Cha cha, spla-shy bus!
Lights up on an office. Carrie nervously sits on a pink curved sofa, smiles tightly, and listens to a book-cover presentation by Lindsay and Courtney (Amy Sedaris and Molly Shannon, don't you know). Courtney says emphatically, "This cover is SO YOU." Lindsay urges Carrie to not "be thrown," since they just Photoshopped her head on someone else's body. Carrie says, "Oh!" Okay, with a bit of hyperbolic fanfare, the two show the maybe-future cover: Carrie, hailing a cab in the nude, with the words "sex and the city" emblazoned over her naughty bits. It looks a little like the Madonna hitchhiking-in-Miami photo in her Sex book, and very DIY. It's even pink and black and white, very punk rock. And of course, wrong, wrong, wrong. It's too downtown, too Avenue A. Carrie takes one look and gasps, "No!" The women are taken aback. Courtney says they want "a strong reaction," and Lindsay says they "don't want people's reactions to be 'no!'" Duh. Lindsay makes a grand pitch about how the cover is supposed to be Carrie "naked except for her ideas." Um, okay. Carrie says that while she goes out quite often, she still manages to get her clothes on before she goes outside. Yeah. And the cover is supposed to be a literal interpretation of how she lives her life. Why isn't there a cover of Carrie's head Photoshopped onto Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver's body, if they wanted to be literal? Courtney says helpfully that "sex seee-ells!" Yeah, we heard that, we know -- we have the freaking t-shirt. But Carrie, the author, isn't down with the cover, so you need to produce another image. One that won't make the author barf. Courtney says she can respect Carrie's feelings, then turns to Lindsay and says, "We're fucked." Oh, calm down. Carrie says affably that she'll look at the image again. Lindsay flashes it and Carrie says, "No no, absolutely not. I'd sooner die." Yeah, see, first instincts rule.
The four women glide up an escalator, shopping for books. Wow, Char is in jeans! Ragged jeans, even! I don't think I've ever seen her so casually dressed. I love to see her so relaxed, with tousled, "biggened" hair instead of her usual Kiehl's-smooth state. And she has on the breast-cancer-charity pink and black sweater by Ralph Lauren! She has really changed. Carrie looks at four book covers that feature the author and calls them "bad, bad, loser, and no." Samantha, carrying a great big cut-out leather bag (Michael Kors? I can't tell), asks what anyone could say about Carrie. "You're fabulous!" Carrie reminds her that "people are mean." Sam says, "People are not that mean." Then she opens the paper and busts on someone inside who looks "like shit" and possibly has a "stylist [who has] gone blind." Carrie says she's "entered panic." Well, you know, if this is your biggest problem, that's good. I guess Carrie's ego is too big to even entertain the idea of, say, an illustration on the cover? Or maybe, like, just words, with a smaller photo of herself, say, inside the book? Just a suggestion. Sam offers her help; how does Carrie want to look? Oh, you know -- "smart, sexy, and properly airbrushed." Sam thinks she can work with that. Carrie says she "can't afford" Sam's PR services. Sam says it'll cost her "two martinis and a lunch." Sweet! Carrie says she'll "talk to her people."
Mir and Char stroll over to the diet book section. Mir is looking for something like "How To Lose That Baby Fat By Sitting On Your Ass." Oh, I love the whole Sitting On Your Ass series -- there's the toning book, the beauty book, and my fave, Manage Your Entire Freelance Career While Sitting On Your Ass. I also like the title If I'm On The Couch, I'm Working. ["I wrote the foreword to that one." -- Sars] Anyway, Charlotte suggests "The Zone" for a diet. Mir looks a little scared and says, "How about no." She is serious about starting on a diet -- right after she finishes her "chocolate nougat pretzel devil thing." Oh, wow. Get me SOME. I could eat those all the livelong day. Char says she's heading off to find Starting Over, Yet Again. Mir offers her a bite of the chocolate nougat pretzel devil thing, and Char shakes her head "no." I hate people with willpower. But then again, it means more for me.
Char arrives at the "self-hell aisle." True to nasty stereotype, it's full of crazies. And some of them have the uglies, too. One woman sobs as she reads. Char scans the real titles, from Deepak Chopra to The Women's Comfort Book, before landing on Starting Over, Yet Again. Carrie VOs that she "loathes the fact that she needs to be there." Um, she needs to be there? Needing help is quite a different thing from needing to be in the self-help aisle of a freaking bookstore. Char fingers the book, and picks it up gingerly. The sobbing woman calls out, "That really helped me." Char puts it down and says, "Travel? Travel? Traa-vel?" Wow, that was mean. She could have just walked away. Instead, she deliberately negated that woman's experience! Char was a negator!
Mir steps up to the checkout counter and presents her two books. The clerk calls one "adorable," and the other, Fit or Fat, "psychotic." Mir says, "But the New York Times says --" The clerk interrupts, "is the New York Times gonna come over at 2 AM and pry the cookie dough out of your hands?" I don't think so either. The clerk leans in conspiratorially and says she isn't supposed to do this, but: Weight Watchers. It's the only thing that works, she says. And you know, WW has gotten quite a bit of good PR lately. There was a juicy article in Elle, and one in the New York Times. Which leads me to believe that WW hired a new PR firm, and that they are earning their money. So, good for them. The clerk wraps Mir's book and says, "Good luck with Weight Watchers!" Okay, with the product placement.
Char goes home, and uses the iBook on her desk to order Starting Over, Yet Again on Amazon. Because she didn't have the balls to buy it in the store. Great.
Sam signs the slip from her delivery guy and tells him, "Nice package." It's true; his pants do bulge quite admirably. She says she just got her nails done, and would he open this envelope for her? He rips it open like Popeye rips open a can of spinach. So, she offers to blow him. Yeah, my description may not be too elegant, but it's to the point and accurate -- kind of like Sam. She lowers herself to belt level.
Carrie wistfully winds her way down the hall to Sam's office. Wow, the eighties are back -- and Carrie shouldn't be re-living them. She has on a full pink skirt, black beret, and a baggy purple bat-wing off-the-shoulder long-sleeved top. The better to hide your pregnancy, my dear -- but never. Again. She glides in past the receptionist's desk and into Sam's office, where she gets a horrified eyeful of Sam kneeling in front of the delivery guy. Um, as tableaux go, this one is PG-13. Why is Carrie so shocked? Was it the context? Or did she see his wiener? She bangs her elbow on her mad rush out. Delivery guy is all, shall we continue? Sam thinks not -- and as she straightens up, her knee creaks. Wow, is Sam aging? That would make her human! And just like everyone else! Oh, my stars!
Mir weighs herself at guess where. She clocks in at 152.8, but the person writes down 158.2. Mir is not. Having. That. She calls for a re-weigh, arguing, "If [she's] gonna do this, [she's] gonna do it right." She gets re-weighed, and the new weigh-er yells out Mir's correct poundage to the woman that weighed her incorrectly. Mir is all, "Could you not yell out my weight?" Seriously. But good Lord, that is far from fat. And she looks fine all curvy like that. The re-weigh-er hands over Mir's name tag. Mir is all, "Whuh?" A big guy waiting to be weighed says yes, everyone in the program has to wear a tag. His reads, "Big Boned." Mir laughs and introduces herself as "baby weight." Ooh, sparky sparky!
Lights up on Carrie's apartment. The walls are a nice color, sort of lavender, sort of pink. Stanford smokes by the window as Carrie rifles through magazines to find a look to replicate for her book's cover. Something that looks now, that will last. You know. Stanford has a faraway, smiley look on his puss. Carrie says he looks "something." Stanford confirms that he is, in fact, "something." He's met someone, someone new, someone great. Carrie wants to hear all about it, including the ever-important "what does he do," but Stanny has one caveat: Don't judge. Carrie looks taken aback. Well, what the hell is wrong with that? It's all right to preface a statement with a request like that, once in a while. It's just asking someone to wait before they react. A mental pause. Carrie insists she doesn't judge, but Stanford says, "It's what we do." Snort. Shout-out? Could be. Stanford reveals that his new flame, Marcus, is a "Broadway-caliber dancer" who currently hoofs it at Radio City Music Hall, in the male chorus. That is so classic! And very sweet. No shame in that! My sweetie's mom was in the corps de ballet at Radio City, back in the day, and his dad was in the pit playing the horn. They met, fell in love, squeezed out some puppies, and though her dancing days are over, her memories live on. Stanford met his man while waiting on line at Starbucks. Oh, barf.
Carrie giggles Tori-ically and rushes to answer the ringing phone. It's Samantha, who asks, "How funny was that thing in my office today?" and "Could you have gotten out of there any faster?" Wow, could you say the line any more like Chandler Bing? Carrie, reticent, says "hilarious" and "no." Sam says, "Oh, lighten up." Carrie thinks about it and says she is lightened up. If Sam were like Richard Fish, she'd say "bygones" and be done with it. But then I would hate her. Anyway, Sam says she got her favorite stylist to do her a favor and "pull some looks" for Carrie's cover. Carrie asks if the stylist knows what to look for. Sam says, "Sexy chic, just like you said!" Actually, Carrie said smart, sexy, and airbrushed. But whatever. Carrie says that she has some ideas, too, but Sam just pushes on and says she and the stylist can get together on Saturday after all the "looks" have been "pulled." Carrie says she wants to bring Stanford, too. Sam asks if Stanford is "suddenly a stylist?" No, but "he's gay and bitchy, [Carrie's] target test audience." Stanford kvells. Sam is all, "Do you still want me to do this?" Carrie asks, "Why wouldn't I?" Sam says "Fabulous!" and "We'll talk tomorrow." Carrie goes "hmm!" and hangs up. Stanford is all, what's on Saturday? He may have to check with Marcus. Carrie rolls her eyes and hopes that he won't become that sort of couple. Stanford says, "Judgy-wudgy was a bear!" I love Stanford.
Carrie VOs, "It goes, 'Open-minded good, judgmental baaad.' But are we too quick to judge judgment?" Wow, is that ever meta. It's true; sometimes just having a opinion can sting. But is having a different opinion judging someone else? It can feel that way. And saying "I would never do that" is nasty. Therefore, yes, judging is wrong. Carrie VOS some more that "perhaps judgment is some sort of early-warning device?" Yeah, um, perhaps. And perhaps you are stretching to make yourself feel better that seeing Sam on her knees in her office squicked you out, Carrie, and now things are strange between you. Just face it; you feel weird now.
Okay, Char? get out of my life. She has the iBook, and uses AOL. I'm scared. So, while on her iBook and opening her "you've got" mail, she gets squicked out by a sales letter Amazon sent her. You know the type -- if she liked that title, she'll like these titles, all self-help books aimed at lonely single women. Char wrinkles up her nose, takes Starting Over, Yet Again to the window, and tosses it onto the pavement. It lands at the feet of a woman who, Carrie helpfully VOs, is contemplating divorce, and takes the airborne book as "a sign from God." It would have been funnier if the book knocked this random woman's husband unconscious first.
Mir and Big-Boned are out in a coffee shop, laughing and talking. They talk diets for a while until Big-Boned reveals that the cabbage soup diet does in fact give one bad gas, which, he thinks, is what led to the end of his engagement. Mir says the fiancée sounds "mean." Big-Boned continues on to say that now, whenever he's criticized, he runs right toward the Krispy Kreme glazed donuts. Is that bad? I guess it is. But I don't need to feel bad before I'm inspired to eat a donut. I can feel great and go for one. Oh, if only everyone could be as evolved as I. Mir wonders how many Weight Watchers points are in a Krispy Kreme glazed donut, as she checks her Cartier watch and rummages in her Hogan bag for her OS PDA. Oh, why am I kvetching -- this show has always been about branding and brand names. Big-Boned guesses that a donut has a lot of points. Mir cocks her head and wonders if it would be so bad if they split one. Ooh, Mir likes to cheat! She's having a sneaky snack! Oh, it's so decadent. Half a donut, oh dear! Of course, they go for it. Mir takes a bite and says, "That is worth being fat for." Yes. Yes, it is. And screw you people who say that "thin tastes better." Better than a donut? Prove it. Just make me thin, and then I'll be the judge of that! I am far too busy sitting on my ass and typing on my iBook to give up the occasional donut. Big-Boned says he knows how to burn off half a donut, via "activity points."
By "activity points"? He means oral sex. He makes Miranda come, like a pro. Then he emerges from underneath the blanket with a glazed mouth and plants a kiss on Mir, who wrinkles up at having to taste herself.
The four women have lunch. Mir tells the story of her "sloppy overeater" as Carrie squeals, "Noo! Nooo!" Yes! Samantha says that when she was a lesbian, she could go down on a woman and come back up with "nothing more than a fine lip gloss." Char says, "The man simply has bad manners!" She thinks men should "subtly dab their lips with a tissue" post-oral. Sam says, "Emily Post, polite pussy!" Yeah. Mir says she couldn't criticize him, since he overeats when criticized. Oh, but waiting 'til the second time, well, that won't crush his ego at all. Mir said that he looked so proud when he surfaced for air. Sam says they always look proud, "like they're coming home from war." Carrie starts to hum "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." Oy. Mir notes, as always, the double standard -- she'd be insulted if she blew a guy and he turned his head when she kissed him afterwards, but she (and Char) don't want a kiss post-cunnilingus without "a tissue and an Altoid." What, no hot shower? I can't believe these supposedly evolved women are so squicked out by their own bodily fluids. Mir asks Sam what her post-b.j. protocol is, and Carrie says, "She just signs the delivery slip." Sam gives her a look like, "You bitch." Char asks what's going on, and kaboom, we have tension. Carrie tells the story all wrong, and Mir asks if Sam was blowing him "on the street." No! It was "in the privacy of [Sam's] office!" And it wasn't "a" delivery guy, it was Sam's delivery guy! Joe! Tuesdays and Thursdays. Everyone laughs. Sam gets snippy and says, "Fine!" And she and Carrie are going to be late if they don't go now. Oh, no. Sam is hurt!
Sam rifles through the stylist's selections and says, "Naughty, fabulous, camp, Harlow." Carrie says, "No, no, no, nooo." The "Harlow" is more harlot -- no, make that fembot. It's all pink and marabou and sheer -- very vintage Frederick's. Me no likey. Carrie insists that she's going to look like an extra from Moulin Rouge -- no chance of that; Moulin Rouge had much better costumes than that number -- but goes to try it on anyway. Stanford and his new b.f. come in, say hi to Sam, and get to see Carrie in the Pepto-nightmare nightie. Stanford introduces her as "Lady Marmalade." Hee! Carrie says she doesn't want to look like a high-class hooker, and that "no self-respecting New York woman would be caught dead in this!" Sam says she has one in red. And is Sam a hooker? I mean, technically? Technically, no. Stanford and Marcus exchange uncomfortable looks. Carrie asks that they wait outside, but Sam pushes for the "second, and shall [she] say gay, opinion." Stan looks, pauses, and answers "yes" to the questions "Doesn't she look cute?" and "Isn't this the worst outfit for the cover?" Marcus says, "It isn't very modern." What a nice way of putting it!
The men leave. Carrie says, not too subtly, that she and Sam have different ideas about what sexy is. Sam says, "This is about the blowjob, isn't it. One blowjob, and [Sam's] a hooker with no taste!" Hee! Carrie insists that it isn't about that; it's about her boobs hanging out on her book cover, to a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt. Wow, in what alternate bookstore universe would that happen? Sam says she's seen Carrie at cocktail parties wearing as little as she has on now. Carrie says, "Not lately, because it's time for ladies my age to cover it up!" Oh, is that what S&TC is dictating now? Modesty? Modesty and hope and patriotism? Please try the apple pie, and kiss your mother goodnight? Nice try. Carrie insists that she isn't being judgmental about the delivery guy, but is their relationship going to be overnight priority, or -day express? Clever girl, hurting your friend like that. Sam begins to explain what she would do if she walked in on Carrie blowing the delivery guy, and Carrie says that "that would never happen because that is something [she] would never do!" Sam says, "There!" Carrie did it: She judged her friend. Negatively. She was a negator. And after all they've been through! Sam goes to leave, turns, and says she won't be judged by Carrie or society. She will wear whatever she wants and blow whomever she wants as "long as [she] can stand and kneel." Yay! I love Samantha. Good for her!
Sam leaves, her feathers slightly ruffled, and walks in on Marcus blowing Stanford. Ha. See how that goes around?
Mir isn't enjoying her oral sex, because she's too busy dreading the moment when Big-Boned comes up to kiss her, with her "all over his face." He triumphantly emerges, and she ducks, saying it's not him, it's literally her -- her juices on his face. He feels bad, says he wants seven pot pies, then breaks up with her. Aww! Mir lost out because she was squeamish. The lesson is, take all the oral sex you can get, and don't be scared of your own juice. As an epitaph, Mir trudges to the Weight Watchers meeting right door to the Krispy Kreme -- but she can never eat glazed donuts again. Aww!
Carrie visits Sam in her office, knocking and poking her head in with closed eyes before saying hi. Sam is still sore. She wants to pretend the "whole thing didn't happen," and that it will "blow over" in a few days. Carrie notes the interesting choice of words. Then Carrie apologizes, saying she admires Sam's ability to "put [her] sex life out there," and brings out some magazine pages for Sam's opinion. Sam is flattered -- and floored when Carrie admits that she did judge Sam, a little. Sam says she's still feeling frail post-Richard, and she walked in on Stanford getting blown by Marcus. Carrie says Stanford told her, and...wait, Stanford was getting blown? Carrie didn't think it worked that way!
Carrie poses for her cover in a black YSL safari jacket and those Gucci satin heels that look like ballet slippers -- all legs, curls, and flashing blue eyes. Lindsey and Sam confer on the sidelines. Sam yells, "Isn't she faaabulous!" Carrie poses like Betty Boop, all eye-rolls and knee-bends. Well, far be it from me to judge. ["Judge away; that's what I pay you for." -- Sars]