Okay, I got to go.
Bye. Have a good day. Give me a kiss.
Bye, bye.
One of the unfortunate things about ending a relationship
in an expensive city like New York is,
while you can emotionally move away from each other,
you physically can't.
Hey, going to work?
Yeah, work.
Sorry about waking you.
What time is it?
6:30.
Jesus, why so early?
I got a brief due, so...
There was nothing brief about it.
Steve and Miranda had been doing
the polite, avoid-each-other break-up dance for about three weeks.
Hey.
I'm sorry it's taking me so long to find a place.
I got a lead on one, though.
Okay.
Hey, do you...
Never mind.
What?
No, I was gonna ask if you wanna go and look at it with me, but that's...
That's weird, right?
I don't know.
I guess we could do that.
Yeah?
And when you finally do find that place to move,
you need to fill it with furniture.
That's why so many smart New Yorkers frequent the opening day
of the new designers showcase.
Hey. I'm like your roadie.
Oh, I don't have a road.
I just have this booth.
So, at best, you're my booth bitch.
-Yeah, I'm your booth bitch. -Meow.
I waxed your wood.
You wax it real good.
-That's 'cause I'm your booth bitch. -Mmm.
You watch the booth. I'm gonna go get us some coffee.
Whatever you say.
I'm your booth bitch.
Oh, that's sexy.
And I like it.
I didn't need to wait for a blue ribbon panel to decide.
He was the finest new designer in the whole damn place.
I had often fantasized about running into my ex and his wife,
but in those fantasies, I was running into them with a truck.
I don't know how you could like this clunky wood.
It's almost oppressive.
What the fuck?
Hey. Hi.
Hi.
I'm working here. Well, I mean...
I'm not working... Just, this is my boyfriend's booth.
I'm his booth bitch.
That's a joke.
I guess it's an in joke.
I get it.
So, can I, um, show you something in a hutch?
His pieces are fantastic. It's just not really our style.
Oh.
Yeah, we only like teeny tiny furniture.
Hey.
Oh, hey. Hey.
Hey. Oh.
Hey, this is, um...
This is the designer. This is Aidan Shaw.
Hey, great stuff.
Aw, thanks, man.
-Oak? -Actually, it's mostly maple.
There we were,
mostly maple, and incredibly uncomfortable.
Sorry, I didn't get your names.
Oh! Oh, no, I'm sorry, um...
These are my friends.
This is, uh, Natasha and this is--
Oh, oh!
Oh, shit! Oh, my God, I'm sorry. Is that hot?
-Well, it ain't cold. -God...
-Here. -No, I'll... I'll...
Sure.
We should put some cold water on this.
It was nice meeting you.
Thanks for the coffee.
-They seem nice. -Yeah, don't they?
Where do you know them from?
Oh... Well you know, from around.
Like a hundred years ago.
It's a past life.
Two hours later, it was time for the opening day party.
It was lovely.
Caviar, silent auctions,
and landmines.
Where's Paul Bunyan?
If you're referring to my boyfriend, he's doing business.
Ooh, he's a big 'un.
Where'd he learn to whittle like that?
How many drinks have you had?
Not nearly enough.
So...
How are you?
I'm great.
And Daniel Boone, is he a nice guy?
His name is Aidan.
Tsk!
Where's your sense of humor?
Where's your wife?
Guarding her bid on the silent auction.
She's got her eye on a beige chair.
Everything in my apartment is now beige.
Beige...
is bullshit.
I thought you wanted beige.
Yeah, well...
It doesn't quite...
fit.
Hey, you got a smoke?
I quit.
Oh, we always used to share a cigarette together.
We did a lot of things that were bad for me together.
I have a secret to tell you.
It's not working.
I'm getting out.
If you know anyone who's interested...
You should really keep that to yourself.
No one is interested in that information.
-Big's leaving his wife. -I knew it.
-Oh, my God! -No!
He got drunk and told me at the furniture show.
What was he doing at the furniture show?
-Drinking and leaving his wife. -Oh, my God.
Well, let's just say it, you won.
-Was there a contest? -Oh, please.
There's always a contest with an ex. It's called Who'll Die Miserable?
-What did he say? -He said, "It's not working out."
And then he leaned in and said,
"If you know anyone who's interested..."
-Well...
You don't know anyone who's interested.
He's married, Carrie. Carrie, he's married.
Charlotte, I think I'm aware of that fact.
Why is he telling you?
I don't know, to save postage on his newsletter?
-What are you gonna do? -I'm not gonna do anything.
She's not gonna do anything.
Okay, you need to take a big breath 'cause you're starting to bug me.
How dare he say that to you. Married men never leave their wives.
Even if he did, I have no intention of doing anything, for two reasons.
First, I have a great boyfriend, and second, I'm not insane.
So, let's order.
What do winners order?
Didn't you feel like punching him?
No.
It was too sad or something.
I would have punched him.
No, it is sad.
How long has he been married? What, seven months?
Hmm. The seven-month itch.
Well, that's what happens when people jump into relationships too quickly.
I resent that.
Trey and I are nothing like Big and Natasha.
Don't listen to her, she's mid-breakup.
Thanks for the update.
We're not like Big. Trey and I really love each other.
-Who wants to split a Reuben? - In fact,
I'm meeting his mother this week, and if all goes well...
If all goes well, what?
Trey is this close to proposing. I can feel it.
Oh, my God, really?
You just met. I've had pairs of pantyhose longer.
Miranda, it's not logical, this is love.
It's not logical, it's right.
In my heart, I feel it's right.
Okay, whatever.
So...
How did he look?
Okay. I'll take it.
As Miranda looked around the basement apartment,
she realized the contest was over.
Steve was the ex that was going to die alone and miserable.
You can't live here.
What...
-It's not that bad. -It's not that bad?
It's the doorway to hell.
There's got to be a better place. I'll help you look.
Guilt?
Probably.
I mean, I broke up with him.
And he's got no money, no savings, no nothing.
There should be some sort of city-funded break-up housing
-for those who find themselves in need. -Really.
Like a big orphanage filled with white beds
where old boyfriends could think about what they did wrong
and cry themselves to sleep in a clean, safe environment.
You think maybe you don't really want him to move away?
No, it's not that simple.
My head tells me it's time for him to leave,
but the idea of him moving to a basement apartment
on the corner of Depressing and West Shit Street breaks my heart.
It's a pretty common belief that women tend to use
the left, more emotional side of their brain,
and men, the right, more logical side.
But is it really that cut and dry?
It seems that when it comes to affairs of the heart,
there's a battle between what we know and what we feel.
So, what do you do when you find yourself in a situation
that leaps back and forth between the left and the right side?
When it comes to relationships,
is it smarter to follow your heart or your head?
This is Trey the summer he graduated from medical school.
Later that week, Charlotte met the head and heart of Trey's family.
His mother, Bunny MacDougal.
Trey, you look so cute in a cap and gown.
That's just before we jumped in the fountain and all hell broke loose.
Mother, what's next? Boy Scout snaps?
Count your blessings I didn't bring the one on the bearskin rug.
You'll have to excuse her, Charlotte. She's a bit of a camera Nazi.
Well, if you insist on dragging us down memory lane,
I'm getting a real drink. Excuse me.
-Glenlivet, rocks, please. -Yes, sir.
Maybe you should have a red wine instead.
Better for the heart.
All righty.
- Red wine. - Oh, Thomas,
we'd love some more of these nibbly cheese things.
- Very good, ma'am. - Thank you.
He's older than water, but never forgets a martini.
So, do you play tennis?
Mmm-hmm.
I like her.
-Join the club.
What are you two lovebirds doing tonight?
We've got dinner reservations at Cloche.
I was there last week.
Disappointing crab, and the host was rude.
Maybe you should go to Côte Basque instead.
All righty.
Charlotte was impressed with Bunny's technique.
Trey had been looking forward to Cloche all week.
Meanwhile, Downtown, Samantha was entertaining Adam Ball,
a film editor who made a very lucrative living
cutting the coming attractions for film companies.
I'm cumming. I'm cumming.
Oh, man.
Oh, you give good head.
I'm dating a guy with the funkiest tasting spunk.
And she's never coming back.
Well, I'm sorry, but who else can I talk to about this?
Might I suggest no one?
You're my girlfriends, help me.
Have you ever had this problem?
Not really, but I have to admit,
it's never exactly been a trip to Baskin-Robbins.
Well, this guy is very sour. Like asparagus gone bad or something.
-Can I cancel my rice pudding? Thanks. - Sure thing.
Beautiful guy, great in bed, it's so disappointing.
It's like getting a bad bottle of Beaujolais Nouveau
the first day of season.
It has a lot to do with nutrition.
I once dated a smoker and it affected how his tasted.
They should put that on the side of the pack
if they want to cut back sales.
Maybe there's something he could eat to make it sweeter?
Maybe you should write to Martha Stewart.
"Dear Martha, funky spunk. Help."
-"Dear Funky Spunk, try a hint of mint."
No, no, no, it's not just asparagus.
It's asparagus and something else.
I know, Clorox!
Well, at least you'll get your whites whiter.
This is serious, I almost gagged.
-Oh, well, that is serious. -What am I gonna do?
Just don't give him head again.
Hmm. I never even thought of that.
So, what, casual head is back now?
Oh, it's fine. He's healthy and I don't swallow.
Well, as long as you and the Center for Disease Control are fine with it.
Of course, he just loves getting head. But then, what man doesn't?
You know, if the whole cum situation were reversed,
do you think that men would even get anywhere near the stuff?
Well, maybe, if it tasted like beer.
Later that day, Miranda came home to something
that was even harder to swallow.
You have one new message.
Hi, if this is Steve's number...
This is Mira. We met last night.
I'm the advertising exec who ordered the Amstel Light.
Steve, if this is you, call me.
I'd love to go to a movie sometime.
Today, 12:22 p.m.
And on an answering machine across town...
You have one new message.
Hi, it's me.
I need to talk to you about what I said the other day.
It's important, please call.
-You know my cell number.
The right side of my brain told me
the right thing was to delete it.
But I left it.
It's important, please call. You know my cell number.
Seven playbacks later, I invited over an impartial judge.
-Well? -You should have punched him.
He wants to get back together, right? I mean, that's the tone.
The "hi" and then the "it's important." Is that what that means?
Carrie, we could analyze this for years and never know.
I mean, they still don't know who killed Kennedy.
Well, what should I do?
Well, it's pretty obvious what you want to do
or you wouldn't still be listening to this message.
And by the way, what happened to the "not insane" part of you?
I don't know.
After the fifth playback, he got in a little.
-Ugh! God, I hate my machine. -Yeah.
I hate mine too.
Steve got a message from some girl executive
desperate for him to go to a movie.
Already?
-He's still on your couch. -I know, it's amazing.
A 34-year-old guy with no money and no place to live,
because he's single, he's a catch.
But a 34-year-old woman with a job and a great home,
because she's single, is considered tragic.
So depressing.
Let's listen to that message again.
I'm deleting it.
But it wasn't that simple.
As soon as Miranda left, I stood and watched my emotions
overrule both sides of my brain.
-Hello? -It's Carrie.
Oh, hey. Yeah, thanks for calling.
Look, it's about what I said about getting out of my marriage.
I didn't know why I called, I didn't even know what I really wanted,
but suddenly my heart was racing.
I thought about it.
And it's going to cost me a lot.
So, maybe you should forget about what I said.
I mean...
I figure I made my bed, I should lie in it.
You do that.
It was just what I needed.
A big shock treatment to jolt me right back to sanity.
You have cracks.
Excuse me?
The ceiling.
Oh.
How long have they been there?
Just three years.
Oh, just three years?
Don't take this the wrong way, but this place could use a little work.
I know, but I can't afford it.
You've got 8,000 bucks worth of shoes over there.
-I needed those. -Oh.
You could do little things. Plaster, strip the floors.
You have no idea how beautiful it'd be
if we took it down a level.
I don't know how to do that stuff.
I do.
Let me strip your floors.
Isn't that a lot of work?
Nah. It'll just take a day. You won't even know I'm here.
You sure?
-Really? -A special lady needs a special home.
Here in my arms was a guy who wanted to make my home better,
and somewhere out there was a guy who wanted to pull it apart.
It wasn't a left- or right-brainer. It was a no-brainer.
Tell me why we're here, again?
I'm making an effort to eat better.
After a quick browse on the healthysperm.com web page,
Samantha invited Adam Ball to dinner.
Okay. Here are your wheatgrass shots.
And I'll be right back with menus.
I can't drink that.
Oh, try it. It's very good for you.
Bottoms up.
Mmm.
Oh, man, that shit is funky.
Samantha had to fight every urge she had
not to tell Adam Ball he didn't know from funky.
How long does it take for the wheatgrass to work its way into your system?
Uh, hard to say.
Ballpark?
An hour and a half.
Oh.
We should order.
An hour and a half, two wheatgrass shots,
and a ginger melon smoothie later...
I'm cumming. I'm cumming.
I'm cumming!
Oh, man, man, man. You give good head.
Oh, baby.
-Mmm. -What? You don't like your salad?
No, the dressing's a tad... something.
-Excuse me. -Yes, sir?
I'd like to change this for the arugula and endive, please.
Certainly.
Maybe you should try the tomato basil, it's sweeter.
All righty.
I have to say, Mum is quite taken with you.
-She is? -Why wouldn't she be?
You're exquisite.
You really are a dream come true.
Charlotte knew this was the moment.
That magic moment where Trey was going to ask her to be his wife.
Charlotte?
Yes?
Tomato and basil?
Yes.
Enjoy.
Doesn't this look like a little plate of heaven? Oh!
This basil is perfection.
What is it about you, Charlotte?
You always seem to know just what I want.
Maybe we should get married.
All righty.
Mmm.
Mmm!
I'm engaged.
Oh, my God! Really?
Oh, that's wonderful, sweetie.
I proposed to myself.
-What? -Yes.
I suggested he have a tomato salad,
then I suggested we get married.
Wait, what exactly did he say?
"All righty."
"All righty"? He said, "All righty"?
Now I'm thinking the upsetting thing isn't that you proposed,
it's that you proposed to a guy who says "all righty."
-Oh, Carrie, stop. -All righty.
I was the one who was supposed to say yes.
Oh, who cares about those stupid rules?
I do.
Look, you're overreacting. You love Trey, right?
And you want to marry him, right?
Yes, but...
There was no kneeling, there was no ring, no nothing.
This is an awful engagement story.
What am I supposed to tell my kids?
Well, Mommy really wanted to get married,
so Daddy said, "All righty."
It's so unromantic.
Oh.
Steve?
The dog.
Steve, it's 4:00 a.m.
Miranda realized he was with the girl executive.
It was officially over.
She finally got it into her head.
Hey.
-Morning. -Morning.
I took the dog out already.
Thanks, um, I was--
There's coffee, and, um,
I circled a bunch of apartments in The Village Voice that sound good.
I should probably get out of here today, um...
Thanks for letting me sleep on your couch.
You're welcome.
I think we did pretty good.
We did us proud.
Steve...
Never mind.
What?
I was gonna say, "Keep in touch," but that's weird, right?
That would be weird.
I guess we could do that.
Aidan!
-Aidan!
You said I wouldn't be bothered.
I'm... I'm bothered.
It's too loud?
Yeah, and I can't work through that. I've got a deadline.
Take my keys, go to my house.
No, no, I can't write there, 'cause Pete's jumping all over me,
he's deleting things.
You know what, I'm leaving. If anyone calls,
I'll be at the Stanhope Hotel around the corner.
-At least let me pay for it. -No, no, no. I got it, I got it.
See, this is why I don't do home repairs.
Unforeseen costs.
You're gonna love these floors!
Mum was beside herself.
She immediately demanded your address so she could send flowers.
That's nice.
Charlotte had done the impossible in New York.
She was engaged to her heart's desire.
Unfortunately, she couldn't get the way it happened out of her head.
Wait.
I think we should stop here for a minute.
Maybe we should go in there
and find you the most beautiful ring that they have.
-All righty!
From that moment on, Charlotte would tell everyone,
that right in front of Tiffany's, out of nowhere,
Trey popped the question and she said,
"All righty."
I'm not really in the mood for that tonight.
Oh, come on, baby, you give the greatest head, please.
Uh-uh.
Not gonna happen.
What's the problem?
Well, Adam...
you've got some funky tasting spunk.
What?
You heard me. Your spunk is funky.
My spunk?
Cum, spooge, jizz, joy juice.
Funky.
Man, I have heard some far-out excuses for not giving head,
but this one takes the cake.
Excuse me?
You're one of them two-blow job chicks.
You put blow jobs in the coming attractions
that I'm never gonna see in the actual movie.
I resent that!
I love giving head.
Well, then come on, give me a little BJ.
Up and down a couple of times, you're done.
-It's easy. -Easy?
You men have no idea what we're dealing with down there.
Teeth placement and jaw stress and suction and gag reflex.
And all the while bobbing up and down,
moaning and trying to breathe through our noses.
Easy? Honey!
They don't call it a job for nothing.
Now, having said all that,
with the right man, it can be fabulous.
That is, unless the man in question has spunk
that's like a trip to the rotten egg buffet.
Come on, it can't be that bad.
I'll make a deal with you.
You try it.
If you're fine with it,
I'll be fine with it.
I can't do that.
-It's gay. -It's not gay if it's you.
Take it or leave it.
Ten minutes later,
Samantha learned just how far a man would go for a blow job.
I'm fine with it.
Samantha kept her word.
She gave him head, but her heart wasn't in it.
-Hello. - It's me.
I'm in the lobby.
How did you know I was here?
That guy at your place.
You called my house again?
I have to talk to you.
Yeah, I have to talk to you too. Stay in the lobby, I'll be right down.
Shit.
This is not the lobby.
Sit down, have a drink.
What are you doing? You're calling my house,
you follow me to hotels?
Could you please sit down for one minute and listen to me?
Please, one minute.
You know, I don't have time for this. I have a boyfriend and a deadline.
And you have a wife and apparently a drinking problem.
-I'm not drunk. -Then what is your excuse?
Will you slow down? I can't think.
I was an asshole to you on the phone the other day.
Yes.
When I said I was leaving, you didn't say anything,
so I got nervous, so I...
So, what?
So...
I don't know.
You know, this has to stop.
The flirting and the jerking me around and the calling my boyfriend.
He doesn't know about you
and I don't want him to ever know about you.
Why is that?
Oh, go lay in your beige bed.
Carrie! Wait, wait.
I haven't explained this very well.
Now, wait a minute. Listen.
-The thing is--
Fuck! I miss you.
Too bad.
Do not come in here. Don't follow me in here!
-I have to talk to you. -What?
What is it? What is it you have to say?
I made a mistake.
Fuck you.
I love you.
Fuck you.
My mind was yelling how angry I was,
but my heart...
My heart...
Fuck me.
And just like that, I lost my head.