Props to the millions of bacteria that have flooded my sinuses and swollen my head in an homage to James Van Der Beek.
Previously on DC: a blonde girl -- what's her name again? "Jane," "Joan," something like that? -- suggested to Tobey that, if he Likes Jack That Way, he become friends with Jack; Mr. Brooks and Grams both lectured Dawson on gathering love's rosebuds while ye may, and Dawson flared his nostrils judgily at them; Gretchen worried that she'd hurt Dawson, but Dawson urged her to live in the now; Contrivance ran up a big old long-distance bill and got cracker crumbs in the couch.
Fade up at the International House Of Fishcakes. Gretchen "Oldschlager" Witter is on the phone with a friend when Gale "Waistless Hussy" Leery comes up to the bar and snippily asks what became of Table 9's Cabernet: "I asked you for it ten minutes ago." Gretchen blames "Friday-night frenzy," saying that they've already gone through a lot of wine, which means that the restaurant's "having an amazing night." Gale rolls her eyes and bitches about getting the orders to the tables, and maybe if Gretchen "weren't taking personal calls, [she'd] have time to get the other case" of Cabernet. She waddles off in a huff ("wuffles"?); Gretchen looks taken aback. Enter Dawson "Werner Assbinder" Leery, carrying a case of the Cab and saying that it took him a while to find it. Gretchen dispatches a glass of it to Table 9 and asks if Gale "is this edgy at home too," or if it's Gretchen in particular that has Gale's "knickers in a twist." I say that all the time -- shout-out? Dawson, who has a new hairdon't that manages to combine the weird parasitical-anemone shape of his season-three style with the limp slipperiness of the current season, blames the pregnancy hormones. Right -- because a pregnant woman can't just get into a bad mood. Gretchen asks again whether it has anything to do with her and Dawson as a couple. Dawson snorts that Gale "loves" Gretchen. Gretchen says sure, as Pacey's sister and the IHOF's "ever-trusty barkeep," but "as Mrs. Robinson, maybe not." "Ever-trusty"? "Barkeep"? Shut up, Gretchen. Dawson arches an eyebrow and dismisses this. Gretchen blah blah "incredibly hostile vibe" bling blay "nothing to do with me" bloo blee "we're good…and we're good together" blah blah blah and then I find myself rocketing through a galactic wormhole with colored lights flashing brightly all around me, and then a bright light blinds me, and then I find myself in a bedroom with weird floor lighting, and then I see myself as an old woman eating dinner, and then I see myself dying, and then bummm bummm bummm BA DUMMM (bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum) I've become a fetus orbiting the earth, the conversation goes on that long, and the terrifying strains of Richard Strauss surround the transparent womb in which I circle the planet as Gretchen proposes that Dawson meet her friends, and Dawson looks afraid and equivocates, and a chimp seated beside a black monolith throws a bone up in the air, and then Gretchen biffs a rule of English usage, and then there's banter, and cue a cat strapped into the Coney Island teacups ride as Gretchen reassures Dawson, "Just be yourself, they'll love you." No comment. Leaning towards a kiss, they get busted by a glowering Gale.
Dear Denise Richards: 14:52. Get a good money manager. Love, your career.