The Carrie Diaries

Before there was sex...

before there was the city, there was just me,

Carrie... Carrie Bradshaw from Castlebury, Connecticut.

Can I help you?

Hi, sir. I'm Dorrit's boyfriend.

What the hell is going on? If I didn't meet your dad,

he'd never let you out of the house again.

That wasn't your call. It was mine.

You pretend to be above the idea of commitment,

but the truth is, you're just afraid to connect.

I'm not afraid of commitment.

I'm sure the girls at your school are all over you.

Not the one that matters.

How about you, my budding literary lion?

How's the pitch coming?

Well, I think I've finally narrowed it down to Adam Weaver.

The young playwright I've been reading about

in Arts & Leisure?

Some of us are headed to McSorley's to grab a drink.

You wanna come? Yeah, I'd love to.

You get me a juicy interview, and I will publish it.

- This is definitely off the record. - Definitely.

The Carrie Diaries 02x05 Too Close For Comfort Original Air Date November 22, 2013

New York is a big city with very small living spaces.

A house party in Manhattan makes intimate conversation

not only possible, but essential.

And conversing intimately

was one of the things Weaver and I did best.

Yes, I-I wanna be a journalist.

Uh, but not the objective, detached kind. Mm-hmm.

I wanna use my own voice.

You know, let people know I've been there and seen it.

Ah. You're a Gonzo.

- Gonzo? - Hunter Thompson.

Gonzo journalism.

Not to be confused with Gonzo the Great...

The greatest Muppet character ever.

Uh, yes. Blue fur, purple feathers,

wild-eyed optimism. Mm-hmm.

In love with, uh...

Camilla the chicken.

Yes. (Laughs)

But anyway, back to Hunter Thompson.

- Right. - You're out of cups.

And this wine is cheaper than my press-on nails.

Oh, well.

When in Rome.

Why don't you two just get a room already?

This is Weaver's room.

Oh, yeah. Then why don't you kick everyone the hell out?

Mmm.

Bass player in a wifebeater.

Yummy.

Wow. She is a character.

Oh, she sure is.

You know, all these... all these characters in our lives

are fodder for our writing. And then you see...

You see that guy in the fedora and the wader boots?

Mm-hmm.

That's, like, his uniform.

He inspired my short play "The Fishy Detective."

Oh!

- Right? - I love it!

- And I love dating a writer. - Mmm.

You wanna know my favorite part?

My devastating good looks and killer charm?

Listening to the clacking of your typewriter

when I'm falling asleep.

Whenever Weaver and I were together,

it felt like we were alone in our own little world.

I love watching you write in your cute little diary.

It's not a little diary!

It's a sophisticated journal.

And just for the record,

there are plenty of heavyweight writers

that have kept journals...

Virginia Woolf, Joan Didion...

Franz Kafka. I know. I know.

My favorite cockroach owes his existential existence

to a journal.

I tried a typewriter.

I just wanna be able to write whenever the mood strikes,

so I just carry my journal everywhere.

Ugh. I'm jealous.

I haven't seen daylight in weeks

because I'm chained to my typewriter.

At least it's... it's paying off.

I just finished the first act of my play.

You did?

- Mm-hmm. - That's amazing.

- Can I read it? - Oh, no way.

It's not personal.

No, I never let anyone read my work until it's finished.

Writing is... is a-a sacred thing. Private.

I totally respect that.

I would never let anyone read my journal.

It's just... (Inhales deeply) It's way too intimate.

See, and I love dating a writer, too.

You get me.

You think of me as a writer?

I love that.

So can you at least tell me what your new play is about?

Of course.

My ex-girlfriend Katja.

Who cares? It's not like he's sleeping with her.

It's like we're both sleeping with her.

Like she's right there in the room with us.

I knew a Katja once. She was hot.

Not helping.

I thought listening to the clacking of his typewriter

as I fell asleep was romantic.

Little did I know those clacks were conjuring up

some tall, hot vixen named Katja.

Sounds like a three-way without the fun.

If your man brings a bombshell into the bedroom named Katja,

you might as well get some good sex out of it.

Thankfully, we haven't had sex yet.

What?

You and Weaver still haven't had sex?

Well, pretty much as close to it as you can get.

What are you waiting for? A rich arab?

Never fake your virginity with an arab, by the way.

They have ways to suss it out of you.

It was dreadful.

I was thinking of faking the opposite with Weaver...

Pretending I'm not a virgin.

You haven't told him you're a virgin?

No, and I don't plan on it.

I made such a big deal out of it with Sebastian.

I mean, it was just a mess.

I don't want my lingering virginity

to put pressure on my relationship with Weaver.

So if you have sex with Weaver,

how do you plan on faking your non-virginity?

Well, I figure pain and pleasure sound sort of the same.

Grunting is grunting. Just don't scream "Ow."

Anyway, I'm not even sure I want to have sex with someone

who's still intimately involved with his ex.

I mean, even if it is just in his imagination.

When you're in a new relationship,

you have to mentally and physically

cut all ties with exes.

I don't know. I mean, maybe in some cases,

it is possible to be friends with an ex?

Like you and Sebastian?

No, not like me and Sebastian.

We are the opposite case.

There's just too much pain and wreckage between us.

We're respectful, yet distant.

Like when we pass in the hallways,

we just keep our heads down, nod ever so slightly,

and keep walking.

I remember how awkward it was in high school

when you run into an ex. I had to quit Spanish

after sleeping with Señor Gomez, and English and history.

High school was just full of opportunities.

Yes, it is.

But not to sleep with the faculty...

To prove yourself.

That is why I am president of the Homecoming Committee.

It's not my thing, but I will put up with

a bunch of idiot cheerleaders with pom-poms

to beef up with college apps.

All this talk of pom-poms reminds me

I have to go display mine at my new job.

(Bills rustle, chair scrapes floor)

There's nothing like getting paid to be naked.

See you later, girls.

Bye. See you.

Do you think she's a call girl?

Stripper.

Yeah.

Most people find being naked in front of others

to be an intimate act.

Some, like, Samantha, find being naked

as matter of fact as shaking hands.

Since you took over as the artist model,

enrollment in my class has tripled.

The arts student league is suddenly the place to be.

Honey, this is nothing. Once word of mouth hits,

you'll have to rent grand central station

to fit all the artists who want.

While nothing was too intimate for Samantha,

Sebastian was feeling uncomfortably close to his mom.

So what's this about, Ma?

Can't I just have lunch with my handsome son?

This isn't something we ever do.

And you hate coming to this house,

so I'm pretty sure there's a point to it.

I do have some wonderful news I want to share with you.

Lucas and I are getting married.

Married?

To the tennis instructor?

Mm. Look at my ring.

He picked it out himself.

Did he pay for it himself?

Now that's just cruel.

Don't do that. It doesn't suit you.

I just... I worry about you, mom.

Mm. You shouldn't.