Previously, on Dawson's Creek: Jen and Dawson well, you know. And then people found out. And then Dawson told Joey that it's really, really painful to be around her because his dad died and she knows nothing about the pain of losing a parent.
Potter B&B. Joey's curled up on the sofa, watching daytime television and looking sulky. Bessie -- hey, y'all! Bessie! I love Bessie. And her hair is all straight and sassy-looking, and I really like her striped sweater! Bessie! -- comes inside with the mail. Joey looks up from her moping. "Is that the mail?" she asks. "No, Joey, your grades haven't come yet," Bessie says, tossing the bills and letters onto the coffee table. Joey very unbelievably asserts that "grades are the furthest thing from [her] mind." Bessie sort of rolls her eyes. She "know[s] it's driving [Joey] crazy." Joey brats that something else is driving her crazy. "Want to talk about it?" Bessie asks. "Bess. Stop bugging me," Joey tells her sister rather unpleasantly. "I was talking about Dawson and Jen," Bessie explains, sitting down on the coffee table. Joey rolls her eyes and sarcastically thanks her sister for reminding her and then rudely tries to grab the remote out from under Bessie's ass, snitting that she's trying to enjoy her vacation. "You should enjoy your vacation!" Bessie tells her, sitting on the arm of the couch. "Go do something fun." Joey very, very irritably says that just because she's "not in Daytona participating in a wet t-shirt contest, doesn't mean [she isn't] having fun." Bessie's all, um, not, and asks Joey when she last actually did "something wild." Joey half-heartedly offers that she's "wild quite frequently." Bessie's all, no, seriously, NOT, and wonders if there isn't someone someone Joey can call and/or socialize with elsewhere. "Maybe I'll call Dawson and Jen," Joey snaps. "Oh, maybe not." Dude, Joey. I can understand being nervous about your grades because, yeah, I was pretty anal about that in college. I used to call in for my grades (because at my school we had an automated phone system that would tell you your grades -- this was before wide-spread Internet use, because I'm a thousand years old -- and it was a bit nerve-racking at times because the voice pronounced "B" and "D" in almost the same way) like five times a day every day until I got them all. Because I was a big old dork like that. I mean, at the time I was planning to get my Ph.D., and dude, you have to have really, really, really good grades to get into a decent Ph.D. program in English, and -- where was I? Joey? Hi there. Yeah, the anality over your grades is one thing, but must you be so endlessly crabby? How is any of this Bessie's fault? Also, why aren't you sleeping all day long and then wandering around the house in the middle of the night eating cold chicken straight out of the fridge and complaining sotto voce over the phone to your new college friends about how your parents keep asking you where you're going all the time?