The City Episode 3: Recapped by Chris Last night’s episode of The City was all about “The L Word” and while I’m sure all of your faithful 2b1b readers want to see Whitney get hot and steamy with Olivia (Whivia? Olitney?), unfortunately that “L word” is not lesbians. I’ll give you three guesses but you’ll probably only need one. Clearly we’re talking here about love; mainly whether Whitney and Jay do or ever will have that. Compared to Erin and her new Toronto boyfriend Duncan, our girl Whit is feeling less than stellar about her relationship with Jay. Since Erin and Duncan are canoodling and playing the guitar (oooo steamy!), they must be in love. Poor Whitney is all “OMG I’m so third wheel. Laterz.” Can you really blame her? Sure cuddling is innocent enough, but Whit’s been sleeping on Erin’s couch so I’m sure she hears other aspects of Erin’s relay. Hint: it’s not more guitar lessons.
So Whitney is on the hunt for an apartment. Or rather she roped Jay into hunting for her. That shit must be love, because New York apartment hunting is a bitch and I don’t want to have to do that for myself, let alone for someone I’m only sort of seeing. Regardless, at the DVF online catalog shoot, Whitney fills Olivia in on her apartment search plans, and Olivia offers the quintessential apartment search advice “Don’t settle on the first one you see.” But Whitney probs missed that comment when Jay called her to tell her he found an apartment for her. Whitney bounces early to see this amazing apt Jay found. And it is pretty amaymay: corner unit, floor to ceiling windows, hardwood floors, balcony, 30th floor. There are few things I wouldn’t do for an apartment like that. The leasing agent, who may be the L word after all, judging by that pants suit, tells Whitney there is competition for this apt. No shit, this is NYC, and apartments last about as long as Tyra Banks’ singing career. Lucky for Whit, MTV worked their magic for the apartment (and Whitney’s legs worked some magic on the leasing agent) and she finds out she got the apt the next day at work.
But back to “the L word.” Erin and Duncan had such a great time at Brass Monkey that they each dropped the L bomb. However, when Erin tells Whitney and Jay about it, we find that there are two camps of love here: Erin thinks you should say it when you feel it, even if you’ve been dating for all of 2 seconds and your bfry lives in Toronto, and Jay doesn’t want to throw that word around lightly. Whitney must be thinking “Dammit Jay! I’m hot! You like me! Now put a ring on it!” But she just smiles and nods, because she not contractually obligated to punch a wall until at least season two.
Our brief Nevia cameo (seriously guys, get real friends) of the episode is kind of sad, as the two have nothing better to talk about than some lame anecdote about Nevan’s life and Whitney’s apartment hunt and how pissed Olivia is that Whitney didn’t take her advice. However, Nevan did say that NY girls are cutthroat and evil and who would know better than Olivia. I do hope this is some intense foreshadowing, because the boredom of Heidi Waldorf and art boy cousin are taking years off my life.
We close on Whitney and Jay having the dreaded relationship talk. Whitney is all “I don’t want to call you my bfry…unless that’s what you want.” which is just clever speak for “Please let’s be boyfriend and girlfriend and skip through Central Park together!” But Jay counters with the long version of “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.” He does assures her however that he wants to get to know her better. Real reassuring, Justin Bobby Jay. So Jay diffuses the situation with a smile and a “We’re on the right page then?” All Whitney wants is to be in a relationship on Facebook with you, Jay. I guess she’ll have to settle for “It’s Complicated with Jay Lyon.”
Take me out, Beyonce.
Bromance Episode 2: Bro-Athon First and foremost I want to state for the record that the way Brody Jenner says his "l's" makes me uncomfortable. There's sort of this dainty Latino touch. Everytime he says "L.A." I have a flashback of watching Selena in my seventh grade Spanish class.
I digress. The second episode of Bromance begins with a call from Brody telling the boys to put on a pair of tennis shoes and get ready to have some fun. It's time for a Bro-Athon! The overall objective of the Bro-Athon is for Brody to see how competitive these boys are, but also to see if they can have fun with whatever he throws at them. I get that. Sometimes I drop my friends off in a bad neighborhood blindfolded and wait for them to make it home, just to keep them sharp. And if they don't return with a smile and a good story...consequences.
Event 1 of the Bro-Athon is the Lazy Boy Slalom. This consists of strapping oneself into a Lazy Boy recliner and rolling down a steep hill while trying to grab a remote control, a drink and a pizza box placed in the middle of the road. Most of the Bros fall over and hurt themselves. I guess it's funny. Femi compares his performance to that of a tiger. That morning he had already compared himself to Sammy Davis Jr. and a lion. 50 bucks says next he compares himself to Frank Sinatra and a unicorn.
After Luke is crowned the Lazy Boy Slalom winner, Brody asks Gary (aka Pip from Lord of the Rings) what kind of dance he teaches. Upon hearing that he teaches hip-hop, Brody proposes a dance-off between Pip and Femi. Femi stars talking some whack shit about Pip and the Asian kid comes to Pip's defense and talks some shit back. Brody has a private temper tantrum because he's not into this "fighting crap." Then he gets all zen on us and says, "the real loser, is the one with the bad attitude." Wax on, wax off.
Round 2 is a little something called Bro Your Boat. Brody watches the Bros work in groups of two to create a raft out of blow-up dolls tied together by lingerie to see how well they can work together. Again, that's completely normal. One time I made my friends construct a mini-golf putter out of vibrators held together with scrunchies to watch their beautiful friendship synergy in action. And to improve my mini-golf game.
Luke and Jered win.
The Bro-Athon concludes with the Bro-MX. The Bros have to ride bikes built for small girls over BMX hills and do a five barrel jump. The Bro who jumps the most barrels wins. This is all obviously because Brody is looking for a friend with balls. A friend who is willing to do something even if it's kind of dangerous. This is my favorite segment thanks to Chris F. the nerdy Asian kid. Chris F. wipes out in a big way and only makes it one foot and three inches across the barrel jump. "You wanna know what else is one foot, three inches?" the Asian asks the camera, "MAH DICK!" If I were Brody Jenner, I would have stopped the competition right then and there and rode off into the sunset with that bottle-cap-glasses-wearing-Asian. Oh and Alex wins.
Later that night, Brody has the Bros over for some one-on-one time, Bachelor style. I'm not kidding. There's a fire pit, candles, drinks, soft music in the background and lots of heart wipes to transition from scene to scene. Apparently fire pit + candles + Brody Jenner = CRY FEST '09!
Femi and Brody's one-on-one was the absolute most confusing thing I have ever seen. Brody asks Femi "what he's been through in life" and all of a sudden there are tears rolling down Femi's face as he begins to explain some traumatic life experience. But Femi's voice sounds like he's talking about buying toilet paper, not like he's talking about something single-tear-down-cheek-worthy. Femi goes on to tell some asinine story about how he once got suspended from school. The tears continue to stream down his cheeks and neither Brody nor Femi react to these tears. I'm so confused. 1.) Femi's not even blinking let alone talking like he's choked up, is he aware that he's crying? 2.) I can't believe his Boyz in da Hood story is about getting suspended from school and having to go to a hearing. That's not cry worthy. Maybe he wasn't crying? Were his eyes sweating? WTF?
Later, Pip admits to Femi that he told Brody that Femi isn't being true to himself. Femi flips out (specifically screaming "You contradicted yourself. YOU ARE FEMALE! THAT IS A FEMALE TRAIT!...L0Lz) and Pip feels so badly that he has himself a good cry alone on the balcony.
Chris P. cries because he 100% fucked up his one-on-one time with Brody when he brings up Brody's bad relationship with his father, admits he's here to meet LC, tries to recover and ends up calling LC a ho and then accidentally spills his drink all over Brody. Standing ovation, sir.
Jared cries because he moved to Orlando and his family hasn't visited him yet.
I cry because I can't believe there's still 20 minutes left in this show.
Some drama, yelling, getting drunk, hangovers, puking, squashing of beef all occur. Blah, blah, blah, I want to hear the Asian kid talk about his dick again.
This episode's elimination takes place on a party boat. DAMNIT! I was really feeding off of the awkward energy from last week's hot tub! In the end Chris P. gets kicked off because he can't open up to Brody. He has to sail a little dingy back to Kentucky. This episode was weak and Brody Jenner and I are in a fight because I can't believe I stayed up this late to watch that horseshit. Thank God for the Asian kid...that was this episode's only saving grace.
Bromance, Brody Jenner's find-a-friend reality competition, is like MTV's Christmas present to me. And thank you MTV! I love it! I'll wear it all year and think of you.
I don't want to get too graphic with you, but when I first heard that Bromance was in production, I came in my pants. Twice. First and foremost, I'm a sucker for a good pun and I chuckled over "Bromance" for at least three days. Bro-dy! Bro-culture! Romance! Bromance! ACES. Second, as we all know, I have a bizarre fascination with Bros. What with their backwards caps, boyish good looks, Jack Johnson CDs and energy drinks. But now I don't have to go out to observe their mystifying ways! MTV and Brody Jenner bring 'em right into my living room every Monday night! I owe you one MTV. In fact I'd like to repay you by pitching you another reality competition. I call it Bromancing the Stone. In it, I spend three weeks with 20 bros in a mansion and eliminate a few each week until I find that one special Bro who can melt my snarky ice-cold heart. In the end I learn to stop being such a stuck-up bitch and the Bros learn that there's more to life than banging chicks and Dane Cook DVDs. Yes? No? Get back to me.
Bromance: Episode 1 The show opens with Brody explaining what exactly a "bromance" is (a bond between you and your go-to guys). Currently Brody's go-to guys include Frankie of The Hills fame and a character named "Sleazy T." This is why bros fascinate me. Do you know how much ass Sleazy T probably gets, even though his name is based on a giant unattractive vice? A lot. That's how much. If I changed my name to Doesn't Give a Shit M, something tells me I probably wouldn't have any friends, nevertheless get copious amounts of ass. Sigh...damn glass ceiling.
On the first day of the competition, Frankie and Sleazy T send two security guys to wake up the Bros at their hotel at 4:30 in the morning. We're introduced to each Bro as they're "abducted" by the security guards, seen in cheap night vision on loan from Kim Kardashian's sex tape. I thoroughly enjoyed this scene because it's nothing but Bros in their boxers looking confused and tired. Just like I like 'em.
Right off the bat I'm intrigued by Michael because it's clear he spends more time on his eyebrows than I do mine. Except he doesn't have a defined arch; they just go up and then end abruptly so he looks like a perpetually concerned anime character.
The guys are taken to the Bro mansion. There's something slightly homoerotic about the scene where the Bros are half-naked on their knees with bags over their heads, holding hands waiting to meet Brody Jenner. Bro Chris P. gets some airtime and I decide that I totally want to do it with him and have his little yellow polo shirted babies. He then says "Brody Jenner is pretty much the Austin Powers of the 21st century" and suddenly I have plans to wash my hair.
Michael compares being in the Bro mansion to being in the Ahn-ee-mal house. Not animal. Ahn-ee-mal. That plus the eyebrows add up to Token Gay Guy. At this point I've also developed a crush on Gary who describes himself as "the guy who doesn't fit in, but finds a way to fit in" and looks like Pip from Lord of the Rings.
The Bro's first challenge is to find two hot chicks to take to a lingerie party that night at a club called "Hush." (As in hush, It'll only take a second.) The Bro with the hottest chicks wins. Femi boasts this will be a cakewalk because this is just an average day for him back home. Hm. Later when touring the house, Femi claims a top bunk so that when the Bros sleep, "they'll still look up to him." Something tells me Femi has a lot of experience being a top.
The Bros walk around the street like jackasses begging girls to come to their party. Back at the house they vent about how stressful this is in the can-fessional. A confessional booth in the bathroom. It's a real dump! L0LZ!
The Bros arrive at Hush and start to freak out because not a lot of girls have shown up. Gary is the first guy to have both of his ladies show. Score one for Pip! Michael gets in next because he's attracted two hot chicks with his gaydom. However he fucks it up when he gives Brody a birthday card in the club and Brody does the "Oh...hah...how sweet..." thing you do when you get an ugly sweater from your grandmother. It turns out the card says "It's time to get bromantic. From your new BFF Mike. Frankie Delgado move over!" Later Frankie drunkenly confronts Michael about how rude his card was, specifically because he didn't add a "haha" or "LOL" after the move over Frankie quip.
Luke (who has the world's most grating Boston accent) is psyched when his two ladies show up and as they're walking to the club says, "I'm psyched the girls are here now. And they're hot! I'm totally winning this." Then there's a beat and one of the girls in a pissed off tone inquires, "Winning what?" Please give this show an Emmy. Right now. For that scene alone.
Chris P. and Femi's chicks don't show up. Inside the club, the Bros are forced to give awkward, drunken toasts to Brody (aka Broasts). Jacob's is sloppy. Gary (who it turns out is a dance instructor? LOLZ! I love him even more now!) says that you can't have friendship without love. Frankie whispers something in Brody's ear, which I assume to be "fag!" but Brody in the most sincere way corrects him and says, "No, he's right, he's right. He's right! I like that toast! He's right!" Second Emmy-deserving moment.
Luke wins and Chris P. and Femi have to clean the club.
The next morning Michael decides to leave because Lauren Conrad isn't there and there are gross stains in the sink.
That night the Bros go to "Brody's" sick penthouse apartment and find out that whoever wins the competition also wins "his" apartment, fully furnished by West Elm. Michael must be kicking himself in his madras shorts.
The elimination ceremony takes place in a steamy hot tub and there are far too many shots of Brody lowering himself into it in slow-mo. This scene is seriously one handlebar moustache away from being straight out of a 70's porn and I'm not even mad. The Bros, however, are uncomfortable because their "knees are touching."
In the end Jacob is eliminated because he drops f-bombs, can't write a broast and wears a Panama Jack hat. Good call Mr. Jenner.
[FYI: 2birds1blog is on Twitter now! Our (and when I say "our*," I mean Meg. Becca's too cool for Facebook, so something told me Twitter was out of the question.) username is 2birds1blog. If you liked this week's random thoughts post, make sure to follow us* on twitter!]
Oh my beloved readers. This has been a rough week for yours truly. I won’t get into the specifics; suffice to say that it has to do with my usual lack of a job/apartment/money/dude, except this week I also had the bank calling because I over withdrew my bank account by a number that has a shocking amount of zeros in it. My reaction to the number was “zoinks!” Now the banker probably thinks I destroyed my checking account eating sandwiches and riding around in a van solving mysteries all day. Ruh-roh...
However, when I feel depressed and pessimistic about life, there’s only one thing that can talk me down from the ledge: reading the profiles of Bros (Brophiles?) on match.com. Don't read the profiles of guys who look hot or actually seem interesting, just click the ones who seem like total Bros. If you ever need a pick-me-up, I can’t recommend doing this enough. The writing of a Bro trying to sound fuckable while still being soulful and introspective is comedic gold.
Here are some of my favorites:
- "things i’d like to do more often if law school wasn’t, well, law school: hot yoga, road races (not sure if I’ve got a marathon in me, but only because running for 3-4 hours seems like it’d get pretty old), take more pictures, hike, travel to off-the-map places, write poems." This is literally the description of my anti-match. I would rather date a flagpole for the rest of my life than a guy in law school who writes poetry and loves hot yoga.
- "It sounds funny but I like to cook and eat good food for fun,." No. Liking to cook and eating good food for fun doesn’t sound funny. It actually sounds normal. That’s like saying, “I’m such a bizarre weirdo freak—I like to sleep when I’m tired and drink when I’m thirsty! LOLZ!!! I know, I'm such a catch!!”
- "I have fits of creativity. Sometimes I'll be sculpting or painting. If I'm really inspired I'll do some sort of print making project. However apparent'y from what I've heard, as a guy, I'm not supposed to do these things?" I love this because there’s so much effort to seem effortlessly unaware of an attractive trait. All of that effort cancels each other out and creates a black hole somewhere in the universe. This is like if I said, “I have to suck dick when I first wake up and again before I go to bed or else I get migraines. Which according to guys is “awesome”? I never knew, I just hate getting migraines. Guys are so weird..."
- "I live in a condo in the District at around 14th and K, NW. My style is pretty modern, international and funky. Think Italian furniture with lots of brushed metal and glass. I like to be unique in certain ways I guess." This shit is LOLZ. I have to remember to get high and read that sentence again.
- "I have an artist's heart. I love reading and riding my bike out in the rain." I like picturing this guy reading Catcher in the Rye as he rides his Huffy in the rain, sobbing, with REM’s “Everybody Hurts” playing in the background.
- "I love sushi, but I also love hot dogs." This is the funniest fucking sentence on the face of the planet. I would seriously go on a date with this guy, simply for saying, “I love sushi, but I also love hot dogs.” It’s so Ralph Wiggum-esque I can barely stand it. I want to get it tattooed on my forearm so I can look down and laugh at it throughout my day.
- "I’d spend every day at the beach if I could, but for now, I’ve settled on trips to the tanning salon ;-)"
- "Cooking is my passion. I love seeing the transformation of raw ingredients into a polished final product. It’s magical."
- "I tend to spend way too much money on designer jeans and I have a fetish for white shoes."
- "I like buttons because they have such immense power in spite of their smallness." That’s what she said?
- "Dangit 1316 more characters to go... More about me, I'm a Yeoman in the Navy."
- "I’m looking for a cool “friendship”, what I mean is someone to hang out with. Where you can just be yourself, No pressure, No expectations." “I’m looking for a fuck-buddy” takes way less characters and gets the point across so much faster, don't you think?
I have to confess—I am completely disenchanted with The Bro. Thanks to the popularity of Bro Culture, Bros are no longer a novelty; they’re trendy, and nothing kills something faster than becoming a trend. Just ask Ashton Kutcher’s trucker hat. Bros are no longer delightfully clueless creatures for us to study in their natural habitats (bars, lounges, kickball games, etc.) Rather, you can go to your local Barnes and Nobles and buy a book to tell you everything about them, or pick up any trendy lifestyle magazine to read some smug, wry, hipster dissect them and their culture (that’s my job damnit! Not theirs!) Therefore, I’m officially retiring my fascination with Bros. Good luck partying like it’s 2003 Bros, may you keep the dream alive.
As with any death, I buried my emotions deep down and decided to hit the bars this weekend to distract myself, surrounded by the company of friends, my main man Sam Adams and a little bump and grind to T.I. on the dance floor. It was hard to distract myself from my ex-social-obsession with delightfully creepy Bros inviting us into their party busses blasting “Journey” headed towards the waterfront for the “sickest bachelor party ever!” My heart said, “Say yes! There’s a strobe light and I think I see a “Best of Eminem” mix CD! This can’t end badly!” My head however, said no. I had to be strong.
Three of my girlfriends and I were sharing a cheer-up beer at Caddy’s in Bethesda Friday night after seeing the disturbing depress-a-thon Changeling, starring Angelina Jolie (I think I went into the theatre thinking it was a touching family comedy…Turns out it’s more of an axe murderer filled...insane asylum centered...not comedy.)
I was sitting at our table outside the bar wondering how I was going to tell my friends that I was too scared to drive home on the back roads alone, when I suddenly caught a glimpse of the guy sitting at the table next to ours who looked suspiciously like Speedy Gonzalez. His eyes were scanning the crowd as he slowly stroked the nine hairs he calls a moustache, deep in concentration. At first I thought he was alone, but I soon realized there was another guy sitting across from him, also creepily surveying the bar. I thought maybe they were strangers who decided to share a table out of convenience, but I noticed whenever a hot girl walked by them, they leaned in and shared a succinct head nod and pervy smile before going back to scanning the crowd in stony silence. It became apparent that although they were probably good friends, they were at the bar to strictly find girls to pick up, sitting in stony silence until that moment arrives. "Who is this creature?" thought I. They weren’t well dressed enough to be White Caps, but not fun-spirited enough to be Bros. It dawned on me that I’ve seen these men before, and odds are, you have too. They were Nighthawks.
The Structure, Mating Habits and Social Rituals of The Nighthawk
Figure One: The Nighthawk
Introduction: The Nighthawk (alternatively called “That Creepy Guy,” “Why is This Creepy Guy Talking to me?” “Who was that Creepy Guy You Were Talking to? And “Ugh, There’s That Creepy Guy I was Talking to Again,”) is a man who comes to the bar or club with one thing on his mind and one thing only: to get the drunkest chick in the bar to fuck him. Whether it’s in the bathroom, in an alley or actually on the dance floor, they are there to get some, and that’s it. I realize that most guys go out with the shared goal of getting laid, but Nighthawks take this classic principle to an extreme and socially awkward level. They’re purists; they waste no time taking part in normal social rituals like talking to friends, having a good time, chatting up a girl, mingling, laughing or generally acting like a normal member of society. These are all things that could potentially distract and take time away from spotting their prey. Instead, they prefer to stand in the shadows of the bar, gently nodding their heads to the beat, ominously sipping a beer, while making intense eye contact with girls to see which one is drunk enough to smile back. It’s such a simple existence. They’re like the Tibetan monks of the bar scene. Once they find a girl to approach, they simple wander over and attempt a conversation starter (“I’ve been watching you all night, you really know how to dance,” “You have beautiful eyes,” “So where do you work?”) If the Nighthawk has done his work right, she’ll quickly give him a once over and decide it’s getting late and she needs ass enough to go home with him.
Clothing: Doesn’t matter. Drunk chicks don’t care what you’re wearing; they care how fast the room is spinning and whether or not you’re interested. Oh you are? Here’s my virginity.
Community Structure: What perplexes me most about Nighthawks is that they’re solitary creatures (save for the double-team my friends and I got.) There’s no point in having a community because community means distraction and competition. Remember, it’s not about having fun; it’s about hunting your prey and going in for the kill. While Bros are LOLZing about the newest South Park episode and White Caps are comparing golf scores, Nighthawks are counting how many Long Island Ice-Ts that blonde chick has had and are waiting for her to lose her balance. Competition is out of the question. Let’s say that drunken blonde chick loses her footing after the fifth Long Island Ice-T; a Nighthawk doesn’t have the social skills to win her affection when she tumbles into his buddy's arms. It’s say goodbye to Sally McSlurs and start all over again.
Where to Find a Nighthawk in DC: Anywhere and everywhere. You might have no clue what I’m talking about right now, but the next time you’re at a bar, you’ll see him, alone, surrounded by groups of friends. He’ll be staring too hard at some girl. If he loses interest in her, his head will quickly dart around 180-degree’s like an owl’s to search for another. If you make eye contact, run away. If he starts a conversation, ask him if he’s found Jesus yet.
Mating Ritual: It’s usually awkward, off-putting and socially retarded. Let me share with you what happened with the Nighthawks from Friday: The Hawks decided they were going to focus their attention on our table. When simply starring too hard didn’t yield results, one of the Nighthawks literally pounded his fist on the table to make a pint glass on the edge of the table fall and shatter, in an effort to attract attention. Mind you, I’m the only one at my table facing them. One of the Nighthawks looked at me, smiled and knocked another glass off of his table. Then he made a mischievous “shhh!” motion with his finger to his lips before knocking another glass over. When my friend across the table looked down, slightly disgusted, to make sure her purse wasn’t wet, the Nighthawk looked back to me and giggled like “Don’t tell her what I’m doing! LOLZ! We’re all this together! LOLZ!” Finally, when it was clear we weren’t drunk enough to think knocking shit off a table is manly and sexy; they literally started pounding on their table like monkeys until we turned around to look at them. Apparently this is an invitation to join us in the mind of the Nighthawk, as they got up, dragged over their chairs and joined our circle. Sadly for them, Anna and Sarah bolted to the bar, I told one of them I was married and pregnant before returning to my beer and Jill was left to awkwardly squirm and look to me for help. Unfortunately I was distracted thinking about my wonderful fake husband and unborn baby at the time, sorry Jill.
How to Capture a Nighthawk: Get drunk and look desperate.
Final Summation: I’ve recently decided to declare war on the mass display of actions that are socially unacceptable, a war I call “The War on Social Terrorism” (read: I declare war on social retards but don’t want the blog to get sued again making so-called negative comments about the handi-capable). Nighthawks are at the top of my list of Evil Do-ers and I ask you for your support during this difficult time. Thank you, and God Bless the Blog.
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