All language subtitles for Sex and the City - S02E01 - Take Me Out to The Ballgame

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.