Well, it's Blair's birthday and you know that means three things: Macarons, Eleanor, and somebody's going to die. Hopefully a Humphrey. Blair's licking all her envelopes and sending them to people like Joe Zee and Rachel Zoë and Jonathan Franzen. You know, people of that social class. The one that includes all of those people at the same time.

Like if you were a stylist -- which is a person with an imaginary job which is to choose outfits -- who was on a very boring show about a very beautiful gay man who never stops crying, or Joe Zee -- who is a person that is imaginary -- from a scripted reality show about a stick insect attacking a blow-up doll, you could say, "I run in the same social circles as Pulitzer-winning author Jonathan Franzen. We go to all the hottest birthday parties for all the coolest teenagers together. We are very serious people."

Meanwhile, Serena is over at that visiting professor's luxurious office, drinking coffee and flipping her hair and not having any self-control and then suddenly suffering what can only be described as a sexy brain hemorrhage. The whole world goes melty and all you can see is jumpcutty migraine-looking closer and closer pictures of mouths and throbbing sexual organs and then closer still and then you can see molecules and then atoms and then it's a crayon factory and then Spider-Man breaks out a funky dance.

Serena picks herself up off the floor and tries to remember what their boring conversation was about before the global sex breakdown, but she can't. Any conversation that starts with, "So you're from Maine?" is a conversation best forgotten. You can hardly hear the rest of it because of Serena's yodeling vagina, but Colin does mention that his family is "still adrift, in more ways than one." She asks if he has a mystery family or a family mystery or maybe if his cousins are mounting a conspiracy to destroy her, and he's like, "That doesn't ring a bell, no," and then she tells him she's going to teach him to read.

...No, sorry, that she's going to make him read. A book -- probably something by James or Fitzgerald, given who we're dealing with -- because remember how she learned to do that last week, with Colin's own book, and so now she just wants to spread the word. I'm glad that her mother trying to slut-shame the literacy out of her didn't stick, I was worried about that.

Dorota and Eleanor have a really long backflippy kind of conversation trying to justify the events to come, and as usual it's answering a question nobody asked and just making it seem even more complicated and senseless than it really is. Blair licked and sent her invitations at Eleanor's request, a week earlier than the actual birthday, because Eleanor wants to throw the party herself and on the actual birthday she and Cyrus have tickets to the Palais Garnier. Caring and neglectful at the same time, classic Eleanor Waldorf and the reason Blair is so freakin' all about bloodbaths all the time.

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