Lights up on a Manhattan storefront with Korean writing on the awning. It's night. Carrie VOs that dating someone new can seem foreign, particularly when they themselves are foreign. And, one minute in, I roll my eyes. It took only one sentence, people. Apparently, Aleksandr has been taking Carrie on exotic culinary trips, and tonight, it's Koreatown, Midtown, NYC, New York, North America, the planet Earth. They kiss in the middle of the street and are almost struck by a passing car. Don't get your hopes up, I said "almost." And to finish that thought, dang.
Carrie flounces out of her front door and poses for Alek, who waits on the sidewalk, to either take her all in or try and get a peek up her skirt. He says, "Wow. You look..." Please take note of the fact that he TRAILED OFF and did not finish his sentence. She says anyway, "Thank you!" Um, he forgot to describe how you look, Carrie. Shut up. She's wearing a multiple strand of pearls, a red drapey corset-y-looking top, a black jacket, and a long, white, multi-tiered ruffled skirt with white ankle boots. Okay, the skirt? So wrong. Potato chips have ruffles. That's okay. A skirt with ruffles? Not okay. It's like Johnny Depp took peyote, and in his hallucinations got in a knife fight with Seinfeld around the time of the pirate shirt episode, then they suddenly started making out, and from their union an unholy skirt was given unto Carrie. And now for the boots: I'm sorry, when I ponder the boots, I start to feel a little sad. I mean, I'm getting upset here. The boots themselves are not bad things. They could be fine. They just got mixed up with a really bad skirt, and you just know that the two of them together, i.e. boots and skirt, are only going to get into trouble. That skirt will make those boots stay up all night doing blow, and then a few weeks later, after they've bonded, Skirt will pull out a bag of meth and be all, "C'mon, wanna try it? I've got some o.j. in the fridge, we can do it just like David Silver did on ! It'll be kicky, Boots! Ha ha, get it? 'Kicky'? 'Boots'? Oh, come on, Boots, don't be such a pussy! It's just a little meth! Now where's my mortar and pestle. Oh' Boots, could you crush this for me? Into a fine powder, please. Thank you, Boots. Now roll up this bill." So I really hope the boots come to their senses and just stay the hell away from that skirt in future. Boots? Do what you're made to do and WALK.
Carrie embraces Alek and asks where they're going to tonight. Somewhere where the women have opinions, I hope! He says, "berry, berry, exotic place." Is it a box of Berry Berry Kix? You don't come across those every day. Carrie says, "Just so you know, I'm fully vaccinated." Oh, don't mind me, I'm just looking at the ceiling. Not rolling my eyes at all. So, should they grab a cab? Alek says they can walk there. In fact, Carrie should turn around. Then he nimbly flits up the stoop with two bags of groceries. Ha! He fooled her but good. They're staying the hell in. Welcome to relationships; after a while, dating means sitting to each other, inside. ["Alex, how many times do I have to tell you -- don't sugarcoat it for these nice people. Hee." -- Sars]
Carrie cleans her plate and beams. Mmm. Alek can cook. He says wryly that he never made risotto in a frying pan before. She apologizes and says she "never use[s] the kitchen." And still, she has a frying pan. For beaning burglars, I reckon, or maybe to toss at felines caterwauling out on the fence, backlit by a perfectly round moon. No, people toss old boots at those. Boots, you have an escape plan! Go for it, Boots! So what, I wonder, would a person who claims to "never use" a kitchen be doing with a frying pan? Oh, right: to reheat coffee. Alek pulls himself off the floor and shakes his leg out. His "foot sleeps." Now, for espresso. Carrie doesn't have an espresso machine, either. Maybe a "Mister Coffee one-pot." Oh, wow. A writer without a coffeemaker? Come ON. Well, Carrie does suck. So, they go into the kitchen, and a rather large mouse moves languidly across the kitchen counter. Carrie screams like she's in a horror movie. It's waaay over the top, and I'm a mouse-screamer too. But then again, I screamed when I saw Brody Dalle from the Distillers and Kevin Hawkins from the Darkness sharing the cover of February Spin magazine together. Well, I didn't exactly scream. More like a loud gasp. Because I was thrilled. Alek grabs the frying pan and smashes the mouse with it. Oh, gross! And at the same time, nice reflexes, dude. No, it's totally disgusting. He killed vermin with a cooking utensil. But he killed it super-fast. Wow, I'm so on the fence. Okay, I can come to a conclusion. It's loathsome, but I'd still want him around to do that if needed. Carrie, on the other hand, is looking like she wants a frying pan to descend from the heavens and eradicate Alek from the planet. She suggests the mouse was just passing through to get to the nicer apartment door. Alek is all, "Talk about denial. Where there's one, there's more." He's right. Carrie says yeah, they're going out.
Sam, Carrie, Miranda, and Charlotte loll around, eating popsicles. Oh, and Sam's having chemo. They're in a "chemo lounge," a semi-private room where patients having chemo can hang with their peeps. It must make the process easier. They suck on popsicles athletically, Mir intoning, "Good Humor me!" Heh. Everyone has cherry except Mir, who chose grape. She sucks it efficiently, and Sam comments, "Look at her work Mr. Grape! Steve is a very lucky guy!" Heh. All women deep-throat popsicles when no one is around. It's the truth. Okay, maybe it's just me. The nurse asks if everyone is as much fun as Sam, and Carrie says she wishes. Then Sam says if it's fun they want, listen to how awesome the premiere party of Smith's movie is gonna be. She's got a hot dress and fab shoes and she's gonna nail that red carpet's ass! Everyone clinks popsicles and "woo hoo!"s. Yeah, this chemo thing is easy! Popsicles for everyone!
Carrie and Alek stroll through the aisles of Williams-Sonoma (shout-out to Keckler? Could be), past all the Bodum products, with Carrie chattering all the while about how much fun Sam's chemo session was, what with the Barcaloungers and popsicles and videos they could watch. Wow, I remember reading about special Barcalounger-type chairs marketed to hospitals for blood donors to use. They were hella expensive, but looked as comfortable as can be. I had to wonder, okay, they can invent these chairs that feel like you're in heaven with an angel cupping each buttock, but we STILL NEED BLOOD DONORS. Priorities, people. Anyway, as Carrie concludes that, avec shuffleboard, Sam's chemo would be "a vacation in Miami." Um, yeah. Exactly. Alek sees the espresso makers and drags Carrie towards them. Carrie says Sam "doesn't even look sick." Alek is all, but she is sick, yes? Well, not really, says Carrie. She was! But now it's all popsicles and dreaming of red carpet flashbulbs. Alek says seriously, "I had a friend with breast cancer. She died." Then he walks away, leaving Carrie to finger the tiny espresso cups, alone, alone.
Char fries eggs in the kitchen like a good little wifey. Wow, more wine, Mrs. Stepford? Just kidding. I already used that line in a recap. And it's on my mind because, when I was watching the Golden Globes tonight, I learned that I'll soon be seeing Nicole Kidman in a remake of The Stepford Wives. Which is both thrilling and horrifying to me. Like, first of all, do they have to remake EVERYTHING these days? Is there anything original out there? But then again, I love that movie, so yay. Maybe Sofia Coppola could direct and leave it a period piece, circa the '70s, and she could put her dappled-sunlight touches all over it like she did with The Virgin Suicides. Or maybe Vincent Gallo! Then again, it could suck, and people will go around thinking that The Stepford Wives is crap, and I'll be bummed, because the first one is so campy and feminist and scary and wholly lovable. So yeah, anyway, Char's frying something up in a pan, never letting Harry forget he's a man, cause she's a woooo-man, double-you oh. M-A-N. Want to sing it again? No? Okay. The phone rings. It's Dr. Steiner. She thanks him for calling, hangs up, serves Harry his eggs, and tells him none of her eggs were viable. But she wants to try again. She's sure. "It'll work. It has to." Harry reaches for her. Is she okay? Yeah. She says she's gonna go for a run.
Char runs in the park, passing everyone else on the track. She cuts through a grassy area away from the river and passes a woman with one of those jog-strollers, avec baby. Char looks at it, then runs faster to pass the stroller. She sprints away, and Carrie VOs that Charlotte had won everything she'd ever tried to, except "the baby race."
Mir and Steve hang in bed together, looking at real estate listings. Mir scoffs at one ad, which reads as a two-bedroom, but Mir says in reality is a "crack den on an air shaft." Heh. When I was house-shopping, I saw places that were so scary I half-expected to find a body in the tub. I'd go up the stairs whispering, "Here I come, Mister Killer!" Pentagrams on the walls. I didn't even blink. Mir says she's a Manhattan girl, ergo she doesn't like anything not-Manhattan. Oh, come on. That attitude is so ridiculous. Plus, it makes non-Manhattanites hate you. I mean, I was BORN in Manhattan and lived there until we moved here (which I wasn't thrilled about), and most of the people that have this attitude are from fucking Kansas or Massachusetts. Like, what's the entitlement about? The pride? The exclusivity? You MOVED to a CITY and now you think anywhere else is Shitsville? Get over it. Manhattan is now as much of a StarbucksGapDisneyVirginMegastoreVille as the Mall of Fucking America, and those Manhattan snobs aren't going to move to Minnesota, are they now? Why not? All the same shit is there! Sure, there's no Magnolia Bakery at the Mall of America...YET. But still. I mean, Carrie DRAGGED her worldly "lovah" to MC-FUCKING-DONALD'S this season with the rationale that she's "an American" and McDeathburger is WHAT WE ALL LIKE. Well, that attitude (and Giuliani) made Manhattan GENERIC AS FUCK, complete with extremely high property values, and no smoking inside. Oh, I'm kidding, I love New York. But I can live in other places without breaking into hives, is all I'm saying. And I can smoke! So, in your face, Manhattan. So, Miranda, after scoffing and shrugging, "Sleeping in the dining room isn't so bad," decides to look at the house in Brooklyn.
Carrie sips espresso that Alek has made for her and explodes, "Gah! Ho-ho-ho, waugh. That's some strong coffee. No wonder you work all night! I'm gonna need a little milk." Wow, she never had espresso before? She's not a writer. OR a New Yorker. Or been to Little Italy. Or Italy. ["Or TGI Friday's. Espresso isn't exactly exotic at this point. Shut up, Carrie." -- Sars] Alek says he likes it strong, and she should just keep sipping it, she'll get used to it. I like my coffee like I like my men: sweet, strong, and a little cool. And they shouldn't expect to come around every day. Sometimes I like green tea. Which I like the same way I like my men: organic and well-steeped. So Carrie keeps sipping and making faces and then says she needs to talk to Alek about something. About her friend. Alek says, "The one with cancer?" Carrie grimaces and says that her name is Samantha. And the other day, in the kitchen supply store, when he was all, "My friend died"? Well, that wasn't being very sensitive to Carrie's feelings, or so she says. Alek sits calmly and listens as she say, "I'm sorry about your friend. But my friend is going to be fine." Alek says, "And my friend died." Carrie claps her hands on her sides and says exasperatedly, "See? You're doing it again! Not everyone with cancer dies!" Alek intones, "Den dey are lucky." Carrie is all, "Please stop saying 'die'!" Carrie? Please shut up. Or grow up. Or face your feelings of fear about Samantha's disease and try to imagine how SHE, the SICK ONE, must feel. Jesus.
Alek says, "Try to be realistic. You must acknowledge the possibility?" Carrie doesn't want to. Stage one, "Cadillac of chemo," the popsicles and Barcaloungers all mean Sam's in the clear. Alek begins, "My friend who died," and Carrie cuts him off again. "You're not listening to me!" Alek says, rightly, that Carrie is not listening to HIM. True, she isn't. She isn't shutting up, either. Carrie covers her face and says that all she wants is for him to stop talking about his friend that died. Oh, that's cool. That's grown-up. That's sharing and listening and caring. Not. He begins, "Her name was Sophia." Carrie leaps up like a Mexican jumping bean and says she's leaving. Alek does not say, "Yay!" When she whips her coat off his chair, he barely adjusts himself. He's stone-faced. I think this is one of those cases of men and women not communicating that well. He's trying to help her see that Sam is in fact seriously ill, and she wants him to sugarcoat everything so she can continue to live in denial. She can't help getting one last word in. "I asked you not to mention your friend, and now all I can think about is your friend!" He says quietly, "I think you are acting like a child." She yells, "And I think you're acting like an asshole!" He says she should go. She says she already is. So go then, Carrie. Slam! goes the door.
Home in bed, Carrie's feet jiggle furiously. She VOs that it was her first fight with "the Russian," and she doesn't know if it was the strong coffee or strong words that prevented her from sleeping. Oh, Carrie, you should have had a cup of Shut The Fuck Up! It would have solved everything, and mmmm...so delicious!
Char stretches in the park. A cute little doggie runs up to her in a teeny Burberry coat. King Charles Spaniel! Char's voice instantly goes into that upper register that dogs love but people like you and I don't. The dog's owner yells for the spaniel to come ("Princess Dandeyridge Brandywine! COME!") and Char brings her over.
The dog is a "two-time loser" (a boozer and a user?) at shows, because she has a "defect." A too-short leg. Aww. Char introduces herself (the dog owner is Trudy Stork), then they say their goodbyes. Char backs away, looking at the dog, eyes goggling, head cocking. Oh, boy.
Mir hails a cab, gets in, and says "Brooklyn, please." The cabbie barks, "I don't go to Brooklyn." Mir considers this, then says, "Neither do I." Oh, boy.
Sam's going down on Smith. The shot is neatly framed so that his chest fills the screen, and the top of her head bobs at the bottom. He's all, "God you're good," and clutches at her hair. Then a huge clump comes off in his hand. He's skeeved. "Whoa. What do I do with this?" Sam takes it in a tissue, wads it up, and tosses it. She smiles and says, "Where were we?" But Smith has lost his hard-on. He apologizes, and she just smiles (a little less sunnily this time) and says she's going to take a bath.
Carrie and Miranda walk down the sidewalk -- Carrie in a cute black (Balenciaga?) miniskirt, Chanel purse, and chunky pink turtleneck. So cute! Finally, a cute, stylish, WEARABLE outfit that isn't freaky. Carrie asks Mir if Sam's gonna be fine. Mir, the so-called cynic, betrays her roots by answering quickly, "Yes!" A true cynic would say, "We're all going to die someday." Because we are. But Mir must be in the same kind of denial Carrie is, because she'd rather think everything is fine, la la la! Carrie says Sam's hair started falling out at a bad time. Was it at work, Mir wonders? No, but "she was definitely doing a job." Oh, no. Oh, yes. Carrie relays her fight with "the Russian." "'Your friend might die, yes?' 'No, you're an asshole.' I mean, I know he's Russian, but Jesus!" Well, Carrie, I know you're a twit, but Jesus! Mir says, "Maybe it's a language barrier." Carrie says, "Is this who I'm seeing, a man who kills mice and optimism?" Mir has her head in the sand as much as Carrie does. "It's not denial! They got it early! She's gonna be fine!" It dawns on them that they're being ridiculous. Carrie says it's their job not to freak out about this, and can Mir believe that they're even having this conversation? Not really. And check this out: Steve wants them to move to Brooklyn. Carrie wheels around: "Stop! That is information I can't handle!" Mir says she can't move to Brooklyn. "Even cabs won't go there!" ["For the record? Not true. Happened to me exactly once. The law requires them to take you. Shut up, show." -- Sars]
Carrie tries to assemble her espresso maker, then goes to her laptop. "If living in reality means living in pain, fear, or Brooklyn...maybe the reality is, we need denial. Denial: Friend, or foe?"
Char prepares to go out for a run. What's Harry doing? He's researching adoption. Maybe that can be a choice for them. She says Stepfordly, "Okay!" And goes out for her run.
Her run is really a sit. She parks it on a bench and waits for Trudy Stork and her loser spaniel to appear. When they do, it's turkey bacon time for the doggie. Trudy says, "She really loves you." Char coos, "Who wouldn't love her!" Trudy barks a laugh like Mrs. Krabappel. Char pauses, then says you shouldn't deny loving someone because they don't perform they way you want them to. Then she cries. Oh, Charlotte's seeing a parallel between her not being able to get pregnant and this flawed-but-fancy show dog! That is so cute and so precious and so making me want to gag! Trudy looks shocked, then says she never cared for babies. Or labs. Que?
Sam wig-shops with Carrie. She needs to look good for Smith's premiere. Sam says she used to do this at the mall when she was sixteen, "but without the cancer part." After pooh-poohing acrylic hair (does Sam look like she does acrylics?), she tries on a Mrs. Brady shag. How does she look? Carrie peeks over with a Cher wig on and says, "Like Florence Henderson." Yup. And Carrie, could you at least pay attention to your friend with cancer as she wig-shops? Jesus. It would be nice if you didn't have to be called. The wig salesman pops a platinum blonde wig called "Candy" on, and Sam looks like Debbie Harry, Tales of the Crypt era. Sam says she wants to look like herself, not like some frosty hookery nightmare. The wig salesman says she won't look like herself, because these are wigs. Wow, way to poop all over your product. That's like saying, "Please lower your expectations to suit our crappy merchandise. You want to look good? Not. Gonna. Happen. Settle for 42nd Street, back when that meant 25-cent peep shows and not Toys Backwards-R Us. Mmmkay?" He hisses that he's worked with a lot of women with cancer, and Sam shoots back that she doesn't have cancer, she has a premiere. Carrie? Carrie pops out of an aisle with a brown curly wig on, and learns that they're leaving the store. Carrie removes her wig and mouths she's "sorry" to the wig clerk. Why is Carrie always apologizing for Samantha? It's so fucking annoying.
Carrie and Sam have lunch. Sam says she can handle the chemo, but the hair is "too much." She hates looking like a "sick person." And "What if it comes back? I could die, Carrie." The whole time Carrie says Sam isn't "going anywhere" and the cancer was "just a blip of bad luck" and more of that rah-rah-rah nonsense. Sam finally says, "Carrie? Let me talk about what I'm afraid of. Please?" Carrie says, "Okay, I'm here." God, finally! Sam mulls shaving her head. Carrie says she "could be one of those fabulous bald women who's all about earrings." Heh. I know the type. What about those people that shave their eyebrows? That's another "look" that makes dogs cock their heads quizzically. And me, too. Sam sighs. "Cancer. Turns out, not so hilarious!" Word.
Alone in her bathroom, Sam reaches for her leopard-printed electric shaver. It buzzes loudly. Then the camera pulls away and she starts shaving her head. She gets as far as a mini-Cyndi Lauper and then Smith opens the door with his key. He's pissed. "I got your Blackberry message. What do you mean you're not coming to my premiere?" Sam tries to hide what's happening, then drops her hands and shows Smith what she's doing. The cancer head-shave-a-mundo. "It's scary and awful and you can't handle it." Smith says, "Who says I can't handle it?" Sam says he freaked out. Smith says she did too! Well, Smith lost his hard-on! He says, "Shit happens." Wow. Pithy. Bumper sticker? Nah. Too true and glib. Smith grabs the clippers and starts to shave his own head. Sam protests, but he says, "Chill out, I'm busy." And when he's done? He's moving right over to Sam. Carrie VOs, "That night Smith gave Samantha the best head of her life." OY.
Miranda walks through the Brooklyn property. It's a little rough -- the fireplace has missing bricks, windows are unfinished, some walls are missing plaster...but it's got high ceilings and lots of light and is pretty beautiful. Mir walks around flicking light switches and says, "Broken, broken." Steve says, "You mean, Brooklyn, Brooklyn!" Oy. What, is that Spice Girl offspring running around? Steve talks about what he wants to do to the place, and can't Mir imagine all their friends in the dining room? Mir says that none of their friends are ever going to visit them. Steve faces her with a stern but loving face and says, "This isn't just about you anymore. We're a family." Mir listens and looks terrified and a little sick as she says, "Oh my god. I'm married." Yup. So she has to think about it and consider other people's needs and wants. Oof. That's a big one. Steve takes Brady and Scout the dog out back and yells, "Yeeeaaah!" The kid and husband and dog play out back, and Mir looks through the window at them. Aw. Aww! The manager walks over and asks what she thinks of the place. Well, she's interested, but she wants to bring in an engineer, and if the furnace isn't up to code she'll want it replaced, and she'll need a long escrow. Wow. Miranda's buying a house in Brooklyn! Aww!
Premiere! I can tell, because of the klieg lights. Oh, the pretty pretty klieg lights! Smith steps out of the car with his head shaved, and it's so Brad Pittian or Tom Cruisian. Very nice. Then Sam steps out, and she's dressed like L'il Kim. Pink wig, white feathery fur, one nipple showing. Well, kidding about the nipple. OR AM I?
Trudi Stork (the STORK, get it?) sends over the King Charles Spaniel in a basket for Charlotte. Harry is all, "Who is that?" A doggie. Can they keep her? Sure. "Anything that makes you smile like that I'd be stupid not to let you keep." Aw. They name the doggie Elizabeth Taylor Goldenblatt, and this is it: Sex & the City has jumped the shark for real now. Kids and animals are in the show for real for real. This episode has practically been Stuart Little.
And, proving my point, a mouse creeps into Carrie's hair as she sleeps. It wakes her up and she screams and screams. Yay. I mean, "shut up, Carrie."
Carrie calls "the Russian" -- to come over and kill the thing, presumably. He stuffs steel wool into the mouse-holes, and she thanks him. He says he wasn't expecting to hear from her. Yeah, she was mad. And now she needs him "to not talk" so she can "say this" without him "confusing" her. Sam is her friend, family, her "insides." Sam "has to be fine," and for the Russian to tell Carrie otherwise feels "hurtful and really unnecessary." Alek begins, "My friend who died," and Carrie claps her hands to her face and falls onto the bed, saying, "Oh, my god!" Jesus, Carrie. Let him talk about his experience. Give him the same privilege of listening that he gave to you. He says he was "surprised" when his friend died. There was so much pain. He didn't want Carrie to be surprised. She says he could have said that. Really? When? You kept cutting him off. You didn't want to hear it. Carrie says she needs her relationships "with a little bit of milk." Yeah, or watered down. Or just plain whatever you want them to be, when you want them to be. Alek says Sam will be fine. Carrie thanks him, and says she's sorry about Sophie. He says, "Thank you." They embrace, and she VOs that for the first time, they spoke the same language. Yes, the language of surface-y niceties. How very meh.
The four girls drink Manhattans together. Sam has a crazy bedazzled scarf on. Dior, my dear. Mir drinks to moving to Brooklyn. She can't believe it! All the girls will come visit, right? Carrie snorts, "Now who's in denial!" Sam would, but she has cancer. And Char bubbles, "Of course we will!" Sigh. Another round of Manhattans, and Mir starts reminiscing about crappy old apartments she had in the greatest borough of the only city in the world. Ah, good times. Mir says, "Why do I think living in Manhattan is so fantastic?" Carrie says matter-of-factly, "Because it is." Say it with me: SHUT UP, CARRIE!