In a town where everyone's dying
to couple up...
...sometimes there's nothing better
than being out of a relationship.
You have time to do your laundry...
...freedom to play your favorite
bad music really loudly.
But the best part of being
out of a relationship:
Plenty of time to catch up
with your friends.
I feel sorry for Big.
I really do, because if you think about it...
...I was the best thing that ever happened
to him. Actually, I pity him.
Because I get to walk away and be me
and he has to walk away and stay him.
Who wants to be him
when you can be me?
I'm smart. I'm funny.
I was this thing. I was it.
I was this magic moment.
I was the abracadabra.
I was totally the "poof" in the relationship.
I've got more poof than he could ever have.
Sometimes, I poof just hailing a cab.
So, I guess it's better to know now
so I can go poof someone else.
Someone who deserves me...
...and not some screwed up, insecure guy
who can't deal with a woman...
...who's got her act together.
Now, I'm gonna end up deliriously happy
and Big is gonna die old and alone...
...and I pity him. Really, I pity him.
What?
Who's gonna tell her?
What?
You're obsessed with talking about Big
and frankly, we can't take it anymore.
-It's out of our Ieague.
-Is this an intervention?
Yes, stop her before she obsesses again.
Isn't part of the breaking up process that
you get free rein to whine to your friends?
Of course you do.
But maybe you should think
about whining to a shrink.
Why should I pay someone
when we can talk for free...
...and then get a drink or whatever?
I don't need professional help.
I've got you guys.
For another ten minutes.
Then we're cutting you off, cold turkey.
Hey, I don't need therapy.
I need new friends.
Look, we're as f*cked up as you are.
It's Iike the blind Ieading the blind.
Sometimes it helps
to talk to somebody who's objective.
Okay, I understand why you see a shrink
because you're always in your head...
...but I'm fine.
I am functioning. Besides, I don't really--
To be honest,
I just don't buy the whole shrink thing.
Neither do I. My parents believe...
...that any head problem can be solved
with physical exercise.
That's why all of us
are really good tennis players.
It's a slippery slope.
First you go once a week,
then three times a week...
...and next thing you know...
...you start sentences, "My shrink says...."
My shrink says that's a very common fear.
Therapy is just so self-indulgent.
Ancient man didn't need shrinks to survive.
Ancient man only Iived till .
Were my friends right?
Had I crossed the line
from pleasantly neurotic...
...into annoyingly troubled?
I decided to seek
my own professional help.
How can you not have a shrink?
This is Manhattan.
Even the shrinks have shrinks.
The fact was, Stanford was right.
The therapist was as ubiquitous
in Manhattan as pirated cable.
I have three.
You do not.
I do:
One when I want to be cuddled...
...one when I want tough Iove...
...and one for when I just want to Iook at
a really beautiful man.
-That's sick.
-Which is why I see the other two.
-Do you want a name?
-No, Miranda's shrink referred me to one.
Dr. EIIen Greenfield.
Dr. G! My god! She is hot, hot, hot.
Gwyneth Paltrow sees her.
Why does she go to a shrink?
She suffers from high self-esteem.
While I was contemplating the couch,
Miranda was enjoying hers.
Two nights later,
she had another nocturnal rendezvous.
Soon, Miranda found herself
with a nightly playmate.
A week later, I kept my date with Dr. G,
celebrity shrink.
So Carrie, tell me why you're here.
Well, my friends can't handle me anymore.
You're Iike very expensive foster care.
What's bothering them?
They tell me that I talk
about my ex-boyfriend too much.
But that's normal, right, after a break up?
I don't Iike the term "normal."
No, of course you don't,
because you wouldn't have any patients.
So, tell me about him:
The ex.
You know, I have to be honest.
I'm not sure I really believe in therapy.
I'm more of a
"solve your own problems" kind of gal.
Okay.
I don't know.
He was smart.
He was sexy, just totally screwed up.
He was playing all these games,
and I didn't know the rules.
You were playing games.
No, he was. I was just along for the ride.
What about you?
Was this the first time you dated a man
who couldn't give you what you wanted?
Well, that's a Iittle easy, don't you think?
Okay.
Yeah.
Maybe I've dated men
who were wrong for me, but who hasn't?
The thing they have in common is you.
-What's your point?
-Maybe you are picking the wrong men.
Well, of course you pick the wrong guys.
Jesus, I could have told you that.
Frankly, I think I picked
the wrong therapist.
She just did not get me at all.
She thought I was a game player.
You have to be.
It's the only way to deal with men.
That's healthy.
Relationships are not about games.
They're about mature
and honest communication.
This from a woman who plays peek-a-boo
with her neighbor.
Games are empowering.
If you know what you're doing,
you can control the situation.
The only place you can control a man
is in bed.
If we perpetually gave men blow jobs,
we could run the world.
At Ieast our hands would be
free to greet dignitaries and stuff.
Sorry.
I mean, even if you're in a relationship...
...you still have to play games.
Big and I played games.
Look where it got us.
But maybe the game is not really over.
Maybe it's just halftime.
That kind of delusional thinking
is why you should be in therapy, too.
I do not pick the wrong guys.
They pick me.
So what, you're Iike a fly strip
for dysfunctional men?
Yeah, but one of those really
pretty floral scented ones.
It's slim pickings out there.
You can't swing a Fendi purse
without knocking over five Iosers.
Where did all the great guys go?
There it was:
happy hour in the valley of lost men.
Hello.
I've never seen this many of them
rounded up in one space.
-What's going on?
-It's sports night.
It certainly is.
Come on, girls. Let the games begin.
Sports night: Every female's fantasy...
...a room full of c*ptive heterosexual men...
...all looking to be distracted
during commercial breaks.
I'm getting a contact high
from all the testosterone.
-We didn't order these.
-They're on the house.
It's sports night. Ladies drink for free.
Forget Disneyland.
This is the happiest place on Earth.
Yes, indeed.
If you Iadies will excuse me.
I'm getting on the bench.
-Who's winning?
-Knicks.
-Is that good?
-You're not a Knicks fan, I take it.
Not yet.
-I'm Don.
-Samantha.
Don Seglar was a very successful importer
of Mexican handbags.
He was fanatical about two things:
keeping the price of foreign labor down...
...and the Knicks.
-Maybe I can teach you a few things.
-And vice versa!
It's seconds Ieft.
Pass, you m*therf*cker!
We need to penetrate, drive to the basket.
Get it to Johnson. He's on fire tonight.
Go L.J., go!
Go! Score!
Which is exactly
what Samantha did two hours later.
When I got home that night, I couldn't get
Charlotte's words out of my head.
We spent our childhoods playing games.
Were they all just primers
for the games we played as adults?
Were relationships just a big chess match:
strategy moves, countermoves...
...all designed to keep your opponent
off balance until you win?
Was there such a thing as
an honest relationship?
Or was it true?
Do you have to play games to
make a relationship work?
I went out with this girl on Saturday night.
We had a great time.
I didn't call her again until Thursday,
so I didn't seem eager.
I went out with this guy on Saturday night.
I thought we had a great time.
The assh*le doesn't call me until Thursday.
I screened his call
and didn't return it until Monday.
I gave my boyfriend an ultimatum.
Propose by Christmas or it's over.
My girlfriends said that was a game.
I think it was just smart.
Besides, if he doesn't come through,
I can always secretly get pregnant.
The next day, I reluctantly showed up
for my second appointment with Dr. G.
I was still a skeptic and I'd already read
every New Yorker in the waiting room.
When you think about it,
what was I getting out of this anyway?
And then, at five minutes
to my last scheduled hour...
...I got my answer.
My third appointment with Dr. G:
I had come a little early
to catch up on my reading.
Hi. I'm Seth.
Hi. Carrie.
I thought we could go on playing
this coy game, or I could introduce myself.
Well, I'm glad you did.
Especially since I had worn
my new dress for the occasion.
That New Yorker is from Iast year.
Well, this New Yorker is
a Iittle behind on her reading.
So, how Iong you been a Dr. G convert?
Not very Iong, just three sessions.
I just had my one-year anniversary.
What'd she give you, a cake or something?
A really big bill.
Listen, this is gonna sound a Iittle weird.
Would you have dinner with me sometime?
Sure.
I'd Iike that.
-Call me, all right?
-Okay.
Maybe it was unethical making a date...
...with Seth Robinson, photographer,
in my shrink's waiting room...
...but there was something about him.
Come on in.
Well, you're dressed up.
He's a photographer.
-And you met him at your shrink's?
-It wasn't a setup or anything.
Jeez, what if he's crazy?
It's the crazy ones that have the good pills.
That's it! Go, Marcus! Go!
Excuse me,
but why is that on and who is Marcus?
Marcus Camby, Knicks forward.
Now that Ewing is injured,
he needs to pull it out.
When did we start caring about basketball?
Don is obsessed.
I don't get Iaid unless the Knicks win.
Can I just say?
They and I have been
on a very Iong Iosing streak.
-That's awful.
-No kidding.
The Knicks are the only ones
getting screwed.
Come on, you f*ckers!
Why are you staying with him?
Because the sex, what I can remember,
was unbelievable.
Yes!
They won!
-I've got to go.
-Go.
Have sex. Go!
The next night,
Miranda got a pleasant surprise.
Her date thought it was time they moved
past peek-a-boo to playing doctor.
Miranda wanted to play fair,
so she gave him a little tit for tat.
All over town, people were getting lucky.
Seth and I were having
a great first date at the coffee shop.
And what about the plant?
I know.
She always has it in a different place.
Maybe it's some sort of
Dr. G psychological test.
-That's it. It's Where's Waldo.
-Yeah.
And it needs to be watered.
-It's plastic.
-Are you sure?
I touched it.
You touched Dr. G's plant?
I've been going to her over a year.
I got bored.
Then you came along.
-Well, that's sweet.
-No, it's true.
There was something about him. I felt
like I could talk to him about anything.
And in the spirit of psychological health
and not playing games...
...I decided to be honest.
I Iike you.
I Iike you, too.
Later that week,
Miranda went shopping for dinner.
Shopping quickly devolved
into a game of hide and seek.
I thought I'd be an adult here
and come over and introduce myself.
Hi.
I'm Miranda.
You know.
Across the airshaft.
Yeah, right. You're the girl who Iives
above the guy I've been cruising.
Miranda realized she was still playing
with an imaginary friend...
...just like she did when she was five.
The next day, she called her shrink
for an emergency session.
Meanwhile, Sam had decided
she would celebrate...
...the end of the basketball season
and the return of her sex life...
...by watching
the final Knicks game at Don 's.
Baby!
In a minute, baby.
The Mets are playing Chicago.
Now that basketball is over,
I can give them my full attention.
They've been playing Iousy ball this year.
The idea of lasting
through another sexless season...
...was more than Samantha could take.
So, she forfeited the game.
Meanwhile, I was getting plenty of action.
Seth and I had just come back
from another amazing date.
You want to come in?
I think I already am.
This is great.
You have all the classics here:
CIue, Parcheesi, and Twister.
I was the seventh grade Twister champion.
-Is that a challenge?
-Yeah.
AII right, buddy. It's go time.
-How are you holding up?
-Feeling good, my friend.
Left foot yellow.
I guess that one's mine.
You're in a very compromising position.
I believe I'm in about
compromising positions.
I am not gonna Iose my concentration.
In no time it was "yellow pants off. "
So what do you think Dr. G
would have to say about this?
Very bad.
Bad patients.
I have to tell you.
I'm not really into therapy,
I think it's kind of bullshit.
-I'm telling Dr. G on you.
-No, no!
-Cross your heart.
-Hope to die.
So why are you in therapy, seriously?
I'm really f*cked up about women.
After I sleep with them,
I completely Iose interest.
What about you? What's your problem?
I believe in therapy,
this moment is called "the breakthrough."
I pick the wrong men.
Although she'd made some good points,
I stopped seeing Dr. G immediately.
I couldn't risk the humiliation
of running into Seth in the waiting room.
My friends totally understand.