We open on a montage containing evening shots of what appears to be a riveting section of Boston's heralded financial district, tall and impersonal structures so encased in an age's worth of ice that to take a blowtorch to the downtown area would induce said ostensibly sound edifices to not so much burn as melt right on down to the ground. Inside of Djb's nominee for ground zero for such an unfortunate and "accidental" blaze, Sean and Montana party hearty inside of a building ripped right from the "Templates" section of Generic Frat House Magazine. Inside, we are treated to (oh, I'm sorry, did I say "treated to" when I meant "blinded by" again? Looks like somebody needs an MBTV writer's retreat to get his mechanics back on track. STAT!) a shot of Montana's back. Her unruly red mane is recklessly held in check by a black scrunchie in a disheartening reminder that even when we're not face to face with the chronically problematic bangs, there is no shortage of things to make fun of concerning Montana's hair. Facing the camera and doubtlessly regretting his current position of soaking up the view from the observation deck at Bangs National Park, a kind of tall, kind of unattractive, kind of flannel-clad character named "Matt" (cover model for the aforementioned Generic Frat House and Mr. February in their "Men of Generic Frat House" yearly wall calendar. Then again, every month is February in Boston) gestures manically and talks a lot. Montana is holding what appears to be his driver's license and actually deigns to comment, "Your hair's a little short on the side. I like it longer all around." I'm sorry, was that just the sound of Montana commenting negatively on SOMEONE ELSE'S HAIR? Pot, meet kettle. Kettle, meet guy who's only at this party in the first place so he can be on television. Montana VOs that Matt is a guy she met "at a law party." We cut back and forth between Montana telling us in a confessional that Matt is "very funny" to Matt being inaudibly hilarious, and that Matt is "very vocal" to Matt deep into what sounds like his fiftieth failed Ethel Merman imitation of the night, much to the continuing hilarity of those around him who have been product-placing Bud out of a can for the better part of the evening and who laugh because it's easier than throwing up or switching to water.
Sean's confessional comes busting in with the convenience and necessity of several uninvited cousins who have recently learned that you own a spacious apartment in New York, telling any and all interested parties (oh, and also the rest of the planet) that "Montana needs attention from men. Even if it destroys her life, she needs to be the focus of attention." Back at the party, Sean solidifies the necessity for a "Figure 1-1" diagram of himself appearing next to "inebriated hick" in the dictionary (what do you mean? Of course that's in my dictionary) in stumbling all over Montana and apparently riding her (ew, not like that) for her flirtatious ways with Matt. Because Sean's smooth-as-silk flirting methods are nothing if not couched in Casanova-like subtlety. Montana charges him with being "jealous," an accusation of which I am in full support, as I now believe Sean to have been jonesin' for some Montana love since that first fateful moment under the Amtrak sign too many weeks ago. An elegantly edited moment later, Matt appears behind the two and tells them that he's taking off. Phone numbers are exchanged, strangely, at Sean's request. At which point Matt, much like all of my friends who were attending Boston area schools in 1997, hightails it out of the party to call everyone he knows and tell them he was at a party with the Real World cast. The words "and I think I'm falling in love with one them. She may or may not have a forehead" are never, ever uttered.