Original subtitles

When you live on a tiny island like Manhattan...

the odds of bumping into the one who broke your heart

are incredibly high.

The odds of bumping into him when you look like shit

are even higher.

After a break-up, certain streets, locations,

even times of day are off limits.

The city becomes a deserted battlefield

loaded with emotional land mines.

You have to be very careful where you step

or you could be blown to pieces.

Get your coat on, Anne Frank, we're going out.

-You guys, I'm really not in the mood. -Coat on...

-Body out. -Where are we going?

It's a surprise.

Okay, but only if it's nowhere I can run into him.

Just when exactly do you think

you're gonna be getting out of this hostage situation?

Miranda! -What, am I wrong?

Don't listen to her, Carrie, it's only been a month.

It takes half the total time you went out with someone

to get over them.

I always like a good math solution to any love problem.

It's the break-up rule.

You and Big only went out for a year.

So that means that she's got five more months to get over him.

No, you got to cut your losses and get back in the game.

When Eric and I broke up, I got over him right away.

Well, I don't really remember it being like that.

What? Eric who?

Eric, asshole I dated a couple years ago.

Oh, that Eric.

Miranda used to call Eric the love of her life

until he left her for another woman.

Now, she almost never mentioned him.

You can't push yourself into feeling good.

The only way to get over somebody is to feel really bad,

to cry to your girlfriends,

and then to replay what you hated about him

over and over in your head all day.

Yep, that sounds about right.

You're way too dressed up for where we're going.

Well, you know what, I'm going to risk overdress versus the chance of

meeting with Big for the first time looking the way I feel.

Oh, God, seeing someone for the first time is the worst,

you never know how to act.

Yeah, and then there's the vomiting.

You know what? If Big had any class, he would have moved away.

I was here first.

You're giving him way too much power.

You broke up with him, remember?

Yeah, right, right.

And that makes me what, happy?

Taxi!

Amazingly, Samantha was still with James.

A monogamous relationship for a woman whose bedroom

was usually busier than Balducci's on a Saturday.

Hey, you lovebirds.

Oh...

And how are the most beautiful women in Manhattan?

If we see them, I'll ask.

Have a fun day.

And don't let anything bad happen to my princess.

Oh.

I love you.

God, Samantha, everything is going so great.

Me, James, and his tiny penis,

we're one big happy family.

After two months, despite all his sweetness and charm,

Samantha still hadn't quite accepted James's... shortcomings.

When Miranda said, "Get back in the game," she meant it.

40 minutes and a $55 cab ride later,

we found ourselves at Yankee Stadium.

Who wants another?

Miranda was a huge fan of the Yankees.

I was a huge fan of being anywhere you could smoke

and drink at two in the afternoon without judgment.

-Beer! -Beer!

-Do they have hot cocoa? -Okay.

Coming up to bat, the new Yankee.

Just up from the minors, single.

Oh, so cute.

I can barely see him.

Why are we sitting all the way up here?

Because it's the only place I can smoke without Giuliani

putting me away for ten years.

These seats suck.

This hot dog sucks.

My entire life sucks.

Your life doesn't suck.

You have a man who really loves you.

Oh, yay, love. Woo!

I don't think you ladies understand the seriousness

of my situation.

How would you like to make love to this every night?

Is it kosher?

Don't make me laugh.

It's tragic.

Can we all just try and get into the game for a second?

-Alright. -C'mon!

Show us what you got!

Last year, this guy was Mr. September.

He hit like, ten home runs in nine days.

Ball!

Good eye, good eye.

Way to watch them.

He batted 373.

He drove in 47 runs.

His on-base percentage was 410.

As Miranda went on and on about the new Yankees' stats,

I couldn't help but wonder about my own.

Ten years playing in New York.

Countless dates.

Five real relationships.

One serious.

All ending in breakups.

If I were a ball player,

I'd be batting, uh... whatever really bad is.

-Woo!

Oh, my God. Here it comes!

Oh, my God.

Ah!

Grab it!

You got it! You got it!

You know what the odds of catching a fly ball are?

I didn't.

But I couldn't help but wonder if they were any higher

than finding a relationship that would last.

Three innings, four beers

and one shameless flash of my press pass later,

we waited outside the locker room

to get my ball signed by the new Yankee.

Hi, good game.

Did you see that bulge?

Uh, he was wearing a cup.

Well, honey, his cup runneth over.

Okay, it's official. You're drunk.

Oh, I'm not drunk, I'm sedated from my pain.

She's allowed to be drunk, she's going through a break-up.

Good game.

Oh! Hey, hi.

Excuse me.

Huge Yankee fan. We don't mean to bother you,

but my friend caught your ball.

This is her.

I'm her friend.

Hi.

And we were wondering if you'd sign it?

Oh, the, the foul ball to the upper deck?

Yes.

I mean, yes.

If it's not too--

I'm a huge Yankee fan.

I'm a lawyer.

So, if I don't sign it, you'll sue me?

No. No! I don't know why I said that.

No problem, give me the ball.

-Give him the ball. -Oh.

-Could you hold these? -Sure.

Thank you.

You a Yankee fan too?

Actually, no, I came for the beer.

I think baseball's a little dull.

Oh, yeah?

What do you do?

She writes a column.

A sex column.

Nothin' dull about that.

You'd be surprised.

Here you go.

Thank you.

Wooh!

He's so cute.

I'm gonna ask him to the Dolce & Gabbana party.

What?

No, really, you can't.

Yankee! Yankee!

I don't know if it was the beer or the fact

that I was holding his ball.

Something gave me the strength to ask the new Yankee out.

No, no, no. This is not fair.

This is not the way this is supposed to happen.

What? You told me to get back in the game.

Yeah, with some balding CPA or other boring rebound guy.

Nobody rebounds with the new Yankee.

Well, maybe I'm the new Carrie.

C'mon, ladies, let's blow this hot dog stand.

C'mon.

Samantha, let's go.

She knew it was risky.

But a day of watching big men swing their big wooden bats

proved to be too much for Samantha.

She told herself there's no harm in just looking.

Can I help you?

Uh... Um...

As my ballpark cheap beer buzz wore off,

I began to worry about the ramifications of my day.

Was Charlotte right?

Were we supposed to get over an ex in a slow, painful way?

Or should we just ignore all the bad feelings

and throw ourselves back in the game?

In a world where leaving each other

seems to be getting more and more frequent,

what are the break-up rules?

Whatever you do, man, don't cry.

'Cause if you do get back together again,

then, like, you're the guy that cried.

Don't call or see him till three months have passed.

That's how long it takes to lose the weight

you put on when you were breaking up.

Give her whatever she wants,

but don't sign a motherfucking thing.

Change your name, change your phone number.

Change your job.

They're all bums.

-You got a problem?

-No, no. -Huh?

Friday night, the Dolce & Gabbana party,

the new Yankee was ten minutes late.

I was running 20 behind.

Oh, come on.

I was reaching for my favorite necklace when...

I thought I'd destroyed all the evidence.

But there it was.

We'd taken it with a disposable camera before it ever

dawned on me that we could be disposable as well.

It was then and there I created my own very first break-up rule.

Destroy all pictures where he looks sexy

and you look happy.

The party was a complete home run.

All the fashion heavy hitters were there.

Oh, c'mon, honey.

Paul.

Charlotte was dating Paul Erickson,

the VP of a major recording label's

classical and jazz division.

Are you ladies having a good time? Here you go.

-Oh, yeah. -You're not gonna believe it.

This guy's never heard Miles Davis.

I don't really like that jazz stuff.

Stuff? Oh, you just wait.

I'm gonna give you our Best of Miles Davis CD.

The stuff's gonna change your mind.

His concentration and emotion in the phrasing...

Oh, man. It's fucking magical.

He was handsome, smart, eclectic.

The perfect match for Charlotte.

Except for one minor snag.

I mean, the authenticity of Miles' timbre...

is gonna blow you away.

I mean, the fusion revolution, it changed the entire concept

of contemporary music.

There we were, two single gals out on the town

with our ballplayers.

What's wrong?

Just thought I saw...

Where?

No, no, it wasn't him. It wasn't him.

Do you think he'll be here?

I don't know, I hadn't thought about it.

Break-up rule

lie, it's a lot easier than admitting that's why you invited

the new Yankee and why you maxed out your credit card

to buy the dress.

When Mr. Big never made an appearance,

I decided to make the best of it.

I actually got to know a little about this new Yankee.

His name was Joe.

So, Joe...

the new Yankee,

how'd you like your first fashion party?

It's kind of cool.

What?

Nothing. It's just...

"Kind of cool."

You're very succinct.

What, are you making fun of me?

A little bit.

Well, you're kind of cute.

You're kind of cute, too.

And there, in the shadow of my island,

just four weeks out of my last relationship,

I let the new Yankee get to first base.

Our Saturday morning ritual,

coffee, eggs, and a very private dish session.

Except today our dish wasn't so private.

You're on Page Six.

-Mm! -Oh, my god!

"Hot Yankee, Joe Stark on town with New York columnist,

and 'sex-pert,' Carrie Bradshaw."

"Sex-pert," huh? It's a proud day for me.

Oh, honey, that dress just paid for itself.

Big is gonna see this and die.

I don't want him to die.

Oh, cut the shit, it's me.

You're using that Yankee.

Okay, everybody has got to look

at my new Palm Pilot. It's amazing.

-It has my entire schedule... -This is so great.

The first time Big sees you, you look like that

and you're with the Yankee.

Why are we still talking about him?

He hurt her.

He's out of the picture, it's over.

Let's talk about something else, okay?

-Okay. -Okay.

Okay.

I have a problem with my boyfriend.

Okay, I'm gonna go get the check.

I don't know really quite how to say this.

But he's always, um, touching his, um...

Balls. I know, Carrie told me.

I had to, it freaked me out.

I didn't know what the hell was going on there.

I still don't.

What is going on there?

I don't know, but it's constant.

He just can't seem to leave them alone.

He and every other guy on the planet.

They're always trying to pull our attention down there.

Look what I got.

I don't get it. He's from a good family.

He went to Brown.

Why is he doing that?

Does he have a pair of low-hangers?

Is that a patented phrase?

You know, sometimes they just hang so low, they get in the way.

I heard Nick Nolte had a ball lift.

I don't know how long they are.

Wait a minute.

You've been dating this guy for three weeks

and you haven't seen his balls yet?

Oh, come on, get with the program.

But why do men do this?

I mean, how would they feel if we stood around in public

touching ourselves?

-They'd love it. -They'd love it.

What are we talking about?

Charlotte's boyfriend's balls.

Seriously?

They're too long.

She's just guessing.

Okay.

That's it.

I'm out of here.

All we talk about anymore

is Big, or balls, or small dicks.

How does it happen that four such smart women

have nothing to talk about but boyfriends?

It's like 7th grade with bank accounts.

What about us?

What we think, we feel, we know.

Christ.

Does it always have to be about them?

Just, you know...

Give me a call when you're ready to talk about something besides

men for a change.

In the case of Miranda Hobbes

versus silly women everywhere,

the verdict was in.

Guilty as charged.

After breakfast, Charlotte and I went shopping.

Break-up rule

until emotionally stabilized, enter no stores.

Later that night, Samantha and James

were about to enter the 7th inning stretch.

Okay, honey, now when I arch my back,

I want you to lift that ass and really give it to me.

Rather than quit mid-season,

Samantha decided to attack her problem with the gusto

of a seasoned coach training a rookie.

Okay. Go, go, lift!

Lift that ass.

Give it to me. Give it to me!

A good coach encourages and motivates.

Oh, you are so hot.

Oh, fuck me.

Fuck me, you hot stud.

A good coach disciplines and criticizes.

No, what are you doing back there?

Let's go!

And like every good coach,

she passed on the benefits of her years of experience.

Okay, baby, I'm close.

I want you to get up here and slide inside of me.

Hurry, slide, slide, slide!

Oh, yeah.

Then, at the bottom of the 9th try,

with two balls and two strikes...

the coach had no choice but to bring in a pinch hitter.

What's that?

It's my vibrator.

I thought it would be fun.

Well, I think just us might be more fun.

I mean, that's not a problem, is it?

But there was no joy in Mudville.

Mighty Samantha had struck out.

But a little further uptown,

the ballgame was just getting started.

-I have a present for you. -Mm.

I thought you just gave me one.

I was at Barneys today.

And...

Well...

Here.

Charlotte had decided a possible solution to her problem

might be as simple as briefs versus boxers.

The salesman said that these were the very best.

They're like the wonder bra for men.

They give good support, something about the pouch.

We haven't even made love yet

and you're already out shopping for me?

Slow down.

No, no, it's not like that--

It's, it's what?

Well...

But Charlotte couldn't bring herself to tell him

the problem was foul balls.

This is too fast. Way too fast.

I mean, first comes the underwear.

And then you move in.

And then the next thing I know, you hate my music.

And that was that.

He broke it off after only three weeks.

Charlotte, true to form, was over him in exactly

a week and a half.

Whenever Miranda was feeling stressed out,

she went for a long walk.

She'd lose herself in the places and faces and whatever was

bothering her would somehow lift.

But today, she would have no such luck.

I mean, I really liked-- I really thought he liked me, why didn't he call me?

And just when Miranda decided she was the only woman

in New York with any real perspective on men...

There he was.

Eric Asshole.

The former love of her life.

Walking hand and hand with the woman he left her for.

Somewhere between playing the Royals and the Red Sox,

the new Yankee found a minute to teach me

some dugout pastimes.

One, two, three, toss.

Oh, God. Shit.

If you don't get this,

-we don't move on to spitting. -Alright, here. Hold my beer.

Center your head, now.

Okay, wait.

Back, back, back.

Sorry.

Break-up rule

never stop thinking about him even for a moment...

because that's the moment he'll appear.

As he made his way through the crowd, I felt calm.

I had accomplished the perfect first meeting.

I looked good, I felt good, and I was with the new Yankee.

Surprise, surprise.

Well, look at you.

I've been, um... I mean, I keep meaning...

-How have you... -Good, good, good.

Oh, God, sorry. This is Joe Stark.

I know who he is.

I'm a big fan.

Good luck this season.

Thanks.

I saw your picture in the paper.

You never looked better.

You want another round?

Hey, some buddies of mine are over at a bar on Bleecker.

How about it?

Sure.

Hey...

I'm sorry.

I'm really sorry, it's not you. This is...

This is really embarrassing.

I'm sorry.

-It's okay, it's okay. -I'm really embarrassed.

-You're okay. -No, I don't think I'm okay.

I just-- I just cried in your mouth.

I just...

I can't, uh...

I'm just not-- I'm not ready, you know?

That guy in the bar, that--

That... that suit guy. I just...

I better go. Sorry.

You want me to give you a ride home?

No, Joe, please. Just don't pay any more attention to me.

Alright? Just go, please. Just go to that bar thing.

And I'm just gonna get a cab, alright?

Just please. Will you just go?

Alright, then I'll go.

But I didn't go home.

I couldn't.

I went to a pay phone.

Hey, it's me.

Hi, listen.

I know things are really weird between us right now.

But I really need to talk.

Can you...

Will you meet me at our place in like 15 minutes?

Okay.

Okay.

Hi.

I saw Big.

And I completely fell apart.

And I know you want me to be over him. I just--

I'm a jerk.

That's my stuff. It's not you.

I saw Eric on the street today.

And I hid.

After two years.

I forgot how hard it is.

You just take all the time you need, okay?

These are cold.

So?

And finally, the most

no matter who broke your heart or how long it takes to heal,

you'll never get through it without your friends.