Girls Episode 3: Comfort Zones and Consolation Prizes

Girls Episode 3: Comfort Zones & Consolation Prizes

Reprinted with permission from www.survivingcollege.com

Last we left our earnest ingénues, Adam was off to the pokey and Hannah was spewing half-hearted apologies in his general direction. But this week we get a whole new Hannah wearing her least frumpy outfit for an interview at “Jazzhate,” a website about…the inappropriate uses of jazz hands? Whatever the case, it’s a writing gig and she’s hired. The editor suggests a couple of research assignments, like setting up a threesome on Craigslist, or doing a bunch of cocaine. You know, the basics.

Stoop sale! Jessa is selling her clothes because she is married to a man who will buy her a much better wardrobe, and Marnie and Shoshanna are there because friends never let friends stoop sale solo. Hannah asks if anyone knows where to “score some cocaine.” Marnie points Hannah to her downstairs neighbor, Laird. So Hannah pays Laird a visit and it’s kind of awkward in the way that neighbors in New York City are not supposed to speak to each other about anything other than a) the building; b) the weather; and c) how slow the elevators are, which is sort of a subset of a) but is important enough to merit its own topic. It turns out Laird has been clean for a while, but he agrees to help Hannah in her journalistic quest and brings her to a real live drug dealer.

We get a look at Marnie’s Pretty Person Job and it’s not exactly glamorous, unless getting your ass grabbed by a bunch of drunken finance executives is your idea of a good time. And guess who’s at the restaurant? Booth Jonathan, the soulless sell-out artist from the first season. He drags Marni off to have sex and she follows because, I don’t know, she hasn’t been feeling like a very Pretty Person lately? Booth shows her the equivalent of his etchings and Marnie is impressed enough to follow him deeper into his workspace…where he locks her inside of a small, well, a small booth, filled with televisions playing the type of random crap that artists tend play on screens, like wolves and babies and squiggly worms. And then they have sex in a position that I will call the Stack Of Starfish, which she did not enjoy because Booth is a chatterbox in bed.

Over at The Best Writing Assignment Ever, Elijah picks out a cocaine outfit for Hannah and recommends a night of dancing. They get the party started early, dip into their stash of coke, and the incessant jibber jabbering begins. Elijah convinces Hannah to write all of it down on the walls, so she scrawls “raise showdogs” above her bed. Things only get worse at the club where Hannah gets into the kind of deep conversation one often has with a random guy on the dance floor: “You’re a really good dancer!” “So are you!” “Thanks I know!” Aaaand…Hannah’s shirt comes off. Drink!

Hannah and Elijah do more lines off of a toilet seat in the bathroom which is absolutely revolting. See people? See what drugs make you do? Then they and dance their increasingly sweaty asses off and Elijah tells Hannah that he slept with Marnie. Whoops? That was supposed to stay in the vault.

Hannah freaks out because “I was meant to be your last” and, somewhere in the vitamin supplement aisle of a drugstore, pulls Elijah in for a kiss, to which he responds, “When did you eat jerky?” You know who else is at the drugstore? Hannah’s drug dealer, Laird. He confesses that he has been following Hannah, to protect her, like a fairy drugmother. And, like any good fairy drugmother, he gives Hannah the heroin that he bought when he took her to buy the cocaine.

Elijah grabs the drugs from Laird and follows Hannah on her new quest, which is finding Marnie. They track her down at Booth’s apartment and Hannah let’s Marnie have it—I know you slept with Elijah, you’re the bad friend, I’m the good friend…the whole nine yards. The girl’s got a point. But what she doesn’t have is a roommate, because she kicks Elijah out of the apartment and storms off to make out with Laird since it is never, ever awkward to sleep with your downstairs neighbor.

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