Figures, just after Charlotte goes and converts to Judaism, Harry drops her and moves out. They had a nasty fight, of course, but she had a point with, “I gave up Christ — you can give up the Mets,” which she said after she prepared her first feast and all he wanted to do was watch the game. Just goes to show, don’t ever, ever change for a man. And damn it, he’d bought her an engagement ring, which he announced on his way out the door, before he sent for his things.
Carrie and Berger hit their first rough patches in their irritatingly saccharine-filled relationship. She made a small criticism of his book, and he blew it to epic proportions and was frustrated with her through the whole episode.She loved his book, but he didn’t want to hear that part. Turns out that the book wasn’t selling so well, so her criticsm, however mild and humorous, was like the proverbial salt in the gaping wound. So he hurled a comment at her about her stupid hat (which was, in fact, stupid), but she wasn’t having it. The question of the evening for her column was, of course, when will women shut the fuck up. And in this instance, she wasn’t even going to hold back. He was really making her feel bad, when he had the weight of the (publishing) world on his shoulders. But all’s well that ends well, and they chatted and got over it and ostensibly fucked till they forgot.
Miranda had a good date with a real estate guy, only for Berger to tell her that, if the guy didn’t book a follow-up date (and that he’d supposedly call when he wasn’t so busy), then he wasn’t altogether that interested. She was hurt at first, but it gave her such a lease on life — that at least she wouldn’t be waiting around for him to call when he suddenly became un-busy. She shared the gospel with some gals who were talking about when one of their boyfriends would hopefully call, and they thought she was a bitch.
But I loved it — I realized long ago that when men say, “I’ll call,” I tend to know that it’s time to forget that I ever knew them — better to do it before the fantasies and wishes hit. Because, believe me, it’s a lot harder to extract yourself from a dream than it is to get off of life support, because dreams kind of are our life supports. And when the dream goes away, we tend to either lose our identities for awhile or simply become afraid of dreaming again. I think I’m in the latter state, personally, for reasons best left unexplained, although admittedly, life is really tough to take without any escape from behind the steel fortress you’ve so carefully constructed.
We experienced a reprieve from the whole Miranda-Steve-Debbie triangle, but previews indicated that it will be back full-force next episode. Fucking wonderful. Miranda, he’s a dipshit if he doesn’t want you! Move on, girlfriend!
Although, on that note, I must admit that when I dropped by the SATC website last week, I participated in a survey that revealed 92 percent of us want Steve and Miranda to get back together. So, for the hardened bitch I’ve become, I guess I still hope that the right people end up together. 😉 Or, again, that Debbie gets run over by a speeding subway train.
But I digress. The funny part is that Charlotte fixed Miranda up with a great guy at the end of the show, and after they had a spicy curry dinner, he split. She said, look, just be honest and tell me you don’t want to see me again. It’s OK. And he said, actually, he rather liked her and would like to set up a date again in the near future. She pressed him to just stop trying to fake it like he’ll call again, when she knows he obviously won’t. His response? “Look, I need to go now. I have diarrhea.” ROFL. Miranda, obviously, was now SOL. 🙂
Samantha, oh dear Samantha. Shawn called me immediately after the show ended so that we could wax poetic about her. She looked absolutely gorgeous tonight, and she was fucking Jerry Jerrod, the waiter/actor, in a variety of roles and disguises. But when he wanted to be just Jerry, the recovering alcoholic, she bolted. *Poof* Gotta admire a girl who has no time for reality.
I’m not at my best tonight, and my fingers hurt from really landing a mean punch into a wall. Blogging was best left offline this weekend (it’s neat to have unrestricted sadness, snarkiness and a steaming cup of bitter with no one looking over your shoulder). Work will be chaotic this week (I went in today, actually), as will packing up my house for my annual move (did a bunch of that, too, this weekend). I’ll be fine, just so long as I don’t pack up my liquid salvation … the alcohol. 🙂