Look at that picture! He's trading up. But that would be biased. Instead, I am going to give athletes and celebs alike a little advice on what to think about before leaving their families and destroying their public image.

Let me start out by saying they can always repair their image. They will take their lumps for a while, but Tom Brady went from being a man that ditched his knocked up lady friend to a man that picks up his wives dogs crap in plastic bags. At least, that's what he is in the public eye. Woody Allen basically dated his daughter. Roman Polansky raped a child. For some reason those two are well liked. Well mostly.

Basically, if you're a celeb over say 27 you should never leave anyone, not even your mothers basement for a girl living in a dorm room rocking the home made collage over her bed. That's right Traci Lynn Johnson! Don't think I didn't notice that! You minx you! That just yells disaster. Sure, if he's a single guy and feels like having a fling there, go for it. But to break up a home for a girl that still eats Ramen noodles and has her girls come over after their dorm meeting to watch Real World / Road Rules Challenge? Probably not the best idea.

What the hell? Is this move even legal? I did play soccer, but I didn't know the rules. Like, every time I was the one throwing the ball in, the ref always threw the challenge flag. Don't ask me why. Till this day I have no idea what I was doing wrong. I just kicked balls hard and ass even harder. That's why I was dominant at soccer. Now that you have a little back story on my soccer career I must admit I had no idea this sweet move was even legal. I have heard of the spin-o-rama in hockey and that move was like my bread and butter. If I knew this was possible, I would have gotten a soccer scholarship to some crazy school, dropped out after a year to play in Europe, made a billion dollars in three years because soccer players make even more than baseball players, retire, buy a boat and just make prank calls with auto tune all day. Why can't I do that? All because I had no idea this move was even legal.

Those of you who know me, know I love this city. There is no better place to live than New York. I haven’t lived anywhere else, but that’s neither here nor there. That being said, there are a lot of things that bug me about this city. See, the thing with a city like New York is, your main transportation is your feet. So walking is kind of an art in New York. Like how rigshawing is an art in China. Rigshawing? That can’t be the right way to say that? Anyway, here are the types of walkers I can’t stand.

The Floater

This monster is unavoidable. You are bound to see one around every corner, in every street alley, up every block. This human detour sign is there for one reason and one reason alone, to slow your ass down. In my experience if the Floater isn’t abnormally large or walking with some sort of an aid (like a cane, seeing dog, or annoying toddler) it‘s usually a middle age man or woman who is annoyed they can no longer collect welfare checks. Obama told these clowns to get a job. So they spend every moment going to work, returning from lunch, or taking a casual stroll taking as much time as possible. They spend so much time and energy on trying not work, that it actually becomes more exhausting than the work they would have done in that time. You don’t need to understand the rules to know them.

The Tag Team

This is basically two or more floaters walking together. The funny thing is more often than not The Tag Team when operating as independent entities walks at a fine, respectable pace. Put them together though and they feel like they need to savor every moment they have with each other. Hey, nobody cares if you’re on Team Edward or if you feel bad for Sandra Bullock. Pick up the pace.  At least with a floater you have a 50/50 shot of getting around them. The Tag Team? 99 times out of 100 you are stuck until a street corner. I don’t accept those odds. I have been known to run out in the middle of 6^th avenue to get around these gossiping slow pokes. I don’t advise that though. It took years of training and I still haven’t mastered the Chinese delivery boy on his mongoose bike with front and back pegs. Remember, Chinese food waits for no one.

The Scaffold Scaredy Cat

These are like the people that drive so fast they are about the travel back in time but when they see that 18 wheeler they hit the brakes so hard you can smell rubber. As soon as this guy gets under the scaffold it’s like they have to admire the artwork the construction worker with an 8^th grade education and 5^th grade sense of humor put on the wall. Get a life guy. It’s just boobs. Ha. I wrote boobs.

The Speed Racer

This cat moves at impossible speeds. I mean Usain Bolt would be impressed at how fast this guy moves. Weaving in and out of pedestrians, paying no attention to who he knocks over. Women, children, men with small builds. He will kick the walking stick of a blind man if it meant being on that N train platform before you. This sounds like someone I would enjoy right? Not slowing me down any. Wrong. See, I have an ego problem. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY can walk faster than me on the street. Usually, this isn’t a problem, but occasionally I meet up with a Speed Racer. Guess what guy? It’s on. You kick out a walking stick? I leap frog a lady riding a Rascal. There’s no stopping my competitive walking spirit. I’m not even taking the N train but I will swipe in with my metro card and hit that platform before you. Sometimes you got to kick a little ass to show the people in this city who’s the boss.

The Paparazzi

Hands down my most hated walker in the city. Repeat. MOST HATED. The odd thing is, if I wasn’t walking and I was just having a cold one at an outside café, I find these people hilarious. But when I’m trying to get somewhere, I hate these people with the fire of a thousand suns. Now, I’m not a racist, but I also know I am genetically not able to dunk a basketball. That being said, Paparazzi are always Asian. I don’t know what it is, but they need to take a picture with EVERYTHING. Sure, you see the naked cowboy, you may want to pose with him like you’re licking cream cheese off his abs. Fine, whatever. But the guy that sells knock off DVD’s on my block, trust me, he ain’t worth your time. So what if he sold you a copy of Hot Tub Time Machine in Swahili, he doesn’t need to be on your facebook page. So while I’m walking home from a long days work, don’t think I’m stopping to let you finish your photo. Enjoy tagging my right ear in your album. Jim Fenimore. Search for it on the book.