January 28, 2013

Welcome back to “Girls on GIRLS”, the most hyperbolic GIRLS recap in the entire internet. Joining our fave key-demo white girls—Dana Drori, Fiona Duncan, Sarah Nicole Prickett, and Olivia Fleming—are Jenna Sauers, who is sassy like the doll Marnie is forced to describe mid-fuck, and Danielle Forest, who’s afraid she relates all-too-well to Marnie mid-fuck.

This week, Hannah gets the worst/least surprising kind of writing job, Marnie and Booth Jonathan meet again, Elijah is totally gay, and Jessa and Shoshanna get the short end of the script. Someone named Jesse Peretz directs, and at least two of us wonder who he fucked to get to the director’s chair. But how very is verite when blood-spattered dollhouses and bags of heroin are involved?

FROM THE TOP:

Hannah gets her first paid writing gig at a website where “magic happens… outside the comfort zone.” Her editor, an undisguised version of Jane Pratt, tells her to do cocaine and write about it. Hannah is excited to “expose all [her] vulnerabilities to the entire internet” for $200 per post.
WOULD HAPPEN: Hannah may not be a Lizzie Wurtzel or a Cat Marnell, but she does like to make herself a victim, and certainly wants to get attention as a writer. Plus, Hannah has been writing “It Happened to Me” essays her whole life. —DZD
Hannah is the kind of person who would think doing cocaine was original. —JRS
WOULD NEVER HAPPEN: Getting paid $200 for it. Do any sites pay this much? —DZD
xoJane.com pays $50 per post. Can you even? —SNP
$50 per post? X No Jane. —JRS

Jessa sells her memorable clothing on the stoop of her erstwhile hovel. Shoshana blames her sleeplessness on Ray and Ray’s Netflix marathons. Marnie is very pretty.
WOULD HAPPEN: I love the way Jessa touches Shoshanna’s hair and teases her newly boned-up demeanor. This is the kind of subtle female bonding that made me first fall in love with the Girls because, my Monique, you are so totally a Jessa and, sometimes, I can be such a Shoshanna, right? —FAD
The honeymoon is over, Shosh. —DZD
That Marnie is the one sitting at the cashier’s table says everything. —OKF
WOULD NEVER HAPPEN: Isn’t Jessa sleeping next to designer puppies and her super-rich husband? Why is she having a yard sale? —DAF
DID HAPPEN: At least she’s unloading pretty dresses. My yard sales were a walk down Nu Rave-lane with a neon, and very ironic, New Kids on the Block knit sweater and a $150 House of Holland tee that said Cause Me Pain Hedi Slimane, sold for $5. —DAF

Marnie, now working as a hot-to-trot hostess in some private members’ club, spies Booth Jonathan. Remember Booth Jonathan? He remembers Marnie, if calling her “Maddie” counts. Who does he think she is? “Oh, you’re a person who’s about to have sex with me,” he says. Sure enough…
WOULD HAPPEN: Marnie walks out of her job: if you were obsessed with a guy for a year and finally had a chance to fuck him, at the risk of losing your shitty meaningless job that said guy just made fun of, wouldn’t you? —DZD
This is supposed to be the Norwood, right? That seems like the kind of thing that would happen there. —JRS
DID HAPPEN: To my *clears throat* friend, whom he mistakenly referred to as Michelle. Also, read the NYT wedding announcement for Tom Sachs and Sarah Hoover (a Gagosian-gallery girl). The only thing that would’ve made this more plausible is if they aged Booth (which is the BEST name for a douchey artist) by a few years. —DAF

Booth Jonathan locks Marnie inside a tower of loopy, aurally hellish VHS art. When he finally lets her out of this 1990s nightmare, she calls him “fucking talented”.
WOULD HAPPEN: This is a perfect (if dated) parody of the sometimes-absurdity of contemporary art. Jonathan’s booth is terrible and I would have probably cried, but I did just see a really beautiful video work that included a lo-fi loop of a catchy chorus from a David Gray song at PS1. —DAF
DID HAPPEN: This weekend I was coerced by sex into watching 40 minutes of the NBC show Smash because the most fuckable guys are insidious, reprehensible sadists with really good mouths.  —SNP

Hannah dollarlessly scores cocaine from her “junkie” neighbour, Laird, even after he tells her he’s just gotten clean. Leaving all human decency aside for a sec, who is paying for this, and how?
WOULD NEVER HAPPEN: That shit’s expensive. Are we supposed to believe that Laird bought two or three grams just for Hannah? No. And she is broke. —FAD
WOULD HAPPEN: Well, she is getting paid $200 to write the thing. —DZD
And he wants to impress Hannah, whose noble and lifelong resistance to “cashing out on [her] sexuality” feels curiously absent now. —SNP
Hannah pathologically confuses entitlement for ambition. Her first foray in cocaine, getting an ex-junkie to swing from a steely “no,” to “sure, I’ll buy you some,” is testament to the power of that confusion. —OKF

Elijah, while showing Hannah how to power-clash her coke outfit, says: “This isn’t going to be a night driving around in your mother’s Volvo downing cough syrup with a box of cold McNuggets.”
DID HAPPEN: My friends and I once smoked oregano in high school and then drove through the McDonalds for not-so-happy meals. —DAF
Sigh. High school. And Quebec McDonalds, where you can replace your fries with poutine. —DZD

“Andrew Andrew are DJing at Greenhouse.”
WOULD HAPPEN: I’m pretty sure they still DJ at Sons of Essex? And just like Elijah and Hannah, Andrew Andrew are so two-becomes-one. —OKF

Hannah and Elijah look like they just showered in anal lube, but they FEEL like the sexiest nonsexual couple Greenhouse has ever SEEN. “It is my greatest dream to have sex with myself,” says Hannah, “and also my greatest fear.”
WOULD NEVER HAPPEN: If you are Hannah Horvath and have never done anything truly dangerous, not even once, you are not now going to take an entire gram of cocaine mixed with molly, or cayenne pepper, or whatever else could possibly make you as sweaty and asinine as this. This is not what regular-grade cocaine is or looks or FEELS like and also, WHERE’S JESSA? —SNP
DID HAPPEN: “We are the sexiest people here!!!!!” Definitely a thing I have thought while doing cocaine. —JRS

After doing several more lines off a dirty toilet seat, Elijah and Hannah rage out to Icona Pop’s “I Love It.”
WOULD HAPPEN: This made me want to go out and party. —DZD
Once again, a total yeppppppp song for a dancing scene. I still have never felt cocaine to make me this shiny or happy or maybe I’m forgetting my youth??? —SNP
WOULD NEVER HAPPEN: Toilet seat ew. That’s what keys are for! Elijah, you seem to have done drugs before — unless you’re faking. Why don’t you save Hannah from herself? —JRS
Uh, Jenna, do you remember the Electric Room bathroom stall and its scarce hard surfaces? —DZD

Booth Jonathan’s next show is going to be titled “Children’s Death Games.”
WOULD HAPPEN: But major eye roll. —FAD
How midlist YA novel. Next. —JRS

Marnie, having just retrieved her vagina from cryogenic storage, gets spread-eagled and spit-fucked sans condom. Booth makes her describe a creepy doll; she calls it “sassy.” At least she laughs afterward.
WOULD NEVER HAPPEN: Wait, they didn’t use a condom? That is so not in keeping with Marnie’s Type-A self-righteousness. Also, ew. —JRS
He asks her whether she’s on the pill, Jenna, then cums half a nanosecond after she breathes “yes” from the bedspread her face has been jammed into for the past four minutes. Which also explains her bunch n’ stuff toilet paper-plug afterwards. Also, ew. —OKF
The condomless (zipfull) fuck, I know, would happen but here’s what would never: Booth Jonathan, disrobing in his Baroque bedroom, reveals himself as a trans FTM like the sublime Buck Angel, i.e. still with vagina. Marnie goes down on him and gets a big lady load in her mouth and then brags about it to Hannah; this is what I, for real, dreamed last night. —FAD
DID HAPPEN: Successful dicks think every girl wants them because of “who they are,” and so feel no compunction over treating the everygirl like any old slut. The most famous man I’ve ever fucked (and may I never type those seven words again) was also a depraved rat bastard who left me bruised and shivering in his hotel room for an hour while he went to get coke, then screwed me dry on every hard surface. On the other hand, he taught me how to dust joints like Marianne Faithfull? Also, my dignity is fine, and I’d like $200 please. —SNP
My friend Abby just emailed me this re Marnie: “Every narcissist I’ve slept with was so awful in bed, I wish I could go back in time and laugh at them.” —DZD

Between finding out Elijah and Marnie did “two and a half pumps” and mouth-kissing Elijah mid-fight, Hannah finds time to eat beef jerky at the 24-hour pharmacy.
DID HAPPEN: Beef jerky is the number one choice of four a.m. snack among strung-out wretches who want to be disgusting in a low-cal way. Hi! —SNP

“As Rizzo says in Grease,” says Elijah to Hannah, “there are worse things I can do.”
WOULD HAPPEN: Elijah’s character is so well-written! Rizzo is totes queen of the queens.  —DZD

Elijah calls Hannah out (FINALLY!) on how self-absorbed she is: “Leave it to you to make this all about you and your role in my sexuality.”
WOULD HAPPEN: Girls: Lena Dunham’s meta-experiment in which all stories lead back to the self-absorption of its lead character, Hannah, based not-so-loosely on Lena Dunham. —DAF

Hannah puts Marnie in her place: “Maybe I’m not the bad friend and you’re not the good friend… I don’t even care! We could keep being friends as long as you know you’re the bad one.”
WOULD NEVER HAPPEN: Both Hannah and Marnie looked like they had just farted and/or were about to burst out laughing during this entire scene. Even they didn’t believe what they were saying. —JRS
WOULD HAPPEN: What! I thought this was the best/most genuine moment of the episode, maybe the whole season. Bad girls make the best bad friends they deserve. —FAD
True friendships don’t end. They just restructure. —DZD
Agreed, Fiona. One of my favorite lines yet. —OKF

Hannah hooks up with Laird for “work.” He has basically already cum all over his junkie pants.
WOULD HAPPEN: Aaaand it took less than 24 hours for her to become the poor man’s version of Elizabeth Wurtzel. Remember, you guys, having sex with the guy from the ground floor will be great fodder for the aspiring writer who thinks she is “the voice” of her generation — “or at least a voice, of a generation.”—OKF
Hannah, with all her unkempt pathologies, half-baked aphorisms, and harsh flaws, is—ultimately—a romantic. And romance is not about love, or even sex. It’s about being the heroine of your own narrative. Is this whole uncomfortable twist merely the dark side of a Nora Ephron quote? Yes, and that makes perfect sense. —SNP

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