Breeeeeeathe. If you're anything like me — angry for no reason, judgmental, desperately waiting to eat breakfast — you've probably found yourself getting angry about everything in Girls for the simple reason that it doesn't stand up to your own life. I'd personally never go to Greenhouse, shill anything as cute as what Jessa was selling on that stoop or be the type of cock who'd block the entire flow of L train traffic by standing on the stairs, but that's the entire point. That's their reality, not ours.
I think we (and at a minimum, my internal monologue) need to lighten up and learn to enjoy this show a little more. Not that you should have to suspend all belief to get behind a half-hour of Brooklyn-based programming, but you gotta give it the same loose approach that you've given everyone else who's staged a show in a similar borough-based setting. Ross never owned a monkey; New York law prohibits it. Carrie Bradshaw couldn't have afforded her cigarette habit on that salary, and like most Coveteur-style trendsetters, would have needed to supplement that stylish lifestyle with an under-the-radar financier marriage. Not even Seinfeld's cookie-cutter diner exists in actuality or feasibility — we take our coffees to go, not with friends in the middle of the day. (Even I, whose dance moves and career path have been reflective of that of Elaine's, can tell the difference.) But still. Phoebe never ended up with Joey, Carrie never had to speak to Manhattan Mini Storage over the phone, and Jerry didn't slowly irk his way out of that friendship with Kramer because George thought it was "creepy" and "kind of weird" and he just wanted everyone to get along. The television world has an order to it; it's chaos contained.
Yet, while this episode was ages better than the two Cleveland steamers we've been delivered this season, there still are, even with that 212 belief suspended, an incredible amount of minute, odd inaccuracies in this one I just can't get past. The takeaway from this — besides that poor Allison Williams, Jesus Christ, I wouldn't want Jorma Taccone's bits anywhere near the small of my back with a room full of people watching — is that the show, ironically is almost getting it kind of together itself. Point in turn? I'll cut Girls a break, but you gotta do me a favor and meet me halfway. Here's what I mean:
Okay, I'll Give It To You That: It's a Wednesday afternoon, it's the summertime and you're doing your nails on your bed while your gay roommate picks out your wardrobe for a big cocaine-fueled adventure. People hate working in the summertime, and Hannah clearly has a whackadoo schedule.
But What I'm Not Down With Is.. You're decorating your finger canvases with Deborah Lippmann nail polish. Deborah Lippmann!! That shit is is $18 a pop, and so fancy-schmance that it's only for sale at Barney's and the rest of the rich trust fund department stores. Don't even try going to Macy's looking for that shit — even Ricky's don't carry that fancy hand paint! Worst of all is I spend enough time on the internet to know that of the $45, four-shade pack of Girls-inspired polishes, Hannah was painting her nails with the Bohemian Burgundy Jessa shade. That's nail contingency fail I can't support.
Okay, I'll Give It To You That: Despite everything New York City has taught you about never, ever, ever, ever speaking to your neighbors, Hannah still knocks on a known junkie's door and willingly enters his cave of soggy bedding and daytime cartoons.
But What I'm Not Down With Is... That fucked up beverage situation. You don't offer strangers free pomegranate juice, that shit is liquid gold! And then, when he swings open the door to his crusty fridge and has so much of it?! HOW DOES HE HAVE SO MUCH OF IT IT IS SO EXPENSIVE I don't compute; it's infuriating. This is singlehandedly the weirdest thing i've ever seen on this TV show, and Lena Dunham had two tits out while sitting atop a joke rapper and ate breakfast in the bathtub, which everyone knows no one under forty does. (Take baths, I mean. I'll eat a pastry anywhere.) Oh, and while we're diving into this, if you can afford to fill your fridge with $60 worth of POM Wonderful and just hand it off to strangers all willy-nilly despite being a former addict whose financials are likely not in order who is sleeping near the floor like a fancy dog, you can afford to move out of Greenpoint. And if you can afford to move out of Greenpoint, move the fuck out of Greenpoint. The G train is for sadists.
Okay, I'll Give It To You That: Hannah and Elijah would go clubbing, and maybe — a real loose maybe — Greenhouse is having a hipster glowfest instead of catering to the Shoe Dazzle-clad clientele that usually lines up on Varick Street. On a Wednesday. In the afternoon.
But What I'm Not Down With Is... This supposedly being what happens when people do drugs for the first time. Really, you just practically lick the top of a public toilet and don't even get a hive from it, let alone a slow-onset flu? When people do drugs, they end up in a hospital room in Atlantic City and don't make enough gross income in 2012 to cover the hospital bill, not run into their questionably creepy neighbor in the Band-Aid aisle. This does not happen in New York, and this *certainly* does not happen at Duane Reade. Those fluorescents are way too bright for half-naked shenanigans to ever go down.
Okay, I'll Give It To You That: for whatever weird, celeb-fuckery reason, Marnie's into this Booth Jonathan hack.
But What I'm Not Down With Is... That she doesn't realize she's about to get murdered. Has she SEEN Girl With A Dragon Tattoo?! Basement lair always equals instant death. And, on a more personal note, how is it that someone like Marnie was never sat down at a very young age to watch Stranger Danger specials about saving yourself from being rape-killed? Despite my inactivity in terms of Throwback Thursday, I was an incredibly cute toddler (I peaked at age six), and if there's even a chance your daughter is going to be hot, you train her for men possibly taking advantage of her at every avenue. Anyone who looked anything like she must have as a kid — brown, straight pigtails are like pedophile bait — has seen the Oprah specials and knows two things by heart: One, if someone is shooting at you in a parking lot, run zig-zagged, and two: NEVER GO WITH A STRANGER TO THE SECOND LOCATION. That is where you die. That is where they lock you in a TV Tower of Terror with videos of maggots and dogs while they drink hand-pulled espresso and heartlessly carve stuffed animals open until they're ready for you. Yet, most unbelievable of all is that even after that multimedia coffin mind fuck and the sexual doll threesome, she's still able to have the most jaw-droppingly perfect toilet posture like a fucking Russian ballerina dancing her way to an American work visa. Completely inaccurate, wholly unbelievable, yet truly outstanding.
Okay, I'll Give It To You That Hannah is published nowhere, has no clips, website or internet presence, but is still being offered $200 a story.
But What I'm Not Down With Is... How that whole meeting went down. I want an interview with an employer that starts with them hiring me for less than I deserve, instead of continually proving my worth to get to that point. Where's that job? Also, you know what? No one I work for wants to see me face-to-face. I am a curatorial word ghost who typically just gives them things to help them get ad revenue. I'm basically a literary hitman: I write things, no one sees me and I fade into the abyss, particularly as the white walls of my apartment and my skin, which now never sees the light of day, match perfectly.
Okay, I'll Give It To You That: This crazy broad is running around New York City in a see-through green mesh tank top, and is apparently on the very, very high end of threshold of people who like to be naked. Always. All the time.
But What I'm Not Down With Is... She actually traded her shirt for that worthless DayGlo pinnie. It's like she got saddled with a soggy PB&J and that club bro is chillin' with a Lunchables Pizza. You don't give away a fruit-themed crop top! That's a seriously integral part of a wardrobe and a major Beacon's Closet find. Without it, how will she dress as a Fanta girl for Halloween and/or 2001-themed apartment parties? Though, knowing Hannah, she'd be privvy to dressing like a globe with a Mugler-style '80s shoulder-padded blazer and going as Atlas Shrugged, which no one would understand and she'd end another night, on her stoop, with a Charlie Brown-style mope sesh.
Girls Season 2, Episode 3: Bad Friend
Best Line: "I'm sorry I don't want to go to Serendipity and drink Frozen Hot Chocolates, with your uncle's girlfriend, who is a stewardess named Elodie."
Best Mate: Elijah. It's Hannah's selfishness that makes the Marnie quick-bang a big deal, and anyone who refuses to leave your side while also jacked up on coke is, from my inexperienced point-of-view, a particularly responsible young man.
What Kind Of A-Hole Was Hannah This Week?: The "Oh, You're Actually A Crazy Person And Nobody Sees It" Variety. The fact that Marnie kept her shit together while being trapped in a video death chamber and having low-level rapey sexual relations but cried when being accused of being a "bad friend" just goes to show how much of a hold Hannah's convinced others she has on them — and, oddly, how great she'd be as a cult leader.
I Give This... 3 out of 4 bathtub snax. The plot lines finally feel like they're back on track and there's interesting stuff happening — albeit, mostly in terms of WEIRD art — that would never be on another TV show, but an episode without Ray has to be one star shy of perfection.
Earlier Ladyshow Nonsense:
Girls Season 2, Episode 2: I Get Ideas
Girls Season 2, Episode 1: On Being Self Aware
Girls Season 1 Finale: Everyone's A Dumb Whore
Girls Season 1: Opening My Big Fat Lady Mouth