Sam is waiting at a table in a lovely restaurant for her salsa club guy. Twenty minutes go by, and she calls her machine. A waiter pops by and asks is she's alone. No, she isn't. Though, quite literally and not metaphysically, she is. She asks for a red wine.
A few pans and wipes later, Sam is sitting with her white fur coat around her shoulders, utterly dejected. She now knows that her club guy is one that "lies about the future in order to get what he wants in the present." She knocks over the dregs of her wine and gasps. The waiter helpfully wipes it up. Sam, totally embarrassed, starts to cry, and asks for the bathroom. When she comes out, the waiter is there. He listens to her gentle sobs about how she got taken in by some guy's lines, again. She needed to be a "we." The waiter offers assistance, his shoulder, and to accompany her home, because "if [he] takes [her] home, [she's] not alone." Sam can't do it, deciding that being alone is better than faking it. She does press some bills into the waiter's hand, though. Classy.
And the exact opposite of class is the party going on downtown, where Carrie's letting her hair all the way down. She laughs at something some guy says, spills her drink on his pants, then tries to wipe it off. He excuses himself, and she hollers after him, "Fuck YOU! Exclamation point!" Stanford takes her glass and says it's time to go home. She says it's early. He says it's 2 AM on a Tuesday. I would have said, "Well, it's early somewhere." Carrie wants to stay and meet cute guys. Stanford says everyone at the party "is gay, gay, gay." Seconds after he leaves, she puts a cigarette between her lips, and a man approaches to light it for her. Kaboom. Just what Carrie wanted. A non-gay-gay-gay guy who's also a smoker.
Mir is winding up her Clitoris for Dummies tutorial session with the ophthalmologist. Her clinical approach has turned sex "into a naked eye exam," Carrie VOs. Mir is on top, facing away from him, so he can't see her face as she grimaces and squinches her nose up as he pumps away and asks if she's close. She isn't close. And "is more complicated than a jet engine." This guy will never get her off. So, she fakes it for him. To make him feel good for trying. Isn't that what she was doing before? But now it's okay. Because a lesson was learned. Or something. And when she blows him off this time, he'll not mind so much. Or at all. Unlike before. Mmm-hmm.
Carrie continues to canoodle with her downtown smoker guy. He's all, "Wanna go for a ride in my Porsche?" She does.