LA,
land of perpetual sun and perpetual sun bathing.
Which also makes it...
land of the perpetual bikini wax.
After a week in LA, I made an appointment
with the city's premiere waxer to the stars, Alicia.
-She was known for her artful work... -Oh.
-...her lightning-quick hands... -Thanks. That's great.
Put feet ahead.
...and her indecipherable accent.
Excuse me?
-Ahhh!
All done. Beautiful.
You look.
Oh!
I got mugged!
She took everything I got!
It's called a Brazilian wax.
Why didn't you tell her to stop?
I tried. I feel like one of those freaking hairless dogs.
It's an aesthetic thing. Everyone goes bare out here.
Of course they do. LA men are too lazy to have to go searching for anything.
Yeah, you can't hide your light under a bush.
Well, she must have left something, a triangle? A little landing strip?
No, I am totally bald! And, might I add, freezing.
Oh, I would've killed her.
I'm so aware of down there now.
Now I feel like I'm nothing but walking sex.
That's the thing about the Brazilian. It makes you do crazy things.
You have to be very careful who you invite to Brazil.
Well, I'm officially RSVP-ing "no."
-Hey, where you going? -I'm meeting Lew.
Letterman Lew?
He doesn't work for Letterman anymore.
He moved out here to write that New York sitcom.
You know, the one about the three 20-something kids who live in a loft?
Oh, yeah, one's a feisty waitress.
What are you and Lew gonna do?
I'm sure we'll have a couple of drinks and bitch about LA.
I can't believe he lives out here now.
Well, maybe you should tell him to move to Brazil. I hear it's quite popular.
So you guys are on your own tonight.
We're going to go to that movie premiere thing.
-Oh, what's the movie? -Oh, no one sees the movie.
We're going to use my press pass and get into the after-party.
I love LA.
You two should get out of the sun.
Mmm.
Lew asked Miranda to meet him at the Flowing Tree.
Surrounded by all these tan, fit, happy people,
she knew she would recognize pale, chubby, unhappy Lew immediately.
Miranda?
Oh, my God!
Do I look that different?
Well, let's just say it's a good thing you still wear that hat.
Oh, please, if you ever see me in a Lakers hat--
I know, shoot you.
-Exactly. Come on, sit.
You look amazing.
Thanks. You want to grab a drink?
Oh, please, yes, let's go.
The sight of all these bleached teeth is blinding.
No, I mean, grab something here.
This place is known for its green tea infusions.
Please, infusions? Could LA be any worse?
Take off that hat, I'm gonna shoot you right now.
Actually, I really like it here.
Hang on. What happened to the guy
I used to share beers with and make fun of happy people?
I know, I know. The thing is,
I think I'm one of those happy people now.
Wow. I mean, good for you.
I know it sounds crazy,
but I think I was just supremely unhappy in New York.
I mean, I came out here and I let a lot of that old, toxic anger go.
I take things slowly, get outside...
LA agrees with me.
Miranda realized she was the one standing out in that room.
She was the only angry New Yorker for miles.
Hey, let's go for a hike.
- Over here. - Look over here.
Good evening, ma'am.
Later that night, two very happy New Yorkers
prepared to hike up their first LA red carpet.
Hi, Carrie Bradshaw, I'm with the New York Star.
Are you on the list?
Well, I'm press... Well, I'm a columnist.
-Here, that's me. -Press room is to the left.
Crinkle cut cheese and some fat Enquirer reporters?
I don't think so.
Let me see your passes from the movie.
Oh, no one goes to the movie.
Everyone goes to the movie.
Could you please step off the red carpet?
-Do you know who she is? -I know she's not on the list.
Okay, okay, okay.
Let's just go.
I can't believe this.
This wouldn't happen in New York. People know you in New York.
And no one goes to the freaking movie.
We're out of here. I'm getting the car out of valet hoc.
There I was, a Hollywood nobody,
cast off the red carpet and standing in my proper place
on a grease-stained parking lot.
We're talking in circles here. That's right, we're talking in circles.
I understand... No, I heard you.
Okay, sure.
Yeah.
Well, you tell her that when she's ready to deal,
she can go ahead and call me herself, okay?
-I'm at a function here.
Please tell me that you have another one of those.
Wow, and I thought I had a problem.
-Are you going to light it for me? -Yeah.
Thanks.
Mmm.
Full tar, it's very nice.
I thought they banned these here.
I taped them to my body on the plane.
-New Yorker? -Yep.
I'm Keith Travers,
-representing Matt Damon. -Oh.
Carrie Bradshaw, I'm representing myself.
-Actress? -Oh, no, no, no, writer.
-You're too pretty to be a writer.
And that's too cheesy a line for you to be a writer.
It's going to take a fucking hour to get the car.
Samantha Jones, meet, um...
Keith Travers. He's representing Matt Damon.
And you ladies aren't going anywhere.
If you say so.
Should we go inside?
Let's enjoy our evening, huh?
Once we got inside, our magic carpet ride really began.
I can't believe that they wouldn't let someone like you in.
That's a total disconnect.
-A disconnect? -Yeah. Excuse me, guys.
Yeah, a disconnect. That's like, you know, a fuck-up.
-Oh. A disconnect. -Yeah.
You writers are word Nazis, huh?
-You're going to ride me with that.
-Uh, hey.
Someone's ass is ringing and it ain't mine.
But yours would if it could.
It would ring if it could ring. Excuse me, I got to...
I'll just be one second, okay?
Enjoy yourself, you're in now, so...
That is one tall drink of water.
Uh-huh.
Samantha had worshipped Hugh Hefner
ever since she was old enough
-to steal her father's Playboys. -Oh, my God.
To her, this wasn't a celebrity sighting,
this was the celebrity sighting.
I'll be back.
Hugh, hi.
-Hello. -I'm Samantha Jones.
-Well, hello. -I just wanted to tell you,
I'm a huge fan.
Well, in that case, join us for a drink.
-A drink? - That'd be great.
Oh, well, thank you.
-Seriously?
Drinking with three blondes,
I guess that's just a regular day for you.
-A slow one, yes.
Listen, I'm pretty crazed this week,
but I do have a lunch opening on Wednesday.
Can I take you out?
-Link, great table. -Oh.
I had been trying to get into Link for a week.
He seemed smart and sexy,
and this outsider was starting to like the view from the inside.
-Yeah, okay. -Great.
-Sure. Okay. -Great.
-Hey, Keith. -Hey, how are you?
You know, there's a VIP room.
You want to go to the VIP room?
Yeah, I want to go to the VIP room.
-Okay, let's go. VIP room. -VIP room?
-All right. -All right.
Back home, Charlotte had never felt more inside.
She had just attended her first black-tie doctors' benefit.
Mmm. Mmm.
Damn, we make a fine-looking couple.
Yes, we do.
So, how did I do?
Well, Mrs. MacDougal, you did quite well.
Well, thank you, Dr. MacDougal.
You know, doctor, I have an itch I was hoping you could help me out with.
Trey.
You know, maybe it's time we really thought about some options,
like Viagra.
Viagra?
Charlotte, are you aware that Viagra is a killer for men with heart problems?
And let me remind you, my father died of a heart attack
and it runs in my family.
Trey wasn't the only one with heart problems.
I'm just trying to help.
Now I'm tense. I'm going for a run.
It was the fifth time Trey had gone running at bedtime
in the last two weeks.
The next day, Samantha decided to get some exercise as well.
Unfortunately, her pocketbook was getting most of the workout.
Fendi, $150.
And so she decided to give her old pocketbook a rest.
That day, as Charlotte picked up my mail,
she realized she missed a lot more than just her sex life...
She missed her single life.
And if Trey could run away from their problems,
so could she.
I can't deal with Trey.
Okay, honey, calling to tell me that
might have been a little more economical.
And, I just... I really missed you guys.
Well, we missed you too.
So, Trey is...
It's not working. And he refuses to even talk about it.
I take it from the wheelie bag, you'll be staying?
I really need a vacation.
Well, you came to the right place.
I got to meet this Keith guy,
um, but Miranda and Samantha are down by the pool.
-Oh? -Oh.
Charlotte glanced down at the glistening pool,
and just like that, her marriage and Trey seemed very far away.
Before lunch, I agreed to go with Keith to see a house he was interested in.
Jesus, this is not a house, this is an airport.
It's Lorenzo Lamas's.
He's asking 3.4, but it'll go for 3.2.
- Now there's a bargain.
-Yes? -Hey, come check out the view.
In New York, a first date is dinner and a movie.
In LA, it's lunch and seeing a $3. 4-million house.
So, what do you think?
I think I should be working in syndicated television.
But it's good, right?
It's really good.
But does a single guy like you need this much space?
Probably not.
But come on, I mean, it looks good.
And so did he.
And there, in the South American's living room,
my Brazilian made me kiss him.
Wait till you see the hot tub.
We should go check out the hot tub, huh?
Okey dokey.
I'll have the egg-white omelet with no cheese,
but tomatoes and mushrooms,
and instead of the fries, a side of fruit with no grapes.
And a half decaf skim.
Can I suggest that you get the mushrooms steamed?
Because it lightens the calories but retains the flavor.
Great, thanks.
-I really like LA - Who wouldn't?
Keith wants to buy a $3-million house, and I can't even afford new curtains.
That's where the guy's out here have New York men beat.
-Real estate. -Mmm.
Lew may be the perfect guy.
-Letterman Lew? - Yeah!
He's an ideal combination of the two coasts.
He's still a New Yorker at heart, but he's lost all his anger and neuroses
and 30 pounds.
Wait a minute, we're New Yorkers.
Aren't we supposed to like the neurotic guys?
Oh, honey, the Woody Allen thing's so over.
I'm telling you, he's a changed man.
He's really spiritual and happy. He met the Dalai Lama.
So? I met Hugh Hefner.
One woman's pornographer is another woman's spiritual leader.
Maybe he's on to something, you know?
Maybe it's time I stopped being so angry.
Yeah, but what would you do with all your free time?
I'll tell you what you could do.
-Shop.
- Jesus! -No, you didn't!
That's like, $3,000!
Or a $150.
-Fake. -No!
Oh, my God, it looks so real.
-I know. -Give me that.
You'd never know it wasn't a real Fendi unless you looked inside at the lining.
Yeah, I don't have that luxury. All my insides are on the outside now.
I don't like fakes.
Oh, who cares? All that matters is what it looks like.
It's pretty good. It's pretty good.
We could go get more. I got the guy's card.
He lives somewhere called the Valley.
Could you have more condoms?
I did, yes.
I am just so happy to be out of that condom stage of life.
And here I thought it was called my 30s.
It's so nice to go to bed with the same man every night.
Please tell me you didn't come to LA to regale us with stories
about how much sex you're having now that you're married.
Charlotte didn't have the nerve to tell them
her conjugal bliss was a conjugal miss.
So, what should I do first in LA?
Well, the first thing you'll need is a good bikini wax.
Hey, you should try Alicia.
-Ow!
That night, after hours of stress-free pool time,
I realized something startling.
I was actually starting to like LA.
New Yorkers are trained to hate Los Angeles.
This supposedly is a place where intellect is ridiculed
and who you date and what you look like is revered.
Yet here we were, having the time of our lives.
The men were happy, the homes were huge, the bags looked great.
And maybe that was enough.
The weather moves from west to east.
Was it just a matter of time before the truth blew across Manhattan?
When it comes to bags, men and cities,
is it really what's outside that counts?
The next day, Samantha and I went to the Valley for Fendi bags.
This is it, 4-5-3-8-6.
Is that an address or a zip code?
-I don't know. -I miss Lorenzo Lamas's neighborhood.
My God.
Oh, there he is.
We had found it, fake Fendi paradise.
He should really work on his display area.
Seven for a thousand, huh. You like?
I should have liked them.
But staring into that trunk,
they no longer looked like elegant Fendi bags.
They just looked cheap.
And even if everyone else thought it was real,
I'd always know my bag came from a cardboard box in a trunk
-deep in the Valley. -This is good. Very good quality.
You know what? I don't think so.
You don't want a bag now?
I'm sorry, they're very nice, it's just...
Yeah, yeah. Please, don't smoke near the bags, huh?
We drove for two hours in the Valley.
-God. -That's it.
We're going back to the hotel.
Oh, my God!
They just looked so sad staring up at me from that trunk.
They were waiting for some nice lady to adopt them.
I was almost eaten by dogs.
The least you could've done was buy a bag.
Well, I guess I'd rather wait for the real thing.
Then, at least you know it's one of a kind and special or something.
My marriage is a fake Fendi.
Excuse me?
Trey and I look like the perfect couple from the outside,
but on the inside, it's all fake.
It's not special.
He can't even get it up.
What?
We've never had sex.
You've never had sex?
-But you've been married for-- -Over a month!
You've never had sex?
It's not a physical thing, it's emotional.
You knew about this?
She told me at the wedding.
Well, I was afraid you'd just say you told me so,
and then I should never have gotten married so quickly.
Charlotte, who am I to judge you?
We all have our own paths in life.
Apparently, three days with Lew had changed Miranda
from deeply sarcastic to Deepak Chopra.
What am I going to do?
Wait, you've never had sex?
-She's never had sex. -It's only been a month.
Hey, he hasn't seen Brazil.
-A second honeymoon to South America.
That might do the trick.
I know how to cheer you up. A trip to the Playboy Mansion.
Hef invited us over
for one of those Playmate pool parties tomorrow afternoon.
Hef? Did you say, Hef?
Why would that cheer her up?
Does she look like a 22-year-old frat boy?
No, but it wouldn't hurt for us to meet some.
Sorry, not going.
Oh, come on, it would be fun.
We're in LA.
All right, fine, but I better be on the guest list.
Later that night, I was a guest at Keith's amazing house.
He made sizzling scallops,
and after dinner, things got even hotter.
I like hot tubs.
New York should have more hot tubs, like on roofs and stuff.
Well, if you like that...
While I was going native with Keith,
Miranda and Lew went back to New York.
Or at least to the New York strip steak.
Oh, this looks great.
Oh, my God, do I miss this smell.
So, you were saying?
You should really read Zen and the Art of Modern Living.
It is so calming.
I'm still trying to get used to bath beads.
You are so New York.
Come on, don't you miss it?
Just a little?
No. I get to write about it every day.
But that's not New York, it's a sound stage.
Twenty-somethings with tiny salaries
don't live in huge SoHo lofts painted bright colors.
It's totally fake.
I think 40 million viewers would disagree with you on that one.
Is something wrong with your steak?
No, uh-uh, it's great.
What are you doing?
I'm tasting my food.
Why aren't you swallowing your food?
Do you think I look this good by eating?
Miranda realized Lew hadn't found inner peace,
he'd found an eating disorder.
Are you serious?
Miranda, don't put your toxic shit on me.
This is fucking LA, okay?
You have no idea what kind of pressure I'm under here.
Who cares what you look like? You're a writer.
For a hit show.
Trust me, no one wants to hire a fat story editor.
All Miranda wanted to do was rip that Knicks hat off his head,
because no self-respecting New Yorker would ever spit out that good a steak.
Jesus fucking Christ!
Now I've lost my appetite.
Waking up in Keith's sun-filled bedroom,
I was starting to feel like 3.4 million myself.
I really like what you have going on down there.
-That would be a whole lot of nothing. -Yeah.
Don't you ever work?
I don't have anything till 11:00.
-Nice life. -Yeah.
What the fuck do you think you're doing?
I told you, no prostitutes when you're house sitting.
You're a house sitter?
Personal assistant. Personal assistant.
I thought you were an agent.
Please, I wish I could get my agent to water my plants.
Apparently, the life I was coveting wasn't Keith's.
It was Carrie Fisher's.
You are so fired. Wait till I tell Penny.
Does this mean that I'm gonna have to return her car?
And Penny Marshall's.
I'm just... I'm gonna...
-You might need these. -Thank you.
Are you going to bring prostitutes to Ben's new $3-million home?
And Ben Affleck's.
You know, I'm not a prostitute. I'm Carrie Bradshaw.
I'm a writer, too. Well, actually, I'm--
Well, I have a column in New York.
I'm Carrie, you're Carrie.
I write, you write.
I have a child, you know, I really... I can't do this.
Have you guys been smoking in here?
Um...
This was always on.
The dry cleaning and the cat food, that's all done.
It was the perfect ending to my week of make-believe.
A visit to the Playboy Mansion, and the Playmate pool party.
Okay, could our lives get any weirder?
Nothing surprises me anymore.
Apparently, in LA, house sitters are somebodies,
and New York writers are prostitutes.
Oh, sweetie, you're at least a high-class escort.
-Thank you. -Fuck Carrie Fisher!
-Oh, now we're angry again? -Oh, yeah.
Well, frankly, I blame the wax.
-That's it, blame it on Rio. -What?
After the sun went down, the party really started heating up.
Where are the girls in the satin outfits and the bunny ears?
Yeah, I want to see some bunny ears.
Goes far, flies near To the stars away from here...
Meanwhile, somewhere between the Italian grotto and the petting zoo,
Charlotte found something real.
His name was Ian.
And that's when I started collecting Hockney.
I love Hockney!
Oh, the colors in his pool series are so LA.
The blues and those deep, deep greens.
Oh, God. It is such a pleasure talking to an intelligent woman for once.
And I love talking to you, too.
It's so nice to be with a man who talks.
I love LA!
I guess that third welcome-wagon drink has finally kicked in.
This is bad of me.
Is this bad of me? I mean, I'm drunk,
and I'm laying here with a man I hardly know.
It's the Playboy Mansion.
I mean, things could be a lot worse.
You're nice, Ian. You're really, really nice.
And you're nice too, Charlotte.
Hey, let me buy you some boobs.
-Pardon me? -What? It's a gift.
I don't need any breasts!
Charlotte had forgotten how awful single life could be.
And suddenly, marriage, with all its problems,
wasn't looking so bad.
Oh! Someone stole my fake Fendi!
-Are you sure? -I put the bag down beside me,
when I got up it was gone.
Oh, my God. That bunny's got my bag.
-All right, give me my bag. -Excuse me?
-You stole my bag. -This is my bag.
-Are we having a problem here? -Yes.
I'm sorry to tell you this, but this bunny stole my bag.
It's my bag.
-She says it's her bag. -Look on the inside.
You'll see, there's a label that says "Made in China"
and there's a bunch of condoms in there.
See? Fendi.
Samantha was mortified.
She assumed everything on the bunny was fake.
Okay, then...
Innocent mistake.
Apparently, one nod from Hef and the pool party was over.
I'm not leaving without my friends.
I'm so sorry.
The fake Fendi ended up costing $150 for the bag,
$2,000 in stolen credit card charges,
and unspecified costs to Samantha's ego.
And across the compound,
Miranda and I took a wrong turn on the way to the buffet.
Look at that. Tit soup.
It's time to go home.
Oh, there you are.
We have to leave.
We are.
Right now.
Oh, relax, we're going, we're going.
-What'd she do? - I don't know.
What happened?
All right, all right.
The next day, four New Yorkers left LA a little lighter.
Some of us had lost our hair, and all of us had lost a little dignity.
Samantha couldn't wait to get back to the crime-free streets of Manhattan.
Miranda couldn't wait to get back to men who swallowed.
Charlotte couldn't wait to get back to Trey.
And as for me?
-I couldn't wait. -You can't smoke in here.
Oh, relax, we're going, we're going.
Six hours later, I was home.
And it looked even better on the inside than I remembered it.
Because inside, it was all real.
I was starting to feel like myself again.
And the rest of me would grow back, eventually.