How do you
know if you're good or bad in bed?
(the other
all-important questions there is literally no good answer for include
“Do I look fat in this?” and the ever frightening “How old *do*
I look?)
Let's begin!
This episode
begins with Charlotte in bed with a very hard-working orthopedic
surgeon. It's important to note that he is hard working because he
has fallen asleep right on top of her, right in the middle of doing
it. Quel Horreur!
Charlotte is
beside herself! She cries to Carrie, laments that she must be really
bad in bed. Carrie is trying to be supportive, says that even though
no one has fallen asleep on her, that many of them probably wanted
to. And then she offers her tea. “Charlotte, you want some tummy
tamer?”
Carrie then
gossips to Sam while out on the street. Sam is the worst frenemy to
Charlotte. She isn't surprised at all about Charlotte being -bad in
bed-. Carrie, as she does, comes to Charlotte's defense, and asks if
it really matters whether one is good or bad.
Sam
decisively insists that who you are in bed is who you are in life.
She knows she's good in bed and apparently she's got a resume to
prove it (and references). But there's more! Recently she was
invited into bed by a pair of sexy, healthy, gay men. Carrie is the
audience at this point, looking at her like she's got two heads.
“So, I'm
thinking about doing it.”
“they're
gay!” Carrie shouts!
“You know,
for a sex columnist you have a very limited view of sexuality”
(FUCKING RIGHT?!)
“Gay is
pink suede!” Carrie digs in.
“Wake up!
It's 2000!” (For a minute there I forgot she was talking about the
year) “The New Millennium won't be about sexual labels, it'll be
about sexual expression. It won't matter if you're sleeping with men
or women. It'll be about sleeping with individuals... It won't matter
if you're gay or straight--”
“Just if
you're good, or bad in bed?”
“Exactly.”
I WISH that
we had gotten to that point. Now it feels like labels sort of bog us
down. Recently I got into it on the internet with someone who
corrected me-- I had labeled a character bisexual, and this internet
person corrected me, said character was -pansexual- and I'm like,
that's fucking divisive isn't it? I acknowledge as an educated
person that gender is fluid, but it took us fucking decades to fight
for visibility, can we not erase bisexuality already? There are still
people out there who think we should pick a side.
And don't
get me started, I know that the dreaded episode where this show
explores bisexuality is coming up. :dreads:
So for now
labels are kind of necessary. We, as a society, aren't -that-
non-judgmental yet.
--
Later, after
Carrie writes on her little computer, she's walking down the street
when out of nowhere a cigarette leaps out and bites her arm! She's
shocked, but only minorly injured. The guy who threw it uses the
excuse “I'm a smoker” but seems apologetic enough. Carrie
decides to invite the cute guy who injured her out to coffee. (She
really is a masochist)
They have a
neat little time in an outdoor cafe. She has to go though, and
before she does she writes down her number for him, saying some cute
things cutely, according to her. In reality, it sounds sort of like
a bad joke where she's ha-ha threatening to sue for injuries ha-ha.
ha.
He doesn't
call her back (gee, I wonder why?)
And Carrie
wonders if her whole life is ruined while helping Miranda make her
bed. Miranda is like, “Get a grip! A guy doesn't call you for a
week and suddenly you're ugly?”
Seriously.
Miranda is
replacing her sheets with new ones because she's trying to change her
bed karma. (“If you make it, he will come!”) But there's a little
snag in one of the pillowcases and she cries, "Does everything I bring
into this bedroom have to have a flaw?" Carrie laughs at her, so
Miranda hits her with the pillow. ><
The
following weekend, Carrie walks into the cigarette thrower on the
street again. She lets herself be known, introduces herself to the
guy he's talking to, but he's kinda busy and brusquely says that they
are in the middle of something. Carrie is a little mortified, and
starts walking away. Quickly. But Cigarette Thrower runs after her
and comes clean.
He's an
alcoholic. On his way to an AA meeting. He's only been sober for 11
months, so it's a no-go for dating at the moment.
Carrie is
relieved that she isn't ugly, at least. And rather than leave the
man who is clearly wrong for her and not ready to date on the street
to his meeting, she instead gets him to ask her out.
I think she
should go back to Dr. G.
On their
first -official- date, they go for coffee, and Cigarette Thrower
talks about how he compulsively eats cookies.
Carrie says
she's like that with reese's pieces.. and shoes.
“Aren't
the shoes a little hard on digestion?”
And then,
when they arrive at her apartment, she leans in to give him a kiss
goodnight, and he doesn't do it. “I knew he was into me because
during my lean-in-and-kiss-me-goodnight move, I'd
accidentally-on-purpose felt his pop-up-and-say-hello.” Narrator
Carrie has such a clever way of speaking.
At the end
of their third date, she “wanted him even more than a fistful of
reese's pieces.” So she leans in for a goodnight kiss, and he looks
up, so the kiss lands on his chin.
AWKWARD.
“That was
that,” Narrator Carrie says as she turns to enter her apartment,
“I'd hit my humiliation limit. And then I thought, how many cute,
smart, sexy, single, smoking alcoholics are left in the world? Five?”
So, Carrie
turns around and forcibly pulls him in and kisses him to the tune of
Diana Ross. Hot.
She asks if
he wants to come up, but he has reservations. He's never had sex
sober and doesn't know if he'd be any good.
I guess he's
never heard of whiskey dick.
Cheesiest
line alert: “Oh what the hell, let's take it one step at a time.”
He
apparently has the best sex of his entire life. And afterwards
starts jumping on the bed with glee.
He says over
and over that Carrie was the best, and that he wants to do it again.
And again and again and again, I'm sure.
Next
morning, the foursome talk over breakfast. Carrie orders enough food
for at least three people.
“Storing
up for winter?” Sam playfully asks.
Carrie
admits that she and Cigarette Thrower had sex all night long.
Then she
looks over, apologetically at Charlotte. “No, don't stop. It's OK.
Just because I'm bad in bed doesn't mean everyone has to be.”
“Ok, one
more time, you are not bad in bed.” Miranda takes the bait.
“Oh
really, has a man fallen asleep making love to you?”
“No, but I
once fell asleep when a guy was doing me” Sam helpfully adds, “It
was the ludes.”
“It's OK,”
Charlotte responds, “I'm mature enough to realize that while I may
be good at some things, like accessories, that I may need a little
help with others like--” She waves her hands and Sam helps her
along, “fucking?” “--making love. So. I'm taking a class--”
“A fucking class?!” Sam interrupts.
“--No! A
tantric sex workshop... It's called 'How to Please a Man'”
“I know
how to please a man, just give away most of your power!” Ever
pessimistic, Miranda adds.
“Look! I
have a trainer for the gym, I can have a trainer for--” “fucking?!”
“--please stop saying that!”
Carrie asks
if she's actually going to do it, and Charlotte reveals that she's
already signed all of them up. None of them want to go- “I could
teach the damn class!” Sam insists, but they all decide to go in
support of their down and out friend.
–
Sam is ready
to do it with the gay couple, the Davids. She is primping a little
bit in her bathroom, wondering if she's capable of doing this. She
decides to have a conversation beforehand to talk it over. This all
gets thrown out the window as soon as she greats the Davids in their
cute boxer briefs. They are overwhelmed by her sexiness and proceed
to nibble their way down her body in tandem, giggling and gleeful.
When they
reach her stomach they suddenly each develop a case of 'I don't want
to' and leave her high and-- well, at least a little moist. David
says “Let's go out for gelato!” “Or cheesecake!” David
suggests. “Whatever!”
She is no
longer as confident in her fantastic sex score. D:
–
At the
tantric sex workshop, Carrie worried about Cigarette Thrower. She
confides in Miranda, “I think Cigarette Thrower is addicted to me.”
“Yeah, program guys are tough. I dated a guy once who was in
over-eaters anonymous and every time we had a fight he would binge
eat hot fudge sundaes.”
Charlotte
glances at the two of them who are currently interrupting the tantric
workshop instructor.
“shhh!”
They pay no
mind, and continue to interrupt.
“He wants
to have sex all the time, it's getting a little out of hand.”
“Well, at
least he wants to fuck you!” Sam is taking the slight personally.
“They were
gay.”
“So?”
Sam is disheartened. “One minute they were into it and the next
suddenly they weren't! What did I do to turn them off?”
Miranda
helpfully says, “Not having a dick would be the thing you did to
turn them off.”
“You guys!
I'm serious! This is rude!” GO CHARLOTTE! RUDE FUCKS!
Sam says one
more thing, and Charlotte has had quite enough, “Be quiet and you
might learn something! This lady is supposed to be a genius.”
Miranda asks
Charlotte, “If she's so good, why are we having this workshop in
her apartment?”
Charlotte
flusters, “I don't know!”
They soon
find out why they are in her apartment: The Doctor's husband comes out
from the bedroom, removes his robe so he's fully nude and ready to be
tantricked.
And she's
off, illustrating some sort of tantric move, but really she's just
giving her husband a handy.
You know, I
wonder if the whole thing isn't some outrageous voyeuristic kink that
she and her husband are involved in.
She does it
for a long while, Miranda Carrie and Sam can't stop talking and
giggling and joking, and at one point the Dr has to tell them to
compose themselves.
Embarrassing.
Finally,
finally, the moment we've all been waiting for! Release!
Right on
Miranda's hair and face.
She was at
least half a room away, that's quite a feat!
–
Carrie and
Cigarette Thrower are walking down the street, talking. Cigarette
thrower has been dying to tell her that he loves her. Which is,
well, almost as awkward as the last scene. Carrie tells him that
it's too fast, and that maybe they should take some time apart and
that she'll call him in a week or two.
He really
isn't digging that, is dismayed to find that she doesn't want him to
come up.
So, he gets
completely wasted and comes back hours later. He's shouting, totally
fall down drunk, and blaming her for falling off the wagon. (on the
wagon?)
She doesn't
go down to rescue him, even as he's taking his clothes off. She
tosses down a robe, and he's slobbering about how he doesn't care and
he wants to die.
She got a
letter from him awhile later, relaying how he's back to being sober.
She always wondered two things-- if he managed to stay sober and
whether she was really -that good- in bed.
Miranda
meanwhile, can be seen among her new bedding, using way too many
Kleenexes, trying desperately to wipe the memory of that afternoon
off her face and hair.
Poor
Miranda!
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