First of all, can I show you something totally awesome?
I know, right? And that song, which the site calls "Lily's Theme," sounds like Lily for sure, but it seems mostly to play when B's doing her headband/Mary Janes chic powerplays. So I don't know, but right now it's playing, and there's two sets of Bitch feet tromping up the steps at MOMA from two different directions (it's interesting to see how the Army breaks down while both B and Little J are power-players): Blair, Iz and Nelly Yuki from one direction, and then Jenny from the other, leading Penelope, Hazel, and unfortunate little Elise.
"Spotted: Jenny Humphrey wading in the Met fountain, fishing for change... Blair Waldorf, seen dallying with an off-duty doorman at the Blarney Stone on a Monday night..." The two groups face off, and then all flounce down at once. "It looks like the battle between the Queen B and Little J has moved from the streets to the blogs. Who's sending this debasing dish? I have a feeling..."
Blair flips a dime into Jenny's lap for her collection, and Jenny asks why she's noshing on fruit cup: "Lost your taste for yogurt?" All the Bitches laugh, because this is their version of Celebrity Poker Showdown and they get to watch it every day. Blair turns to Penelope, the memory of dairy in her hair just a tad too close, and asks what's up tonight. "Asher's parents are in Cannes, so he and Jenny are throwing a party at his house." Jenny cuts her a glance: "It's a really small get-together with just our closest friends. Sorry, Blair." I'm not saying I want every episode to be forty-two minutes of half-clever, obvious bitchy barbs, but: isn't this fun?
Nelly Yuki offers Blair her invite -- or evite, as we'll sadly soon learn -- and Jenny snots, "Invitations are nontransferable?" And even though Nelly Yuki is now B's sergeant (I like to think it's in recompense for the SAT thing last week, which makes a certain Blair Waldorf demented sense), Jenny has the balls to breezily inform B that Nelly Yuki's "new to the group." Blair rolls her eyes and, cornered, growls that just because her name's on the invite, it doesn't mean she's a hostess. And the thing about Blair is that she capitalizes that word, "Hostess," and all the breeding and preparation and glory that it means, pride in home, the particularly Blairlike fame that attaches to the craft of partygiving, how we treat our guests: all that stuff that -- before feminism and Martha Stewart -- was shitty and only for girls, and is now completely awesome. And the thing about Jenny is that she has no concept of any of these things. She knows what Blair's saying, but she doesn't get the actual visceral meaning of it. Luckily, her phone rings.