Are you ready? To revisit or visit what was maybe the most pitch-perfect (and I’m not talking about Marnie taking on Kanye, although Allison Williams does have a beautiful voice) episode of Girls yet? Not to break down the fourth wall of blogging or anything but this episode was so moving and so full, frame after frame, of perfection, that I watched it twice before I could even really make notes on it. So now I’m staying up ridiculously late to write this and will probably feel like shit in the morning because of springing forward due to Daylight Saving Time (which is just another reason to hate Spring) but it’s all worth it. Because this episode was amazing. And I’ll probably be thinking about it all week leading up to the finale. Which is next week? Ah! I miss it already.
The episode opens in an apartment that looks very much like what I imagine Shoshanna’s will look like in a few years. By which I mean that while it lacks a framed “Keep Calm and Carry On” poster, there are a lot of pictures of pink flowers. Which are framed, because that’s just who Natalia is. And the only thing worse than real, fresh flowers are pictures of flowers. I like to decorate with bare branches. And bones. But that’s just me, and it’s definitely not Shoshanna or Natalia, the daughter of Carol Kane and girl that Adam is officially dating. What’s Natalia even like anyway? Well, for starters, she has so many pillows on her bed. So, that’s what she’s like. Also, she’s pretty direct, which is kind of great. And definitely different than Hannah usually was.
Natalia sits on her bed and tells Adam, “I’m ready to have sex now. I’ve just been thinking about it and you’ve been really nice all week.” See? Direct.
Adam jumps on the bed, and throws all the pillows off. I will say though, that it bothered me that both of them had their shoes on the bed. I mean, no one with that many pillows on her bed would let her own shoes—and certainly not Adam’s—get on those covers.
But so anyway, Natalia continues to be direct by telling Adam, “I’m on the Pill. But will you come outside of me just in case? And I don’t like to be on top that much. Or soft touching cause it tickles me and takes me out of the moment. But everything else is ok. I just want to take things kind of slow.” Super direct.
Adam likes this and tells her, “I like how clear you are with me.”
“What other way is there?” Natalia asks. At which point I laugh and laugh. And laugh.
And so here’s Hannah. Hannah is in an elevator. Hannah has a wedgie. Maybe this is because Hannah always wears huge granny-style, bloomer-y underwear? Like every day is a day she has her period? I don’t know. Whatever the case may be, Hannah has a wedgie. Hannah picks at her wedgie 8 times. So she is still not doing so well. And things are about to get worse.
Hannah enters the office of her e-book publisher, John Cameron Mitchell, who is reading an issue of the Post with the front page headline, “Kardashian Splashian.” John Cameron Mitchell is not happy with the writing that Hannah has turned in to him so far. He tells her, “These pages, hon. I have to admit I didn’t finish them. But not because I didn’t have time. It’s because I didn’t want to.”
Hannah looks stunned.
John Cameron Mitchell continues, “I don’t mean that as a criticism. It’s just that I didn’t feel like I knew who wrote them.”
Hannah pipes up, “I wrote them.”
But John Cameron Mitchell is not done yet. Oh, no. He continues, “Did your hymen grow back? Where’s the sexual failure? How about you face liquid semen and sadness? What we get here is a lot of friendship. It’s very Jane Austen. But what we’d been talking about was Anaïs Nin. You know, your life on your back. Oh, that’s a good title, ‘My Life On My Back.'”
What I took away from that whole speech is that I want John Cameron Mitchell to say Anaïs Nin over and over to me again in a continuous loop for my birthday. Someone please get on that. Thanks.
Apparently, though, Hannah did write about 200 more pages which she offers to send over (“Oooh, I can’t wait to not read those”) and also assures John Cameron Mitchell that her life is more Anaïs Nin than Jane Austen. After all, she had sex with a teenager this month. One who wore a turtleneck, thus making himself look like a penis wearing a wig with a center-part.
John Cameron Mitchell advises her to write about that, then. Or, you know, “If you’re not getting fucked right now, make it up.” That’s sound advice, for sure. Poor Hannah looks completely deflated.