I’ve spent a good bit of my free time these past two weeks watching the first two seasons of Sex and the City. I knew I really liked the show, but it wasn’t until recently that I developed a deep spiritual connection with Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha Jones. Sarah Jessica Parker’s voice has a very comforting quality to it that makes me feel every good feeling at once, and I consider Samantha the patron saint of horniness. (Horniness is, BTW, one of my favorite things.)

For every instance when a character says or does something terrible or regressive (and there are a lot of those), there’s at least one scene where Samantha says something incredible. She lectures Charlotte on the fluidity of sexuality. She masturbates in bed to the sound of a couple having sex in the apartment next door, while drinking wine and smoking weed. She seduces a doorman by showing up in nothing but a coat and lingerie, and then never speaks to him again. Her every line is life-changing. Occasionally, she slips up—I remember seeing an episode in a later season where, annoyed that a group of drag queens wake her up every night, she resorts to yelling at them and calling them “trannies.” But in general, I love Samantha, and am trying to channel her essence as much as possible.

Every time I watch the show, I feel like I’m a bottle of soda, and it shakes me up, leaving me bubbly. It’s fun to dissect each episode afterwards—and I would LOVE to form an SATC club where we meet weekly to watch episodes and then discuss them over cosmopolitans (Carrie’s favorite drink). We’d also have special days for brunch, and OBVIOUSLY we’d have a Samantha Jones holiday where we celebrate horniness and sleeping around while using super-sultry versions of our voices. ♦