catheroominations

Last night was too much fun. Ninety minutes of non-stop Sex (and the City).

When I was first approached to do this, the screener suggested going out for a drink first. I declined for two reasons:

1. Where in San Ho are we going to find a cool bar nearby that will make us flirtinis?
2. I envisioned myself having cocktails with stuffy people dressed in suits and ties.

When I greeted the three women who came to talk to this Extreme Sex and the City Fan, I wish I had accepted the drink offer. They looked like the same people who walk through my door all the time, like my girlfriends. And they looked fun, not scientific-researchy at all. OK, I didn’t expect lab coats, but in the past when I’ve participated in focus groups, the leader has been a bit stiff. But these chicks were cool.

<tangent>
Damn, I should have bought cosmopolitan fixin’s. Ah well. And I make a mighty fine cosmo, if I do say so myself. Shoot. I didn’t even offer them a drink of water. What kind of hostess am I? Oh, that’s right. I was a Research Subject, not a Hostess. That lets me off the hook. Right?
</tangent>

At first, the prospect of having this conversation at my house seemed weird. (Mom always said not to let strangers in the house.) I was told that meeting at my humble abode would allow me to be more comfortable than I might be in unfamiliar surroundings, like a corporate boardroom. But it also meant that I had to clean. Like a madwoman I cleaned. My apartment needed it and I am the type who doesn’t clean because I want to, I clean because someone is coming over and I want to make a good impression and I don’t want them to think I’m a giant slob. These people already knew I watch a lot of TV, and that conjures up images of dusty furniture, empty soda cans, and potato chip bags and the only things you can see in the mess are a reclined La-Z-Boy chair and the remote. So I had to get rid of all that stuff before they came over.

I was put under the microscope for an hour and a half. Only, it didn’t seem like a microscope. It seemed like my living room. Oh wait, it was my living room. It was exactly like three friends had come over to talk and get to know me better. Except my friends don’t videotape me or take pictures or notes, hanging on my every word.

<tangent>
I’ll admit that my fondness for television sometimes embarrasses me. But not when I can make some extra dough talking about how much I like it, and one show in particular. I also know a LOT about pop culture. You want me on your Trivial Pursuit team or Celebrity Taboo. Yes, I will be your Entertainment Lifeline if you ever get on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (for a small fee). Some call it useless information, but others just paid me $50 bucks an hour for that uselessness. So there ya go.
</tangent>

I didn’t know just where these women were from and I tried to guess, based on the questions they asked. I figured maybe they were from HBO and were looking for interest in a new reality series that HBO is working on. Nope, HBO didn’t send them. In they end, they told me they were from a cable network (the one that airs Sex and the City). I gave them and the network permission to use all of last night’s footage (quotes, video, photos) in whatever way they see fit. (Damn, I should have fixed my makeup and worn a push-up bra.)

It was easy and fun, and damn, I wish I could do this all the time. Get paid just for talking about TV. So, get your ass on that couch and start watching some TV! It could be a whole new source of income for you.