"This guy... Hairy, disgusting. There was a hooker involved..." Miss Jeanette knows about him, about Phil, who comes through there every month. "But he ain't never been into that. That's some next-level shit right there." Nathalie, getting into the spirit of things (or maybe still stinging from the urine that time), is like, "I can't believe this is my life!" Which is not offensive, because they are both maids, until she goes "No offense," at which point it sort of becomes offensive. Not to mention weird.
Mike is back on campus playing practice beer pong with some douchebag who keeps calling him a "faggot." Which with this show, usually would be because they think college kids are doing that these days or something, but I have more faith in the show this season; it's so unsubtle that if it connects at all probably it'll be smarter than just this kid in college being, himself, gay. Every year I wonder why Silas is continually haunted by this ghostly gay thing, I can't parse it but it's always there. Maybe it's just Doug getting closer. Anyway, douche heads off to Culture & Society In Imperial Russia and then Mike agrees with some girls who frankly aren't that great to go to trivia night instead of beer pong. He tells them he's a botany major, and grins really hard.
That concierge attacks Nathalie with yet more of his wit, now that she has no more hash, and says that the only reason he went from suicidal ice cream crush-in technician to "running this town" is because he makes shit happen. Nathalie says she's tapped out, and he awesomely goes, "Then tap yourself in, bitch!" I liked that part. Anyway, what's she going to do, she needs hash to make cash but she lost her hash and she gave away her cash so now how can she make hash without any cash? It's just like that one M*A*S*H.
"Listen, maid, I trusted you because you're foxy. And I don't like sending guests to the ghetto to find drugs. But if anyone files a complaint about me because you didn't come through, I will fuck your world sideways!" She should tap herself on over to her ungrateful children and get that money back from them. Randy's an apprentice now, and Mike's more into campus life than college so far. And Avi's never going to live in a black and white world.
Mike and a girl are in a dorm shower, taking a little rest before doing more sex stuff. They did well at trivia ("How did I even know Wade Boggs?"), and she is sort of cool: "Sorry about the shower. Whenever I have a guy in the room my pervy roommate Greta watches. And masturbates." Mike notes, correctly, that this is awesome, but obviously the naked young lady before us is of stronger moral stuff than roommate Greta, so he retracts.
Mike's lip is bleeding, due to the sharpness of her vajazzling, which he pronounces "sparkly." God, is there anything more interesting than college students? That kid with the constant "faggot" abruptly pulls back the curtain to ask if there's anybody fucking in there, and the girl's like "As soon as you leave!" and he admires her "pussy charms" -- her name is Kimmi, by the way -- and he calls Mike a faggot like eleven more times and then takes off and so they fuck. Mike realizes, at this point, that college is delightful.
I did not like this part very much because it was too real. We didn't have vajazzling back then, just henna tattoos and Sarah McLachlan and the girl that would pull out her pubes with a tweezer whenever she was "bored." See what I mean? What's the point of all those drugs if you can still remember things like that?
Aw, speaking of. Nathalie's back at Chez Lesbian, appealing to Linda Hamilton "as a woman, as a mother, as a fellow female traveler on the road," which road Linda correctly identifies with as the one paved with bullshit. "No cash, no shake. Don't let the hairy legs fool you, this is a capitalist enterprise." Nathalie offers to babysit, or go down on her.
"Joking. Mostly joking. That was lame. It would have worked with a man. Men are easy. Men are the Monday crossword. But women, we're... Sunday. That's why they die before us. The poor fuckers, they blow a gasket after a lifetime of trying to figure out the magnificent organism that is woman. How to make us happy. But really, I'll go down on you. I'm desperate here." And as great as Nathalie is, Linda's just a bit better tonight: "And chatty!"
Fiona comes in screaming in that squeaky little voice of hers about how she hates hitting every taqueria in town to beg for their used oil to make their pretend car work, and Nathalie's been there for awhile I guess because when Fiona asks about Kish she knows the answer: "He peed in the fish pond." Again. So I guess he's in his Contemplation Corner. Linda goes, "Can I have a kiss?" and Fiona hisses, "Can I have a real car?" before running off to yell at Kish about appropriate urination locations. Linda sends Nathalie away, still awkwardly flirting into space like a shortwave radio signal that nobody will ever hear.
There's a cute moment back in the hotel kitchen where Randy shuts Nathalie up about her loss of drug-dealing confidence with a deep-fried something. "In what?" Nathalie asks innocently, and Randy's like, "In panther blood. What do you mean?" Because obviously she's been asking for the hotel's used cooking oil for awhile, and I don't know enough about kitchens to know why this is a big deal, but apparently used oil can't just be handed out to whatever lesbians need it for their locomotion. I mean, I guess I get that you can't just toss it out into the sink or the environment or whatever, but I think there's a reason they would want to hang onto it, and I don't know what that reason is, and I don't really wish to. "It's the property of the hotel," Randy says, and that's good enough for me. But why suddenly is Randy bothered by "questions of legality or morality"? Well, he's had his Eat Pray Love post-flail bliss moment.
You know what would be my Eat Pray Love bliss moment? Getting somebody to go see that movie with me. I am not seeing it alone, that's too very sad, but the way these boys act it's like I'm asking them to dress their balls like Swan Lake while I call their balls mean names in the voices of their mothers.
I love Julia Roberts, it's not a fuckin' secret. I love her giant mouth and her honking laugh and her stomping walk, I love everything about her. (Rebel Without A Cause is my favorite movie but really it's Pretty Woman. Her facial expressions are my bliss.) I can't imagine anything finer than watching that girl eat her way across continents for two hours, taking timeouts to sleep with Javier Bardem and Billy "Manwhore" Crudup and The Finest Actor Of Our Generation, James Franco. All at the behest of the person who invented Mary Cherry, and gave us an Augusten Burroughs I could handle. I can't think of a finer pursuit. I think it should be not only a movie but an amusement park ride.
Which seems like a better idea: The Haunted Mansion? Or sex with James Franco. No homo! Actually though, I can see the latter being a lot like the former. What's that one place where the angles are all weird and you can watch a penny roll right up the wall?
So Nathalie talks about her needs, the needs of the boys, while Randy talks about his imaginary Eat Pray Love enlightenment -- "It's about a woman who finds herself, her bliss, through food! And fucking! I think you should read it!" -- and he hunches down in front of where the big buckets of oil are hidden and the whole time she's talking to him like an equestrian. "Shh, shh. I know. I know, sweetie." But we both know she's gonna have those buckets faster than you can say boo.