TWoPper: [to Danny, who is on his cell phone] Who in the hell are you talking to during the finale?
Danny: My lawyer.
Brennan: [appearing from nowhere] I thought I was your lawyer.
Danny: No, no. You're my boyfriend. [pointing back and forth between Brennan and the phone] My boyfriend, my lawyer, my boyfriend, my lawyer.
Brennan: [shrugging] It's easy to get confused.
Loud Pushy Frank comes over while I am in the middle of a conversation with somebody...Nancy, maybe? He steps right through the people who are standing in front of me. "Excuse me," he says, "I just have to say hello to this beautiful woman right here." It occurs to me a split second later that he is speaking to me, and he reaches over to give me a kiss. "Hello, sweetie," he says, and I get a little hug. "Hey," I say intelligently, as I am wont to do in these situations. He still feels like a safe. He asks me how I'm doing. I report, as I have been doing all night, that I'm well, but I add, as I have been doing all night, that it's all a bit much. "I'm a little intimidated by the surroundings," I tell him. "How can you be intimidated? You're off the hook! You're the boss -- how can you be intimidated?" He leaves. Ah, yes. Loud Pushy Frank, of the team we called Danza, has just told me that in fact, I'm the boss. Shouldn't I write that down in my diary or something? I feel like I just won a scavenger hunt.
Alli: [looking around the room] It's a little crazy. But I sort of had to come...I have this feeling like they're my kids, weirdly.
Oswald: Ooh, Mommy! [drops arm around me] If I'm bad, will you spank me?
Alli: Um, it's very possible.
Oswald: I'm going to open a lot of extra threads so you will.
Oswald: [waggling finger in my face] And I don't want any cyber-spanking, either. It has to be real spanking.
Alli: [using exasperated eye roll to convincingly conceal horrifying blush] Yeah, yeah, fine.
It takes me about five seconds to realize that I have approximately as much chance of holding my own in a dirty-banter-a-thon with Oswald as I have of holding my own in a tennis match against Venus Williams. I realize I should give up.
It is about 2:30 in the morning. I am in the stupidest bar in America. It's not the dirtiest bar, it's not the filthiest bar, it's not the most dangerous bar. But it's the stupidest bar. It is a stupid, stupid bar, and I am getting stupider with every minute I spend in it. The entertainment is actually intentional, but it has that feeling that it consists of Whoever Wanted To Sing Tonight. (It was, after all, a Wednesday night.) I begin to think of it in my head as...cabaraoke. A smattering of Racers are present, as is Mitchell, of course. When we get there, the guy who later turns out to be the bartender is singing...something. Soon he starts singing...something else. I consider poking my eye out with a fork, right around the time he launches into "Our House." Ivy comes over to me and Sars. "This place sucks. Oh my God, it sucks. It sucks so much," she babbles hilariously. Before you know it, the bartender is back behind the bar, and now he has a tambourine. There is more singing. The new singer tries "Piano Man," and the bartender (with tambourine) assists him. When they get to the part about "I'm sure that I could be a movie star," he sings it as "porno star," very, very loudly. For some reason, my thoughts immediately go to Nancy, who is on the other side of the bar. Once the singing stops, the atmosphere immediately improves. I argue for a bit with Brennan and Kevin about various things -- Kevin, for instance, wants to negotiate what this very piece will have to say about Brennan's leather pants. They both want to argue about which one of them is the more shameless self-promoter. Kevin still has a list of grievances regarding the first-season recaps. We do not reach agreement.