Ready to go back in time to Season Two? Let's, then. Ah, the old credits, which I love, 'cause I'm an old fool from the old school. Hiya, Chrysler Building! You sure are pretty. Hello, World Trade Towers! Aww. You guys are great. God, we miss you. Cha, cha cha, cha cha. Cha, cha cha, cha cha. SJP stalks the street, glowing like a lamppost that just got laid. Then, oh no, splashy bus! Cha cha cha!
Lights up on a beautiful NYC skyline, all lit up, at night. Carrie VOs that there are certain rare occurrences which we should all celebrate, including and not limited to eclipses and "getting that second latte for free." But she means right at the moment now, in a salsa club, where all four girlfriends are single at the same time, and getting down on the dance floor with each other and having a hell of a time. Yeah. Savor the flavor of single fun, ladies. Being single rules. All you need is sex, and it's so easy to get! With or without batteries! The four friends dance wildly and Sam gets the eye from a handsome man seated at a table. Olé, indeed.
At the bar, the girls toast to themselves, "without men," and toss back shots of tequila. Char squinches up her face and says brattily, "If [she] end[s] up old and alone, it's all [their] fault." Because toasts, like birthday wishes, are heard by God and followed out to the letter. Samantha says that they are all in fact alone, and even when they have guys, are still alone. I guess she means metaphysically. I can dig it. Sam flies solo. She's a loner, baby. Sam goes on to say that Char "shouldn't expect a man to fill [her] up, except when, you know." I think everyone knows. Everyone who knows how boys are different from girls knows. The hot guy that was eyeing Sam steps up and asks her for a dance. She charmingly turns him down, stating that tonight is "for the girls." He offers his card, a winning smile, and a promise of fun. She smiles and takes the card. After he splits, Miranda offers her congrats to Sam, not dumping her friends for a man. In the same breath, Carrie is all wanting to leave, since she has a photo shoot in the morning. New York magazine is profiling twenty "fabulous" and single people in their thirties, and the reason Carrie got picked over Samantha is that Stanford's b.f. is the photo editor. Nepotism can be annoying, no? The gals convince Carrie to stay for one more drink and a dance before she heads to bed.
Many, many drinks and whirling dance sequences later, Carrie heads home. At dawn. She decides to "avoid looking like [she's] been up all night by staying up all morning." She sips coffee and perches on her bed, reading the paper; then we get a jump cut to her passed out on the paper, which gets stuck to her face. She was drooling, you see. In her sleep. On the newspaper. The phone rings: it's Stanford, mightily pissed off. Carrie's forty minutes late. She grabs the receiver and says she'll be there in twenty. Ooh, she is in so much trouble.