Manhattan…
For millions of our forefathers,
the gateway to hope, opportunity and happiness
beyond their wildest dreams.
Today that hope is still alive.
It's called "The first date."
On Saturday nights, every restaurant in lower Manhattan
resembles its own little Ellis Island.
Hordes of single women crowded into a hot cramped space
hoping to make it to their final destination…
The state of matrimony.
Or at least to get a hot meal in transit.
Samantha didn't believe in the first date.
But she did believe in sex after it.
Mmm.
Ooh, I think you missed a drop.
Harrison was a very successful litigator
who took steam baths with Ron Perlman
and owned an apartment on the 39th floor of Museum Tower…
An excellent first-date pedigree.
After dinner,
Harrison invited Samantha up to see his view.
Mmm…
I think you should know my specialty is sexual harassment.
- Really? - Mmm.
So is mine.
This is a classic case…
A classic case of entrapment.
Beautiful woman,
- mind-altering wine. - Mmm-hmm…
I could claim temporary insanity.
I do have a prior record of driving men a little crazy.
You fit the profile.
Most sexual harassment cases are brought by older women.
I'm sorry?
No offense, but come on, what are you, 40, 41?
Samantha had celebrated her 35th birthday
for as long as we could remember.
I'm just gonna freshen up.
Well, I think you're pretty fresh already.
I'm too sexy for my shirt
Too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts
I'm too sexy for your body
Hey sexy, I'm over here.
There, next to his Brooks Brothers suits,
was the world's smallest cedar-lined den of iniquity.
Slap me.
You've got to be kidding.
Oh, come on…
Slap me hard.
Apparently the view left a little to be desired.
The next night, Samantha invited us to a party she was throwing
for the new coffee table book du jour.
The book was awful,
but the hors d'oeuvres were fabulous.
Well, you got to give the guy credit.
It takes a lot of work to get all rigged up like that.
Yeah, most of my first dates don't even open the cab door.
Hey, what if he's still hanging there?
The super would find him eventually.
You see, this is why I don't date.
The men out there are freaks.
Well, that's completely unfair.
I'm sorry, if a man is over 30 and single
there's something wrong with him.
It's Darwinian. They're being weeded out from propagating the species.
Okay, what about us?
We're just choosy.
I'm getting more shrimp.
You know what the worst part of the date was?
Harrison actually thought I was 40.
- Really? - Really.
Do you think I look 40?
If Samantha's past four birthdays taught me anything,
it was that there is only one answer to a question like that.
You don't look a day over 35.
This is a great party.
I just met the most amazing guy,
Mitchell Saylor.
When Charlotte really liked a guy,
she said his whole name.
It helped her to imagine their future monogrammed towels.
Mitch Saylor?
Yeah, do you know him?
Oh, honey, I know of him.
Well, well, what is that supposed to mean?
Ladies, I suggest you join me in the bathroom.
- He's "Mr. Pussy." - Mr. Who?
Suddenly Charlotte's monogrammed towels
were looking very different.
He's renowned, he loves going down on women.
He's so cute to be so nasty.
That's disgusting!
I told you there'd be something.
He's a legend. He's just amazing at eating pussy.
Would you please just stop calling it that?
Oh, fine, going down, giving head.
Eating out?
I never understood that, shouldn't it be eating in?
Stop it, stop it, stop it!
You do do that, right?
Of course!
I just… I don't have to talk about it.
The reality was,
the only thing that went down with any regularity on Charlotte's dates
was a gold American Express card.
Forget it. I'm not dating anyone who is known as Mr. Pussy.
Why not?
Well, maybe I want more than that.
Oh, sweetie, if a man is good at that, there is nothing more.
Amen.
You have to be talking about Mitch Saylor.
He's unbelievable.
I dated him for a month.
He was so good, I actually passed out when I came.
Enjoy.
Well, the guy's got good word of mouth.
Oh, my God, right over there. That's… that's him. That's Mr…
Unlike Miranda,
I wasn't ready to accept that all single men were freaks.
I was so optimistic that I had actually agreed
to go on my first blind date in two years.
PJ was a very successful independent movie producer.
His documentary on endangered seagulls
had just aired to excellent reviews on PBS.
So documentary films… that must be fun.
Look, let's be realistic.
I'm only doing this docu-bullshit to earn a rep, you know?
I mean, ultimately I want to parlay into the action movie arena.
I want to make money.
I'm not afraid to say it, okay? I love money.
I would sell toilet bowls if it would make me a millionaire.
What about the seagulls?
Fuck the seagulls.
Step right up, folks.
Two vodkas and a $12 pasta
buys your admission to see "The Man With No Soul."
Observe if you dare, this chilling sight.
Bachelor number two seemed promising.
Just so you know, I can't see a movie without popcorn.
- I'm a junior mints kind of guy. - Mmm.
This relationship is probably doomed.
You want to lean a little closer?
Maybe hear our entire conversation?
Hey, here's a better idea.
Why don't you and your fucking girlfriend
just sit on our laps during the movie?
Then you won't miss a fucking word, dick!
Ladies and gentlemen, stand far away from…
"The man with two faces."
They say the third time's the charm.
Max was a broker who had made two million on bonds last year.
We had a great dinner in Little Italy.
Not only did Max have two million,
he also appeared to have a lending library in his pants.
Parents, please keep the kiddies away from the cage of…
"The man who steals cheap used books for no reason."
Okay, now I was afraid.
Apparently the men in the dating world had devolved
since the last time I visited.
Maybe Miranda was right.
Maybe they should never have outlawed freak shows,
because at least then the freaks were rounded up in one place.
Now they're out there among us, roaming free.
Is it true?
Are all men freaks?
Apparently, Charlotte's week went a little better than mine.
On Monday night, she was finally ready to let Mitch under her sheets…
Way under.
Mmm.
Sorry.
It tickles.
Just relax.
Relax.
That night Charlotte came harder than she ever had before.
That is, until Tuesday.
Oh! Oh, yes, oh, yes!
- Wednesday… - Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes! Uh-huh…
- Thursday… - Uh-huh…
- Friday… - Oh God! Oh!
- Friday… - Oh God! Oh, God! Ah…
Oh! Oh, God!
- Friday… - Oh, God! Oh, God!
Oh, God! Oh…
That night, Charlotte saw God seven times.
For a lapsed Episcopalian, it was a very good Friday.
If Mitch was a freak,
Charlotte was ready to run away and join the circus.
Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was run away.
Rough night?
Bad date.
Been there.
He was a kleptomaniac.
Last month, I went out with a woman who slept with her shoes on.
Hi, Carrie.
Ben.
I was instantly attracted.
But I was pretty sure I could feel webs between his fingers.
So when did you guys all become freaks?
Us?
No, the shoe woman seemed totally normal.
Then a month in I discover she's a freak.
They hide it really well.
That's why I don't date anymore.
Women are bizarre.
Thank you.
Sometimes in a good way.
I once saw the world's fattest twins at a state fair.
They were both married.
Their wives were very skinny.
Maybe it was an optical illusion.
Maybe.
Would you have dinner with me?
I thought you didn't date.
I don't. It… it would be a non-date.
A non-date.
Maybe.
Is that a yes?
Let's call it a non-no.
And it was then, that the most freaky thing happened.
There in the middle of Manhattan,
two complete strangers gave out their unlisted phone numbers.
Meanwhile, Samantha was about to have her own chance encounter.
Samantha?
Monica!
Look at you. You look amazing.
Don't I? It's the work.
I had the fat from my ass injected into my face.
And look, like a baby's bottom.
- Unbelievable. - Isn't it?
Fat from my own ass.
Oh, and the best part is,
is you get to eat like a pig before, fatten up your ass.
And then a week later, poof! It's in your face.
Gotta go, bye.
An hour later, Samantha had her first Big Mac
and an appointment with the most expensive plastic surgeon
on Upper Fifth.
Meanwhile, I had my own ass to be obsessed with
and it belonged to Ben,
an editor at a hip political magazine
who made me laugh.
This is me.
Then I guess this is goodnight.
You know, uh…
Normally I would try to get upstairs, but…
since this is a non-date.
So no kiss.
Well…
Maybe a non-kiss.
There was nothing "non" about it.
A week and three non-dates later,
Samantha summoned us to make an announcement.
You've got to be kidding.
It's sitting in a fat repository in Queens as we speak.
And in three days it will be in my face
and I will look fabulous.
I can't believe this.
We spend our lives trying to hide the fat in our ass,
and you're gonna put it right out there on your face?
I just have to wear this girdle for a week to keep my skin tight.
- Oh! - Yikes.
Wow, look at that, huh.
Well, that's a girdle with a hole.
Well, of course it has a hole, it's for peeing, et cetera.
Et cetera?
Last night I slept with a Calvin Klein model.
I've never felt sexier.
I think the fat's already gone to your head.
Could you please put your skirt down?
- Oh, right. - God.
Whatever happened to aging gracefully?
It got old.
I got to go, I'm meeting Mitch at my apartment.
Ooh, so how is he?
He is amazing.
He makes me so happy.
I think we have a real chance at a future together.
You and Mr. Pussy.
His name is Mitchell.
Hang on, honey.
You don't fall in love with Mr. Pussy.
You enjoy him and then set him free.
To Samantha, Charlotte had committed the ultimate sin.
She was bogarting Mr. Pussy.
He's a freak!
Aside from technique what do you even know about the guy?
- Do you even talk? - Do you even fuck?
- Stop it. - Sweetie, Miranda has a point.
I mean, have you guys had dinner together,
have you seen a play, anything?
No, but we could.
You know what? I think you've fallen into the sex haze.
You know, where the sex is really great
and then you start acting like a crazy person.
Then you start to imagine the relationship is something it's not.
Charlotte's not having a relationship.
She's having multiple orgasms.
He makes me happy.
Hoping to prove Miranda wrong,
I had convinced her to come out on a double non-date
with Ben's friend Luke.
Things were actually going remarkably well.
Favorite ice cream.
Strawberry.
Oh, I see, you're boring.
I like to see it as traditional.
Traditional? Traditional can be good.
Nothing makes you feel like more of a non-couple
than creating another non-couple.
Unfortunately, our smugness was a little premature.
So, what are you doing this weekend?
Uh, big plans.
I'm gonna go see my granddad in Connecticut.
Connecticut?
What's wrong with Connecticut?
I hate the country.
I haven't left Manhattan in ten years.
And you're proud of that?
Everything you want is right here.
Culture, food, the park.
Cabs at 3:00 a.m., why leave?
Perhaps to experience a world outside Manhattan.
There is no world outside Manhattan.
I had unwittingly set Miranda up on a date with "Manhattan Guy,"
a genetically mutant strain of single man that fed on Zabar's
and midnight shows at the Angelika.
No, thanks.
I like the city.
I also happen to like the country.
This does not make me a freak.
Ah… You're obviously not from here.
I have to go feed my cat.
Miranda had invoked our code phrase.
Honed over years of bad parties, awful dates,
and phone calls that wouldn't end.
Unfortunately, I wasn't ready to accept defeat.
I thought you already fed your cat.
I have to feed it again.
Cat people, all freaks.
- Where are you going? - Home.
The man has not left Manhattan in a decade, Carrie.
He's obviously a freak.
And by the way, if Luke's a freak, Ben is bound to be a freak too.
You can tell everything about a person by who their friends are.
Oh, God, I hope not.
That night I couldn't get Miranda's freaky comment
out of my head.
So…
Is there anything weird about you I should know
before this gets any more compromising?
Well, now that you mention it, there is.
Oh…
It's adorable.
Yeah, it's a souvenir from a drunken bachelor party a few years ago.
Yeah, my friend's marriage didn't last,
but Tweety Bird did.
So what about you?
You're probably perfect, huh?
No. Mmm-mmm.
Three stitches.
I got into a fight with a third grade bully.
You're scrappy.
I like scrappy.
And then the amazing tattooed man made love to me.
And it didn't feel weird at all.
While Miranda was busy feeding her pussy,
Charlotte was trying to do everything but.
Did you ever go to summer camp?
There, over the exotic fruit plate,
Charlotte tried to make a relationship happen.
I loved camp.
I went to this place in Maine called Minnehaha.
We used to play these big games of color war.
I was always a red.
It was so much fun.
And then they made us stop because they said that it glorified warfare.
You're awfully quiet tonight.
What are you thinking about?
Charlotte realized Miranda was right.
She had stayed too long at the fair.
From that moment on,
Charlotte couldn't be in the same room with a fig.
Some people might call that a little odd.
Meanwhile, Samantha was about to get her own special showing.
Voila!
I love it, what else can you do?
To Samantha, surgery was like being at Barneys.
Once you're in the door, you might as well shop.
We can always lift a little here.
Take care of these lines…
here…
In five years, we can augment the breasts,
pick them up a little, in ten years, a tummy tuck.
Uh-huh… Oh, lipo.
Yeah, yeah. The hip and the thigh area.
Doctor, you're… you're needed on the phone.
Knee lift.
Samantha felt like she had walked into a fun house…
Only it wasn't particularly funny.
I'm late for my soccer game.
Stay here.
I'll be back in two hours.
It had happened.
We had done it and now I really liked him.
I was deep into the sex haze, and completely freaked out.
There had to be something sick and off about him.
If the rest of the species had devolved, Ben would have to be a freak to survive.
I had to find out what was wrong before I wasted the next six months.
It started innocently enough.
I just wanted to see what the guy ate…
Listened to…
Dated.
Then it took on a life of its own.
Somewhere in this hip, normal looking apartment,
was the clue to Ben's inner freakiness.
And I wasn't gonna rest till I found it.
There it was, taunting me.
Ben's secret box of freakdom.
Home of elicit photos, love letters, maybe an old marriage license.
- Carrie. - Oh!
What the hell are you doing?
I don't know.
I can't explain it. I…
I guess I was…
Looking for something.
Something?
Something… freaky.
It's my cub scout badge collection.
I was gonna skip the game to be with you.
I thought you were actually a normal one.
I was.
I'm gonna go.
Good idea.
That was the day I came face to face with my freak.
The frightening woman whose fear ate her sanity.
The truth is, it isn't just the men.
It's all of us.
Anyone who's single in Manhattan
gets a little freaked out from time to time.
But we keep trying, because you have to figure,
if the world's fattest twins can find love
there's hope for all of us.
Somewhere out there
is another little freak who will love us, understand us,
and kiss our three heads and make it all better.
And in the meantime,
we always have Manhattan.