Next day, street scene. Mir, in a tan jacket and skirt, listens to Carrie ramble about how Berger "shut down." She's in these awful American Idol-contestant LOSER plum satin cropped cargo capris and a flowery jacket. Honey, Gwen Stefani wouldn't even use those plum satin cargo capris to blow her nose. Oh, right; the clothes are supposed to be a joke. Well, sometimes jokes aren't funny. Carrie says she had to "get on [her] sass horse and ruin everything." Mir deadpans that "sass will bite you on the ass." Heh. Carrie asks why she ran with the negative and "pick[ed]." Mir says, "Because you're in a relationship!" But they should still be in the honeymoon stage. Mir says to talk to him, since they could "laugh [their] way through everything." Carrie says that may have been the crux of the problem.
And now finally, the question of the week. Carrie wonders why, if a female gorilla "picking nits" off her mate is a sign of love, why isn't nit-picking? "Is there times when the ladies should just shut the fuck up?" My answer: yes. ["Especially when the ladies use atrocious grammar like 'is there times.'" -- Sars] But shutting up isn't the same as listening, and keeping quiet just for the sake of keeping quiet isn't a solid policy. If you choose to remain silent instead of getting critical, that's good, but is that the same as shutting the fuck up? I don't think so.
On to another "loud" woman. Charlotte, nailing a mezuzah onto her door. Her old-lady neighbor avec poodle opens her door, wanting to know what "all that banging" is. Hammer and nails, ever heard of them? Char says cheerily, "Hello Mrs. Collier! I'm a Jew now. How are you!" Mrs. Collier looks like she smelled a fart, and closes the door rapidly.
Mir, eating lunch on some stone steps, half-listens to some younger women chattering about how some guy will call, eventually, but now he's just too stressed to call. His boss just got fired! And other nonsense. One of the chicks was in Rushmore. Margaret Lee. She's been in a lot of stuff, too. She was great in Old School. Mir checks her BlackBerry and sees an awkward email from the weak date closer. She smiles wanly; Berger predicted this. The girls' voices get louder; the guy's kitchen is being rewired, too, and he's gonna call. He's just so gonna! Mir steps in front of them and says she wants to say something that she hopes saves them a lot of time and energy: "He's just not that into you." The girls look at her blankly. Mir walks off, proud of herself for attempting to school the younger generation. Then the one chick turns to Margaret Lee and says, "What a BITCH! Who asked her. He is so totally gonna call you." Ah, people. They never learn.
Sam sits at a bar in a gold sequined dress. She sighs, and then Jerry comes up as "Detective Smith." He has a few questions for her. Sam orders two martinis, and he declines. Just a seltzer for him. She thinks one drink won't kill him. He insists on the seltzer. Then, sotto voce, he says, "Seriously, Samantha, I'm in AA." He tries to go on about how, eight years ago, he was really fucked up in Seattle. Sam looks startled, and sits up straight, losing all of her earlier slinky, loose allure. She remembers an early morning meeting, and dashes off. Oh, no. She sobered up when she heard he doesn't drink. Isn't it better for fucking that the guy is sober? She can still drink! Hell, she can get plastered if she likes. Guys that quit drinking are usually used to fucking wasted girls. Who else would have fucked them drunk?