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But Tara's here to wake me up, as she reads from one of her romances. Tara is really the best part of the movie; she's over the top, but just enough so to keep me entertained without making me cringe. Or at least not to the point of breaking a tooth.

Meanwhile, Claire is humping the guy she met at the Hump Whale. He wants to cuddle, but she just wants sex without strings.

The morning after — Claire needs aspirin. Noel finds some for her. Aw, they're bonding.

Noel: Rough night?
Claire: No pain, no gain.
Noel: There might be an easier way.
Claire: You would know, right? That's what you do, isn't it? Tinker with f****d-up psyches?
Noel: That's not a term I'd apply to my practice.
Claire: Let's just say I have never met a shrink that is any less fucked up than the people they try to fix.
Noel: We're only human.
Claire: If a surgeon was missing a piece of himself, like say a hand or an eye, I would expect him to find a different profession.
Noel: We're all missing pieces. That doesn't mean we can't help someone else find theirs.
Claire: You therapists. You are so good at handing out aspirin. And the obvious.
Noel: Well, if it were so obvious, I doubt you'd be struggling so successfully.

Um. Huh?

Noel finds Craggy and asks for a different room. Craggy is wearing socks with her Birkenstocks. That's all I'm going to say about that.

An uneasy peace — Noel wants to come to some sort of compromise. But Claire says they're just polar opposites: “It's no biggie.” Noel thinks some ground rules would “help smooth things out.”

Claire: Rules. You shrinks just love rules, don't you? Be spontaneous; love life; embrace it — but do it by the rules.

I don't know. Rules can be OK. Like the rule that you should try to hire an experienced editor, and that if you can't write and can't direct, you sure as hell shouldn't do both.

Anyway, Claire eventually sits down and listens as Noel sets out the rules.

A montage — Hmm, it seems the rules didn't help: Claire is still messy and Noel is still über-structured. But never mind that: At one point, they sort of collide in the hallway as Claire is taking her shirt off, and Noel finds herself eye-to- … um, yeah.

All that tension? It's dramatic. And erotic.

A jumble of isms — I guess we should have known it was coming: a conversation about feminism. And lesbianism. And let's not forget solipsism, egoism, narcissism and stupidism.

It's another “trash meet,” and this time Claire is in attendance. Noel's talking about freedom or individuality or some such shit. Tara thinks she's really talking about “sexual preference.”

Noel: Theoretically, we're an evolved group of women who, for one reason or another, find judgment with one another's lifestyles, work, compromises.
Tara: Some compromises just aren't worth it.
Noel: If by that you're inferring my lesbianism, had I made any other choice, it would have been the most costly compromise I could have made.

Claire looks startled, and so do I, but it's because I can't believe nobody corrected that misuse of “infer.”

But really: We're meant to believe that Claire didn't know that Noel's gay? I know she spends a lot of time gazing at her navel, but come on.

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