It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age that gave us plenty of dinners, it was the age that left us barren of quality acting; it was the season of bad highlights, it was the season of overly dark eye makeup -- in short, an episode so much like all the other episodes that I felt compelled to make a change, for good or for evil, and give up my usual alcohol for aromatherapy. I start this evening with a stimulating bouquet of eucalyptus.
The luckless and lipful Platypus gives us the voice-over this week, callously relating the ups and downs of Sarah and herself (thoughtfully leaving Cecilia's and Joss's storylines out of it because, let's face it, how interesting or important can nearly dying, being made to drop out of a master's program, and becoming a godmother to a yet-unborn baby who will be named after you really be, compared to breakups with ex-addicts and ex-gigolos?). The one line I deemed worthy in Platypus's thick-lipped narrative: "Sarah came to New York feeling kind of cocky that she could handle things for herself." Beyond that, we all know too well and care too little that Platypus and J.B. broke up and that Scraggle dumped Sarah's bony butt.
Apparently, Christmas is over and Sarah's job as a personal shopper's assistant didn't gel, because she's working in the returns department with a pinched-faced woman who drawls, "I'm not really listening to you, " after Sarah babbles, "You think I'd be depressed -- first Christmas in my life that I didn't get a single present." Yeah, I guess those people who don't get anything, including food, clothes, and shelter at any time of year, really should start popping the Prozac. Sarah continues that she and her friends are "kind of Poverty 'R' Us." Wow, that's kind of a creative and appealing little phrase she thought up. That is, if you take away "-eative" and "-pealing," which leaves you with c-r-a-p. And how is it that Sarah doesn't get punched more often? Sarah comments how busy they seem to be, and the pinched-faced woman says they are short-handed because Sarah's friend didn't show up. Sarah babbles on, "Which is so unlike Romy. I mean, she was really excited when I told her that I got her this job. I had been working as a personal shopper for the past few weeks when --" "When they fired you for talking so much?" asks her pinched-faced co-worker. Snort. Sarah contradicts her, "No, actually I had some issues [oh, honey, you've got so many issues, you could be your own daily paper] with the whole department." Sarah goes on to say that Romy, the Duck-Billed Platypus from Mister Roger's Neighborhood of Make-Believe, has been depressed since her recent breakup with J.B., which is a long story (at this statement, her pinched-faced co-worker groans in agony), and that since Platypus is her best friend in New York (excuse me, "best friend"? Jeez, how does she treat her enemies?), they will be spending New Year's together. Sarah rambles along like a caffeinated hummingbird about how it's really important who youre with when the clock strikes twelve. Does she think it's cute to see how many words she can cram into one breath? Deciding to get back to her job, Sarah takes issue with the fact that a customer is returning a sweater that Sarah finds "incredibly gorgeous" and starts to scold her like a raw-boned, sunburned fishwife until her co-worker fixes her with a look of death. Oh, would that it had actually taken.
Offensively twee credits.
The Time The Millennium Approached
Sarah comes home -- sporting her new cashmere coat from last episode, accessorized by the latest stripey Gap scarf -- to find Platypus talking to the television. Sarah scolds her for not showing up at work, or getting canned goods, or "doing anything on your list." Platypus says she didn't see the point, and Sarah starts nagging her about how necessary it is to be prepared for (cue scary music: dum dum dum) THE MILLENNIUM, and that Platypus has been in this J.B.-breakup funk for five days. Platypus insists, "I'm not in a funk, and that funk is definitely not about J.B. Please." Sarah says, "Romy, I am not going to go through another last night. I am not going to wait for the Mary Tyler Moore reruns to be over at three o'clock in the morning to get back my futon. Hello?" Apparently, Platypus didn't give any sign that she was listening to Sarah's tirade. You know, I find that when someone says "Hello?" to me in that peremptory tone of voice, they usually see the business side of the back of my hand. Hard. Sarah tells Platypus that she is going to move some of her stuff into the bedroom. This sparks Platypus to action -- she throws a mini-cow and hysterically insists that it's her room and Sarah is not going to take it away from her. Okay, Girl, Interrupted wanna-be? Here's a newsflash: tryouts are over. Winona made it, Angelina made it, you suck.
Scraggle-Faced Maguire finds his apartment door ajar, and creeps around looking at the mess. Oh, we get it. Break-in.
Joss arrives at work to have her boss-man tell her she's been late too many times. He asks her if she knows "just how close to the edge" she is. He's in the middle of saying that if he didn't have this "damn party to set up --" Unfortunately, we are left in suspense as to what threat might be forthcoming, because Joss gets a phone call. She promises him with regard to the party, "Ooh, I'm there. Just one call. I'm working, I'm completely working."
Scraggle is down at the station, telling an officer how much stuff was stolen: "They may have gotten more than this, I'm not sure." The officer is asking him if he has a value for the guitar when Joss walks in. She asks if they got everything, and can she make a really quick statement, because it's a really bad time for her to be leaving work. Scraggle is not sympathetic and tells her they took everything: "My TV, my stereo, my guitar." Joss asks why he's mad at her. The officer asks if she was the last to leave the apartment. Joss says confusedly, "I guess so." Apparently, there was no sign of forced entry, which means that Joss left the door unlocked. Scraggle is really pissed and says that he assumes Joss will stay to answer questions "as long as it takes."
The Time The Millennium Approached
Back at the Platypus Mound, the Platypus herself is making herself a cup of tea while pretending not to look into J.B.'s apartment. J.B. gestures at her to open her window and asks her if she is okay, since he's noticed her spending a lot of time in her apartment lately. Platypus lies through her beak and says that she's fine. J.B. asks if she has any plans for New Year's Eve, to which Platypus hands him a nice smelly pile of b.s. and tells him that she met some "new guy" and that they made reservations at the Gramercy Tavern. Granted, I don't know the time frame of any of these episodes, but since we know Platypus and J.B. didn't break up until after Thanksgiving, I think it is pretty safe to say that she would not have been able to make New Year's Eve reservations anywhere in New York at such a late date. In response to Platypus's question about his plans, J.B. says, "Oh, we are going to this new club. It's supposed to be really, really cool." Platypus asks, "Oh, who's taking you?" Ouch, below the belt! Literally. J.B. stares at her and Platypus corrects herself, "I didn't mean that. I mean, who are you going with?" J.B. tells her it's no one she knows and shuts his window.
J.B.'s at work, hosing down someone's follicles, when he hears a desperate "Hello?" from behind a changing screen. J.B. walks over to the screen and asks if he can help the disembodied voice. The Disembodied Voice says, "Thank God, somebody. Okay, listen: I am in here, obviously, and I am changing into my dressing gown thing, and the room is feeling just a little bit smaller than I thought it would." J.B. says, "Oh, so you're claustrophobic?" and the D.V. says, "Well, yeah, okay, maybe a little. And my zipper's stuck and I'm just starting to lose it in here." J.B. offers to help her, but she stops him, saying that she is half-nekkid. The D.V. asks him to just stand out there and distract her. J.B. says, "If you just want to hear the sound of my voice, maybe I can just say words until you get out of there." ("Say words"? Does he mean "talk"?) J.B. starts saying words: "Um, comb...brush...towel...sink..." (Okay, so he literally meant "say words.") The door slides open and a brunette steps out. "Wow" is J.B.'s word. "Wow, yourself," says the Previously Claustrophobic Disembodied Voice Who Has Turned Into a Calm and Collected Throaty-Voiced Brunette Wearing Just a Dressing Gown. "Thank you so much, you have been a brick through all of this," says the Throaty-Voiced Brunette, who gives him a pert smile and walks away. Put your tongue back in your mouth, J.B.