Original subtitles

They say that if you've lived in New York for ten years,

you can officially call yourself a New Yorker.

But the trained eye can always spot the ones who were born here.

I want it all, I want it now, and I want you to get it for me.

After firing her last two publicists,

Jenny Brier, the daughter of a wealthy New York restaurateur,

had decided that Samantha

would be taking over the PR for her upcoming party.

I want Vanity Fair, Carson Daly, People, Teen People, InStyle, NSYNC--

Jenny, sweetie.

Don't take this the wrong way, but how old are you?

Hello, it's my bat mitzvah party. I'm 13.

-You're 13 years old? -Duh! And what are you, like, 45?

And just like that, the meeting was officially over.

-I'm sorry, I don't do kids' parties.

Sweetie, my father has invited over 300

of his most powerful friends to this event.

They're not all coming. The Clintons can't make it, of course.

Like I told Daddy, we'll be lucky if we can swing this for under a mil.

But what do I know? I'm just a kid.

We'll never get NSYNC.

After meeting her new client, Samantha met Charlotte, Miranda and me

for the latest trend in Manhattan power lunching,

haute cafeteria cuisine.

You coming in for a landing, sister?

Sorry. Cute guy.

I thought he was checking me out for a second.

Where?

-Hey, stop, don't turn.

-He's a cutie, all right.

Definitely looking.

Looking at you guys looking at him, like I asked you not to.

-Take your tray over there. -What!

-No. -Absolutely. Why not?

Because this isn't PS 147. We're adults now.

She's married, for Christ's sake.

We have to at least pretend to know better.

So, I finally went to the doctor about my headaches.

-Still looking.

Which you're not helping, thanks.

Because I've been trying to diagnose myself on the Internet.

-You can do that? - Sure.

You just type in your symptoms, hit "enter,"

and wait for the word "cancer" to appear on the screen.

Anyway, turns out I'm a tongue-thruster.

Now, see, if you were a man, that would be a good thing.

My tongue pushes up against my front teeth, so my bite is all off.

My dentist thinks I have TMJ.

Come on, you have to do something.

I am. I'm going to the orthodontist tomorrow.

No, I mean, he's really cute.

-She could write him a note. -I know. Even cuter!

You guys, I'm not writing him a note.

-Dear Mr. Cutie-Cute. -You did not just write that.

No. Just your phone number.

I'm not giving him my phone number.

Oh, relax, TMJ. You don't have to.

-I'll do it for ya. -Carrie.

-Carrie. -Go, girl.

Oh, my God.

Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but my friend Miranda over there...

- Oh, my God. - She thinks you're kinda cute.

Please tell your friend Miranda to call me.

On the way home from lunch, I decided to brave the afternoon heat

to see if my favorite shoe-repair guy could do anything

about my tired old soles.

But when I got there, there was no "there" there.

Hey, what happened to Artie?

-Artie? -Artie. My guy. My shoe guy.

He fixed these the last time.

Oh, yeah, Artie. Nah, he moved back to Williamsburg.

-Oh. -Brooklyn, not Colonial.

He couldn't afford the place once they destabilized the rent.

And if the comic business keeps going the way it is,

I'm not sure I'll be able to either.

-Oh, comics aren't selling, huh? -No, especially mine.

"Power Lad by Wade Adams."

Is this you? Did you draw this?

Wow!

So, what's so powerful about him?

He's a superhero, or he wants to be. See, his parents were superheroes.

And he's trying to figure out what his superpowers are.

They haven't really kicked in yet.

It's stupid. What do you... What do you do?

Oh, I'm a writer.

Really, that's cool. What do you write?

Turn to page seven of your newspaper there.

Ah, yes, I thought you looked familiar.

-You ever think about writing comics? -Aren't the comics more of a boy thing?

No way! There's all kinds of women superheroes.

Batgirl, Supergirl, Black Canary.

I know you've heard of Wonder Woman.

Oh, with the bracelets and the tiara.

I used to love that even her accessories had superpowers.

Oh, man.

What's wrong with them?

Well, see, to them, you are Wonder Woman.

-All right, stop. I'll buy some. -All right.

I never did get my shoes fixed.

But the following week, I did get a new pair of boots.

I don't know what came over me,

but I suddenly felt compelled to call and thank him.

Even as a superhero, I was powerless to resist.

That evening, inspired by Miranda's digital diagnosis,

Charlotte went surfing for a cure for Trey's condition.

There it was, in both the on and off positions.

$8,000 worth of hydraulics that could turn Trey into the Bionic Man.

Ordinarily, this was the kind of thing Charlotte would shy away from,

but since her marriage was shy of wood...

That night, I met Wade Adams alias Power Lad at Bar Code,

a Times Square bar that specialized in real drinks and virtual reality.

I can't believe this place. It's like ten bucks a game.

Yeah, but, you know, games come with beer.

Yeah, that's 'cause they want you to play half as well and twice as much.

-Sounds good to me.

What will it be, a little Bloodburst or Terrorfright ll?

Whatever happened to Frogger and Ms. Pac-Man?

-She got married. -No! To Pac-man?

Aw! Good for them.

Man, where have I been?

I don't know, but you wanna go to Mars?

-For ten bucks? It's a bargain. -Let's go.

Then, without ever leaving the building,

Power Lad took me to the furthest reaches of the galaxy.

And right back to seventh grade.

You're about to journey to Mars. Pilot, please select...

-There we go. - Oh, God.

It was maddening.

Bram and Pippin favored the '78 Lafite, which is entirely acceptable.

The implant's patented on/off switch

had Charlotte thinking about Trey's.

She desperately wanted to turn his on, but she didn't know where to find it.

But at the end of the night, the joke was on him.

'Cause we ordered both.

How was your day?

Well, I went to the gallery in the morning,

and then the framer's in the afternoon.

And then I found this, on the Internet. See?

What on Earth...

Charlotte, what are you getting at?

Well, just that...

Well...

We've tried everything else,

and we still...

You haven't...

in my... ever...

So...

So, I just thought...

You can't be serious.

What other options do we have?

Five beers, four video games,

102-degrees-outside later...

Oh, man.

Aw... You gotta be kidding.

What? This is fun.

It's cheaper than taking cabs.

Besides, all the kids got them.

-You wanna try it? -It's too hot to scoot.

Then we could go to my place. I got a terrace, I got a great view.

And the breeze up there is even better.

I'm not the kind of girl who scoots to a guy's terrace on the first date.

I could respect that.

-I have central air. -Give me that scooter.

-You ever been on one? -No.

- That's great. -Thank you.

I'm scooting in heels.

You know.

You said you had a view, not the view.

And this breeze, it's like there's even different air up here.

How do you have all this?

Why don't I go get us some beers?

Then we can talk adventures and real estate.

How was it possible that mild-mannered Power Lad

could afford a classic six on the Upper East Side

with a terrace and a view of the park?

Was he merely Power Lad by day

and secretly a millionaire playboy by night?

Hmm.

- Hello? -

Oh, you scared me.

I just heard voices outside and--

-You're up. -Oh.

- Did we wake you? - Oh, no, no, you know me,

always keeping the watch.

-Uh, did you meet Carrie? -Um...

Carrie, I'd like you to meet my mother.

Hello.

-It's a beautiful night, isn't it? -Yeah.

Well, I'm off to bed.

You two have fun.

-But don't stay up too late, dear. -No.

-Good night. -Good night.

It's lovely to meet you, Carrie.

Oh, lovely to meet you too, Mrs. Adams.

-He lives with his parents? -It's their apartment.

The next day at Commune, Daddy Brier's latest restaurant,

I asked Samantha about my prospects with Power Lad.

Not sexy, honey.

Dump him immediately. Here, use my cell phone.

But it's only because he put all his money

in the comic book store.

Still not sexy. What's his number?

Because he's saving up for his own place.

Come on, you know how tough the market is right now.

Plus, he's fun and funny.

Honey, stop while you're still sexy.

So, are you saying there's no way

you'd go out with a guy who lived with his family?

Well, maybe Prince William.

I'm sorry I'm late.

This is what happens to tongue-thrusters.

I have to wear them for a year. Am I hideous?

No.

Hey, no. No, they don't look so bad.

Really? You mean it?

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Are you in pain? I'm in pain just looking at you.

I'm a 34-year-old woman with braces, and I'm on a liquid diet.

"Pain" doesn't begin to cover it.

-Oh, look, lunch. -We didn't order champagne.

Compliments of Jenny Brier.

Ah, you always get the nicest compliments.

Do you realize a 13-year-old girl

just bought us a $200-bottle of Dom Perignon?

You know what I was buying when I was 13? Nothing.

I couldn't afford anything. I was serving Dilly Bars at Dairy Queen.

Where is she? Where's that little Brat Mitzvah beast?

-Jenny! -So, ladies, is everything fabulous?

It is now. I didn't know you were here.

And I didn't know you knew Carrie Bradshaw?

You are fucking fabulous.

Your column about secret sex? Hello, my life.

Seriously. My ex was so completely about the sex when we were alone,

but at school in the hallway, I didn't exist.

-And they're all like that. -Or worse. Men suck.

What?

I'm sorry, are your braces blue?

No, they're sapphire.

Oh, my God. Look.

You have the old-fashioned kind.

I didn't even know they made those anymore.

- I said I'll be there. -

We have to dash. Enjoy your meal, ladies.

You are so fucking fabulous.

Her braces are sapphire.

I'm a 34-year-old nerd.

-How old are they? -Thirteen.

-But they sound... -I know.

-And they're dressed... -I know.

Just like us.

Were Jenny Brier and her friends

dressed like 30-something-year-old women,

or were we trying to look like teenagers?

One of us was sending over Dom Perignon,

while another was touring around New York on a scooter.

When you're a teenager, all you want to do is buy beer.

But once you hit 30, all you want to do is get carded.

I wondered, in today's youth-obsessed culture,

are the women of my generation growing into mature responsible adults,

or are we 34 going on 13?

After a week of self-imposed seclusion,

Miranda finally felt strong enough for solid food and table service

with Lance Bloom, a senior editor at Knopf.

I started out wanting to be a writer, but it's such a solitary life.

I'm much more interested in collaborating with someone.

What are you working on now?

Uh...

You have a little...

Oh!

I just got these. I guess they're going to take some getting used to.

Oh, my God.

So, what's it like to, uh, kiss somebody with those things?

-The doctor said it should be fine. -Ah.

But a blow job's out of the question, right?

Oh. I was kidding.

That was... That was a joke. I'm sorry.

He just didn't want your hardware getting too close to his software.

Oh, it's not just him, it's everybody.

I can't open my mouth

without the whole world looking at me like I'm a freak.

It's like I'm suddenly back in junior high.

And believe me, I was lucky to get out alive the first time.

Maybe you should think of it as mouth jewelry. You know, tooth bracelet.

I'm never dating again.

Oh, of course you are. Listen, if the guy's worth dating,

he's not gonna care about your braces. He's gonna care about you.

That was so Afterschool Special of you.

Well, in the Afterschool Special, you'd see him across the cafeteria.

He'd smile, and he'd have braces too.

Yeah, but the sick thing is,

I would never date a guy with braces. Even now.

Come on, are you kidding me?

Don't you think that's a little childish?

-More lemonade, Carrie? -Yes, please, Mrs. Adams.

And how about some nice, homemade Toll House cookies?

Yes, please, Mrs. Adams.

On closer inspection,

it turned out this "living with the parents thing" wasn't so bad.

It was like having servants you didn't have to pay.

Oh, and Carrie, can you stay for dinner?

Uh-huh.

Faced with the idea of having hydraulic cylinders placed in his shaft,

Trey decided to pursue the less physically demanding option

of couples counseling

with a therapist he'd found through his college alumni association.

I sense you're both having difficulty verbalizing your sexual issues.

With some clients, I've found it often helps to

create your own non-threatening language with which to talk about sex.

I'm not sure that I understand.

Well, for example, one client, rather whimsically,

dubbed his anus "the Chocolate Starfish."

Are you quite sure you went to Yale?

Charlotte, if you could rename your vagina

something completely non-sexual,

something that didn't feel threatening to yourself or Trey,

what would you call it?

Rebecca.

Rebecca? Why on Earth would you--

'Cause it sounds nice, and I've always liked the name.

Now you name yours.

-Oh, this is preposterous. -Something with positive associations.

Well, Trey loves to sail. Don't you, Trey?

Yeah, that's true. I do love to sail.

So, how about something like Canoe?

Canoe?

"Canoe" doesn't go with "Rebecca."

Well, what, then?

Uh, well, how about, um...

-Schooner. -Schooner's good.

Rebecca and Schooner. Schooner's good, isn't it?

Oh, that's very good. It's very good.

This is a wonderful beginning.

There's still a lot of work ahead, some here and some at home.

So, tonight, as homework,

I want you to lie down together, side by side, without touching,

and share a sexual fantasy.

I'm a fairy princess in a forest,

and I'm riding on a unicorn,

when suddenly I see a pirate in buckskins.

A prince in disguise.

And that's when you pull me off my unicorn.

You tear away my gossamer petticoats,

and you put your Schooner deep inside my Rebecca.

Now you.

Where are you?

I'm in hell.

I'm sorry, Charlotte. I can't do this.

I'm a respected surgeon. I can't. I can't.

Yes, you can. I know you can.

Charlotte, we've been dealing with this for weeks and weeks.

Just accept the fact that I'm not that sexual a person, all right?

But...

we love each other,

and we're married now.

Rebecca and Schooner belong together. They need each other. Please.

You are a fairy princess.

I don't deserve you. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

That night, Wade and I had our very first sleepover, at my place.

And I finally figured out what made Power Lad so powerful.

He had the soul of a teenage boy in the body of a very grown-up man.

-Oh, the machine will get it.

Hi, I'm not here but my shoes are,

-so leave them a message.

Hi, Carrie. This is Mrs. Adams, Wade's mother.

How are you, dear?

Oh, my God.

I'm so sorry to bother you, but we never heard from Wade tonight

about whether or not he fed the dog his medicine.

And Wade's father was just about to give it to the dog,

but if he's already had it, well, that would be bad.

So, if you speak to Wade,

please tell him I won't go to bed until I hear from him.

Yes, Mom, I gave the dog his medicine.

No, Mom, I'm not mad, I just...

I told you not to call me here.

No, don't call me here.

I love you, too.

-She wants to talk to you. -What?

Why...

Hi, Mrs. Adams. How are you?

Several blocks south,

Charlotte's night was interrupted as well,

by odd noises coming from her bathroom.

Charlotte felt terrible. She hadn't meant to make Trey cry.

Honey?

-He told me he wasn't a sexual person. -It wasn't sexual.

It was tension release. It helps me sleep.

I understand.

Now, this may be difficult, Trey,

but I want you to tell me specifically which magazine you were using.

Juggs.

All right. Now I think, we can try and see this as a positive thing.

How? How is this a positive thing?

Well, Trey was masturbating to jugs.

At least we know he isn't gay.

Excuse me, what exactly is the problem here?

It was tension release with a magazine,

it had nothing whatsoever to do with my wife.

Interesting choice of words, Trey.

Maybe that's the problem.

We have to find a way to integrate your wife

into your sexual routine.

How are we supposed to do that?

Charlotte had no idea.

She wished they were 13 again,

before sex had made everything so complicated.

When just holding hands and a goodnight kiss

would have been everything she needed.

To pierce the corporate veil,

the courts generally look at five factors,

whether the subsidiary is wholly-owned or--

The 13-year-old girl inside Miranda wanted to disappear,

but the 34-year-old woman who was a partner in this law firm

decided she wasn't going anywhere.

You think that I'm funny, gentlemen?

You think the fact that I have braces is hilarious?

Well, let's just all take a moment and have a good laugh, shall we?

Let's just get it out of our systems so we can go back to work like adults.

Hobbes, we were just laughing at the typo on page three.

Miranda decided that TMJ

was a lot less painful than a second adolescence.

The next day, she had her braces removed

and resumed her life as a 34-year-old tongue-thruster.

That night Trey resumed his own brand of thrusting

and discovered that tension release could be a turn-on.

And Charlotte discovered a way to include herself in Trey's sex life.

She also figured out what to do with all those wedding proofs

not suitable for framing.

The following weekend, at the Brier Bar Mitzvah party...

I'm not sure if I have your name.

Let's see, Goldfarb, Goldman, Goldstein...

I'm sorry, ladies, I just don't see it.

I'm sure I'm on the list.

Jenny, I loved your haftarah portion.

I can't believe you still have actual albums.

Oh, my God, Styx! I love Styx!

-I had this album. -Yeah, I love "Renegade." Hated "Babe."

How do you have this?

What are you, kidding? This is a classic.

Oh, this song is so me driving my parents' Oldsmobile

without them knowing about it.

You know what would go great with this song?

-Tube top and roller skates? -No.

Canadian super grass.

Six times stronger than pot, and 400 bucks an ounce.

It suddenly became obvious

Wade was in no hurry to save up for his own apartment.

-And what, pray tell, is that? -My bong. I made it.

-At Camp Takatoka. -I'm sorry, Camp Takatoka?

I hadn't smoked pot out of a homemade bong

since my eighth-grade boyfriend made one out of tin foil, a BIC pen,

and a two-liter bottle of his mother's lemony Pepsi Light.

I didn't even know if I'd remember how.

Turns out it was like riding a bike, a ten-speed.

Oh, wow!

Back at the Bat Mitzvah bash,

Samantha heard some girl-talk not suitable for little ladies.

I'm gonna totally fuck at least three of those five NSYNC guys

after the after-party.

And I heard the other two are gay.

So I'd fuck them, I'd fuck them, and their gay boyfriends.

Ladies, aren't you a little young for that kind of talk?

Oh, I'm serious. You have your whole lives to talk that way.

You should enjoy being children,

at least until you turn 15 and start having sex.

Please, I've been giving blow jobs since I'm 12.

Really?

It's the only way to get guys to like you.

Oh, honey, that isn't true.

Uh, talk to the hand, Grandma.

Samantha had been resenting Jenny Brier all this time

because of everything she had.

But then Samantha realized,

she'd had something that no amount of money could buy, a childhood.

And suddenly, the Dairy Queen wasn't looking so bad.

I'm thirsty.

There's bong water.

- Bong water!

Whoa...

Bong water.

Hold this.

Hey, what are you doing? That's wet.

Attack of the spicy chicken wings.

Oh, shit!

That looks like my parents' car.

Oh, shit.

-Shit, shit, shit, shit. -It's okay, it's okay.

No, it's not okay.

My parents said that if they caught me smoking pot in the house again,

I'd have to sleep on a cot in the comic book store.

-Wait. Wade. Stop. -What? What?

The chicken wings. If they see billions of chicken wings...

They're gonna know...

we've been smoking the pot.

Fuck the fucking chicken wings, man. Where'd we put the fucking pot?

-Wade. -You're home. Early.

-Hi.

Is that marijuana I smell?

-No. No, ma'am. -No. No God, no.

Then what is this?

Your father and I told you

if you ever brought marijuana into this house again...

Carrie brought it.

I couldn't believe it.

Power Lad would never have ratted me out like that.

Is that true, Carrie?

Did you bring marijuana into this house?

There comes a time in everyone's life

when you have to take responsibility for yourself.

A time when I, like Jenny Brier, had to stand up and say to the world,

"Today, I am a woman."

Yes, Mrs. Adams.

I brought the marijuana into the house.

And I'm taking it with me when I go.

Hot child in the city

Hot child in the city...

Oh, baby!

There she is!

In the end, I decided I was definitely 34 going on 35,

but in a city like New York, with its pace and its pressures,

sometimes it's important to have a 13-year-old moment,

to remember a simpler time

when the best thing in life was just hanging out,

listening to records,

and having fun with your friends, in your very own apartment.

Hot child in the city

Hot child in the city