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L’eggo My Eggo (I’m Preggo!) – A Recap of Gossip Girl’s “Beauty and the Feast”

BLAIR: “Pull my finger.”

DOROTA: “Just because you are ‘with child,’ doesn’t mean you have to act like one, Miss Blair.”

BLAIR: *pouts*

Greetings, Upper East Siders!  I don’t know about you, but I learned A LOT from this week’s episode of Gossip Girl . . . Let’s see, I learned about a  “disease” called “conversion disorder,” which apparently makes you jump from rooftops, crash motorcycles, and pay guys to beat you up.

In other words, it turns you into Bella Swan, circa New Moon 

I learned that there are actually people who are more than willing to beat you up for cash (it’s a recession economy, after all).  And I learned the difference between bulimic puking and pregnancy puking.  And you just never know when these things are going to come in handy!

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Thanks Gossip Girl!

Let’s get on with the recap, shall we?

Friends don’t let friends . . . have tender boobs.

“Is this going to involve us getting into stirrups?  Because my Brazilian Wax isn’t until next week. . .” 

Your first gynecological pregnancy check-up . . . it’s a Right of Passage . . . or at least, that’s what I’m told.  As such, many women prefer not to experience it alone.  Some drag their husbands along, others their friends, still others, their mothers.  Dorota brings her boss, which is probably why she felt obligated to wear her uniform to the checkup, complete with that weird doily thing she always wears on her head.

“Is that my sanitary napkin on your head?” 

(Seriously, what IS that?  And what sort of function does it have in the complex world of housekeeping?  I mean, it’s not large enough to be a hairnet, and not circular enough to be a scrunchie.  So, what does it DO for Dorota, aside from make her look ridiculous cute.  Inquiring minds want to know . . .)

“Have you reviewed this doctor’s credentials, Dorota?  Because I’m pretty sure I saw him recently on an episode of Law and Order, SVU.” 

When the doctor arrives, Blair peppers the poor schlub with TONS of icky personal questions about “Dorota’s” pregnancy symptoms, including, but not limited to, her breast tenderness (gag), her morning sickness (double gag), her sensitivity to smells (ick), and her fatigue . . . (Well, OK, I can live with that).  Of course, it’s not until Blair inquires about how long “Dorota” must wait to be able to determine the father of her baby, that both the housekeeper and the doctor, become suspicious.

“Actually, I am not suspicious.  This is just my usual facial expression.” 

The doctor got so suspicious in fact, that he LEFT, instructing Dorota to come back another time, ALONE.  (Really, Doctor?  You got scared off by someone asking you a couple of sensitive questions?  Talk about a lack of bedside manner!   Perhaps, you received your medical degree online?)

Since the happily married Dorota is damn near certain about the paternity of her baby (Then again, you never know with those saucy Russian Maids Perpetually Dressed in French Maid Halloween Costumes), she puts two and two together, and figures out that her little Blair-ipoo is, in fact, with child.

Yeah . . . I just really love this GIF. 

Dorota is THRILLED by the prospect of being able to share the “wonders of pregnancy” with her boss / friend / surrogate daughter.  “We are like sisters now,” she exclaims, downgrading that to cousins, upon noticing Blair’s horrified response.

“Right . . . sisters . . . like I would really be related to someone who willingly wears toilet paper on her head.” 

Unfortunately, Blair is not exactly ready to share Dorota’s excitement about her upcoming Baby Bass bundle of joy.  For one thing, she’s neither married, nor out of college yet . . . for another . . . duh .  . . she DOESN”T KNOW WHO THE DADDY IS!  CHUCK!  CHUCK!  IT HAS TO BE CHUCK’S!

“No one must know,” Blair warns Dorota, as she makes the first of her trademark I’m Going to Hurl Faces, of which we get different variations throughout the episode.

You can practically FEEL the chunks rising.  Now THAT’s good acting! 

You know what else I loved about this scene?  The fact that the song “Pumped Up Kicks” was playing during it . . . a song that sounds all sweet and innocent, but when you listen to the lyrics is actually about a psycho kid on a killing spree.  How VERY appropriate for this “sweet” gyneological moment between a girl and her maid . . .

Elsewhere, on the Upper East Side . . .

Slutty Cougars are Better than Viagra (AND they can get you a job!)

“And if you are a really good lay, Ill take your for a Happy Meal at McDonald’s, when we’re finished.”

Ahhh  . . . Nate.  For a guy who’s had more Random Guest Star Girlfriends than any male character on the entire CW network, he SURE does fall hard and fast for the floozies, doesn’t he?  All it takes is a couple of LA sex romps with the mysterious “Diana,” and suddenly Nate can’t get it up for ANY OTHER ANONYMOUS FLOOZIES!  (Oh the horror!)

You know what they say, once you go OLD, you never go back . . . (OLD-ER!  I meant old-er, I swear!) 

This becomes immediately apparent when ONE of these random floozies dashes out of Nate’s bed, complaining about “guys on anti-depressants.”  And you know what “anti-depressants” tend to do to Mr. Happy, don’t you, boys and girls?

That’s right!

I have to say, I think Chuck had a point when he said that Nate’s apparent Mommy Issues, tend to manifest themselves in him becoming obsessed with sexual partners who are old enough to be his mother.  (Well, when you put it THAT way, it just sounds gross..)  I’m not necessarily sure this explains his tendency to date scheming stalkerish psychopaths, however.

Any thoughts?

Nate spends a good portion of this episode (as in about four-and-a-half minutes of his total eight minutes of screentime) trying to find out any information he can about his mysterious Mrs. Robinson-type.  But then, (SURPRISE!) she finds him.  No . . . really . . . I mean she stalks him all the way from LA to right in front of his mother’s doorstep, in the Upper East Side.

NATE: “Where have you been all my life?”

DIANA: “Well, around the time you were born, I was probably getting felt up behind the bar at a frat party.  After that, it’s all pretty much one big blur.”

Apparently, “Diana” has some business agenda.  She manages The Spectator,  an LA-based tabloid newspaper that she wishes to bring to the East Coast, and, for reasons I couldn’t quite comprehend, needs Nate’s mother’s approval, in order to do it.  Maybe I would have gotten more out of this particular storyline, if I wasn’t so distracted by Nate and “Diana” randomly HAVING SEX UP AGAINST THE ARCHIBALD’S OUTDOOR SECURITY GATE!!!! Way to stay classy, Professional Businesswoman Person!

This is one of those times when I kind of wish Gossip Girl was on HBO.  Because I bet Chace Crawford’s ASS (among other things) is OUTSTANDING! 

Nevertheless, Nate somehow manages to secure “Diana” his mother’s backing, by telling her what a great lay she is, perhaps.  And “Diana” returns the favor, by offering Nate an internship at her crappy tabloid professional newspaper, as opposed to the plum, GUARANTEED CAREER- MAKING internships with Goldman Sachs, etc., that were originally offered to Nate.

“I major in Cougar Studies, with a minor in Pot Brownie Baking.” 

It must be nice to think with your weiner all the time be so friggin wealthy that little things like one’s future career path mean nothing in comparison to sexual opportunities with women almost over child-bearing age.  (Because, hey, at least pregnancy isn’t as substantial a possibility? Right?  Chuck Bass, take note! ;))

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Meanwhile, on the opposite coast . . . .

“Call Me Serena, “Ivy/Charlie = The WORST Waitress, Girlfriend, Cousin, and Roommate EVER  (But at least she’s consistent!)

“I also dress like that chick from the show Blossom.”

So, here’s the thing.  I’m a little worried about Serena.  (What else is new, right?)  But wait . . .  it’s not necessarily for the reason you would expect.  On one hand, I LIKE New, Perky, Optimistic, Non-Boy Obsessed, Job-Oriented Serena.

“Holding important looking folders is a tough job, but somebody has to do it.” 

In fact, I probably like her more than I’ve liked ANY incarnation of Serena since Season 1.  It’s just that . . . I think she might suffer from a brain disorder . . .  specifically, whatever Drew Barrymore had in 50 First Dates .  .  .

Serena HAS to be suffering from some kind of selective amnesia!  How else could she exist on this show for FIVE SEASONS, and not have learned by now that you can NEVER, EVER trust the pretty Guest Star!  Heck, this isn’t even a NEW Guest Star!  “Call Me Serena” Ivy Charlie was a big ole wackadoo the FIRST TIME SHE WAS ON THE SHOW!

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 I mean, sure, chalk it up to the “lack of anti-psychotic medication.”  Tell me that she was “just playing a part for some cash.”  I DON’T CARE!  B*TCH IS OBVIOUSLY CRAZY!  She also wears weird pants.  (And not in a cute, charming or adorable way, either.  More like in a Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Octo-Mom kind of way.)  RUN SERENA!  RUN FAR AND FAST!

But I’m getting ahead of myself here.  Let’s start at Ivy continuing to pretend to be Serena’s cousin, while the pair, frolic around LA.  Nevermind the fact that Ivy’s adorable live-in, wanna-be chef boyfriend just followed her to LA, so she could pursue her “acting dreams,” and has no idea what a scheming little wench he is dating .  . . Nevermind the fact that Ivy left her new JOB as a waitress to play the part of the Trust Fund baby, and will now have no way of paying rent.  Just .  . . well . . . nevermind.

“You and your creepy cotton candy pants, don’t deserve me and my adorableness.” 

Things are going great for “Call Me Serena” Ivy / Charlie until Serena drops the REAL bomb on her.   She’s staying in LA . . . AND looking for an apartment  . . . AND she wants “Charlie” to live with her.

Wait . . . I’m sorry . . . but WHAT THE F*&K?  I get that she’s your relative, Serena.  And I know you feel a bit bad for her, because she didn’t grow up filthy rich like you, and has “mental problems,” but do you not remember that this is the same girl who tried to dress up like you, asked your ex-boyfriend to call her BY YOUR NAME, when he had sex with her, and pretty much went all SINGLE WHITE FEMALE ON YOUR ASS?  This is who you want to live with?  You don’t know anything about this girl, and everything that you know is BAD.

“Oh . . . well, when you put it THAT way.” 

WHAT . . . IS . . . WRONG . . . WITH . . . YOU!

Now faux-Charlie (See, I can’t even decide what I’m supposed to call this girl!) REALLY has to tap dance to get out of living with Serena, because Golly GEE she ISN’T really her cousin, doesn’t really have access to the Van Der Woodsen Trust Fund, and is already living with her adorable boyfriend who, as I mentioned, knows NOTHING about this con.   So, faux-Charlie tries her best to find polite reasons why she can’t live with Serena.  But girlfriend simply REFUSES to take no for an answer.

And they think CHUCK has a Death Wish . . . 

Of course, rather than coming clean about NOT being Charlie, faux-Charlie ends up getting dragged into going apartment hunting with Serena.  What’s worse, so as not to hurt Serena’s feelings, and make her think she doesn’t want to be her roommate, faux-Charlie ends up giving the realtor one of “Charlie’s” checks to help cover the downpayment.  (Who knew con-artists were so sensitive to other’s fragile egos?)

Now thoroughly freaked out, faux-Charlie quickly calls the realtor to get back the check, only to learn that it was bad (SURPRISE), and that it was returned to Serena.  (Yeah, because that’s what realtors do when you write bad checks, give them to YOUR FRIENDS, instead of YOU!)

Logical explanations aside, faux-Charlie is SO busted!  At least, that’s what she thinks, which is why she runs to her poor sweet schlub of a boyfriend (his name is Max, by the way), and tells him she is SO done chasing after HER dreams (after two weeks).  It’s high time they started chasing after HIS dreams for a change . . . FAR AWAY in Portland.

“Wait . . . this means I don’t get any more screentime, doesn’t it?  YOU B*TCH!” 

“Max” seems confused by faux-Charlie’s sudden change of heart, but readily agrees to move to Portland, probably because he is SO whipped you can practically see the rope marks on his body through his clothing.  Max then promptly quits his new restaurant job, so that he can start packing.  (You’ve really gotta love the tremendous work ethic these two have!)

Now, faux-Charlie is relieved because she’s actually dumb enough to think that she can run away, without the girl she just screwed over for cash on an apartment, will not realize that she left.  (Then again, given Serena’s obvious amnesia issues, this is actually a distinct possibility.)  But alas, Serena now KNOWS where she lives.  And worse, she is waiting outside her apartment to utter the oh so cliched, pre-commercial break line, “I know what’s going on here.”  (Or something like that . . .)

*insert dramatic music here*  (By the way, is Serena wearing SHOULDER PADS?) 

Of course, us veteran TV watchers know this as code for, “I am COMPLETELY off base as to what is actually going on here.  But I want to make you worry about what I know, throughout the commercial break . . .

Back from commerical break, we finally find out what Serena thinks she knows.  And believe it or not, it’s actually a lot more plausible than the REAL reason faux-Charlie’s check bounced.  Serena thinks her “Charlie’s” mom cut her off from her trust fund for moving to LA.  And so she promises to get faux-Charlie cut back ON.  (Is that a real phrase?  NO?  Well, you get what I mean . . .)  Then, she reiterates her NEED for faux-Charlie to become her roommate.  (Clingy much, S?)

“Can you blame me?  I haven’t had a boyfriend in TWO WHOLE EPISODES?  This is TORTURE!” 

But this was the part that really dusted my doileys!  Faux-Charlie DUMPED her REAL boyfriend to STAY with SERENA, and continue to be her FAKE cousin.  She told him she didn’t love him any more, and sent him packing to Portland ALONE.  I’m pretty sure there is a special place in hell for people like that . . .

Oh, and get this, after all that, Serena decided SHE’S NOT STAYING IN LA.  Her production assistant job is being moved . . . you guessed it . . . back to New York!   (SURPRISE!)  And now she wants faux-Charlie to come with her?  Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t faux-Charlie claim to be leaving New York because the Upper East Side was what made her fall off her meds in the first place?  (See what I mean, about Serena and her amnesia?)

And, really, how needy are you, that you ask somebody you barely know to travel across the coast to LIVE WITH YOU?  But, of course, faux-Charlie says yes.  Because . . . you know . . . this is Gossip Girl, where everybody does strange and inexplicable things sometimes lives for the moment, and flies by the seat of their pants.  So, faux-Charlie hops in the limo with Serena, and they ride off toward good ole Manhattan, where they will undoubtedly live happily ever after . . . at least until next week’s episode.

Speaking of phony relatives . . . Louis-Bot has a relative who’s a BIG phony.  And (SURPRISE!) she has it in for Blair .  . .

An Entire Plotline Focused on Blair’s VOMIT?  Well, this is NEW!

“If I don’t watch my step, I’ll be forever remembered by the Good People of Monaco as Princess Pukey.” 

You know what I really liked about this storyline?  How real it was .  . .

Of course, I’m not talking about the moving of the Assumption Feast, or the whole prince thing, or really anything about this plotline except for Blair’s morning sickness.  It is so rare that we actually get to see our Non Judging Breakfast Club members (at least the female contingent) of them, when they are not at their best (well .   . . we see them drunk sometimes, but, other than that).

Personally, I thought it was refreshing that Blair looked a bit tired and disheveled throughout the episode.  I like that she made puke faces, any time anybody or anything smelly got anywhere near her.  Because, from what I’ve been told, that’s what women in the early stage of their pregnancy are like!  And as prim, proper, and often perfect Blair may appear, she is, after all, only human (as evidenced by the fact that she’s not entirely certain of the paternity of her baby).

This story begins with Louis-Bot informing Blair that she gets to meet yet another one of his oh-so-charming royal relatives.   This one’s name is Beatrice.  And though she looks about the right age to be Louis-Bot’s sister, she’s actually his aunt.  *cough Change of Life Baby cough*  At first, Beatrice seems nice enough.  She’s way more laid back than the stodgy Princess Sophie, and she has a much wider range of voice inflections than Louis Bot.  Her worst offense seems to be that she wears too much perfume, which, like everything else in the episode, makes Blair want to hurl.

Would you please get that weiner-looking thing out of my face.  THAT’S what got me into this mess in the first place!” 

As nice as she seems, Blair is VERY eager to get rid of Beatrice, and ship her and Louis Bot off to the Feast of Assumption by plane, so that she can get some much needed Pregnant Lady R&R.  But Beatrice insists on spending the day with Blair, during which she regales her with how AWFUL being reigning princess will be for Blair, because she will have to wear lame, non-skin showing outfits.  Beatrice of course, though second in line for the throne, has no interest in doing such things, no SIR . . .

But the “kindly” Beatrice begins to become suspicious of Blair when she repeatedly gags at the food Beatrice shoves in her face every five seconds. And, despite being in the middle of NYC, where it is almost impossible to find a place that will let you use the bathroom without buying something first, Blair makes roughly twenty trips to the potty in a single afternoon!

Just like Serena, Beatrice comes to the immediate WRONG conclusion about Blair’s bizarre behavior.  She confronts Dorota and basically accuses Blair of being on drugs.  Dorota denies this, but, of course, doesn’t want to tell Beatrice what is actually wrong with Blair.  (A good maid never reveals her boss’ secrets, after all).  And so, when Beatrice suggests bulimia, Dorota sort-of agrees, since, it seems the lesser of two evils, and is not entirely untrue.  After all, Blair WAS bulimic . . . back in Season 1.

“How did you know?  Are you bulimic too?  Perhaps, we can throw some Big Bulimia Party!  No?” 

Upon hearing this news  scheming wench concerned sister Beatrice calls Louis-Bot for an impromptu meeting.  She tells her nephew that Bulimic Blair just isn’t ready for the pressures of being princess.   But Loyal Louis-Boy will not believe it.   So, Beatrice decides to prove it to him, by miraculously moving the Feast of Assumption to NYC (Get it?  Miraculously), and spending the entire feast .  . . you guessed it . . . trying to make Blair vomit again . . .

What is our Blair-Bear to do?  She decides to pray to the Virgin Mary.

“Can I ask you something?  Where did you get your outfit?  Because it’s really cute!”

And, hallelujah, her prayers are answered . . . well . . . sort of . . .

Dan’s Got a Plan, Blair’s Got a Secret, and Chuck’s . . . Joined a Fight Club?

Back in non-royal ville, Dan the Donut (who I will refrain from calling The Donut this week, because he did some nice things for both Blair and Chuck . . . things that I suspect, will start them on the path toward their inevitable reunion) is STILL trying to figure out what publishing company That Annoying Wench Who Shall Not Be Named Manessa got to publish his book.

“Actually, I’m just pretending to figure out who published my book.   I’m really just surfing the net for porn.  Shhhh!  Don’t tell Gossip Girl anybody!” 

He decides that the best way to do this is to trace the check said wench sent him as an advance.  But Dan the Donut has NO skills in the art of computer hacking or bank breaking, he decides to turn to the one person with the ability to do ALL OF THOSE THINGS . . . the man . . . the myth . . . the legend . . . CHUCK BASS!

Dan uses Gossip Girl to track Chuck’s head (no literally, Gossip Girl uses a picture of a Giant Chuck Bass Head to signify his whereabouts).  But when Dan finds him, these two hooligans are KICKING LOVERBOY’S ASS.

*insert homoerotic joke here* 

So, Dan rushes to Chuck’s rescue, and .  . . is completely unsuccessful in helping.  In fact, he gets PUNCHED IN THE FACE!  The two men rush off, and Chuck DOES NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

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But Dan, while ogling Chuck’s awesome abs notices that nasty gash Chuck got on his stomach from his motorcycle wipeout . . .

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*whistles appreciatively*

 . . .  and  insists he see a doctor.   Chuck boredly complies with this request.  As for the doctor, he says Chuck’s wounds are “bordering on serious.”  He’s more concerned with the fact that Chuck claimed not to physically FEEL anything when the wound was touched.

“Hey, look!  It’s Doctor House . . . calls.” 

So,  now everyone assumes that Chuck is numbed out on drugs . . . just like Beatrice thought about Blair.  Coincidence?  I think not . . .

Dan, being the good After School Special Star that he is, confronts Chuck AGAIN in his bedroom, to tell him to “Just say no to drugs.”

“Unlike Serena, when I rejected you, I meant it,” replies Chuck smugly.  (Ooh, look at Chuck with all these slamming Darena zingers!)

Dan figures out, quite correctly that Blair is the cause of Chuck’s rash behavior.  In fact, he pretty much accuses Chuck of being Bella Swan in New Moon, a.k.a. trying to get himself killed so that Blair will return to his side.  Ouch!  Then, to add insult to injury, Shrink Dan decides to REALLY send Chuck off the deep end, by telling the poor guy that HE, Dan Humpty Dumpty Humphrey (See, I’m trying, I really am!) kissed Blair last, pre-Louis-Bot.

Now, I know this was supposedly just some well-intentioned tough love on Dan’s part.  But, honestly, did anybody else think that Dan was using this as an opportunity to stick his tongue out and go “Nah-nah, nah-nah boo, boo” in the emotionally-damaged Chuck’s face.

Fortunately, Chuck had the comeback to END ALL COMEBACKS to this remark.  “The last person she was with was me.  And I’m talking full carnal knowledge.  Did that hurt?  I wish I could feel it.”

Ooohh!  BUUUURN!  I love it!

It’s time for Dan to stalk Blair now.  But since he’s coming to tell her to help out Chuck, I can’t fault him too much for his decision.  What I can fault him for is his outfit.  SERIOUSLY?  A t-shirt and jeans to the Feast of Assumption?  You couldn’t at least put on a pair of khaki’s or something . . .

Religious Festival Attendance FAIL! 

Anywhoo, Dan arrives at the perfect moment to rescue Blair from the puke-making Beatrice.  She drags Dan into the Little Girls Room,  (I will not make the obvious joke . . . I will not make the obvious joke . . .  I will not make the . . .) where he feels right at home.  (DOH!  I  guess I made the obvious joke.).  Blair seems to have forgiven Dan fairly quickly for his most recent transgression of plotting to get her to escape her upcoming not going to last anyway nuptials, and f*&k him in the Hamptons.  Then again, maybe she’s just too nauseous to push him away.

Dan successfully manages to plant the seed in Blair’s head that Chuck is going TOTALLY BATTY without her, and needs her help, before she rushes into the nearest stall and starts blowing chunks.  While Dan doesn’t get the full credit he would have received for holding Blair’s hair back Chuck definitely seems like a holding hair back kind of guy, don’t you think? while she prayed to the porcelain god (Man, my euphemisms for vomiting sure are in full force this week, aren’t they?), he does get partial credit, for running the water in the faucet to drown out those pesky retching noises, and for not crinkling his nose to much at the inevitable foul smell.

“I can sing too, if you’d like?” 

Enter that b*tch Beatrice.  Dan tells her that Blair is sick, and she offers to go “fetch” Louis.  But, instead, of course, she stays to overhear Dan accuse Blair of being bulimic again, and demand that she gets help.  To this, Blair replies in frustration, “I’m not bulimic, I’m pregnant.”

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Of course, Beatrice heard THAT too.  And just when we THINK she’s going to tell Louis, she surprisingly DOESN’T.  What she does do, is claim that Blair had this “great idea” to dine with smelly homeless people at the Feast of Assumption, as a way of giving back to the community.  Man, that Beatrice, she is REALLY good at inducing vomiting.  She’s like the human version of Ipecac!

“Hey!  I resemble that remark!” 

Cue the blast from Gossip Girl that Chuck is getting his butt beat again.  And cue Super Man Dan’s exit to make another rescue!  (Hes a busy little bee, this week, isn’t he?)

“Ta-da!”

When Dan arrives to see Chuck getting beaten by the SAME guys who beat him last time, he finally figures out that Chuck PAID them to do this.  Backed into a corner, both literally and figuratively, Chuck explains the real reason behind this one-sided fight club.  Ever since he lost Blair, he has found himself frighteningly unable to feel.  So, basically, the reason he keeps putting himself in dangerous situations is that he hopes to experience pain.  “Is being dead that much worse than being nothing?”  Chuck asks, morosely.

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How about you try to feel good things?”  Dan suggests.  “I could tickle you!”

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(WOW .  . . just wow . . . and the gay porno version of Gossip Girl would start right there.)

Most of us, had kind of assumed that Chuck wasn’t as well-adjusted and coping with Blair’s loss, as he might have seemed last week.  But hearing Chuck admit this is still extremely sad.  Back at his bachelor pad, Chuck graciously asks the REAL reason Dan has been stalking him all episode.  Dan admits that his book contains some SCATHING commentary on all his “friends,” including Chuck.  And, if it’s published, a lot of people will get their feelings hurt.

“Oops,  I should really learn to keep a lock on my diary.”

According to shrink Dan, Chuck is suffering from conversion disorder, a psycho somatic illness that removes the feeling from limbs, as a result of the experience of a traumatic event . . . an event like the VERY TEMPORARY loss of a soulmate . . .  ( What’s the cure, you ask?  LOTS OF SEX WITH SAID SOULMATE, Dr. TV Recappers says . . .)

“Ahhh, Charlie Trout returns,” Chuck replies, cleverly recalling Dan’s OTHER scathing essay, about Chuck and his dad, which Dan used to impress a teacher, at Chuck’s expense.

You know, it just occurred to me that Dan is forever exploiting satirizing his pals to further his writing career.  Think about it . . . his story that was published in the New Yorker was about Serena.  He’s already written about Chuck.  And THIS story is about the ENTIRE Non Judging Breakfast Club.  Given Dan’s obvious penchant for gossip about rich kids, and “based on true events” stories, wouldn’t it just be HILARIOUS if Dan ended up being Gossip Girl?

I know he isn’t.  But I still think it would be funny .  . .

Ultimately, Chuck agrees to help Dan with his little scheme to get back that EVIL book.  And, like that, the Chan Bromance is reborn . . .

Meanwhile, Beatrice is in a limo with the PRIEST from the Feast of Assumption.  To him she reveals her desire to usurp the throne from Louis, by bringing down Blair.  Is this confession?  You might be asking yourself.  NO, believe it or not, it’s actually SEX . . .

That is so wrong on so many levels.

The episode ends with Blair finding her way back to Brooklyn, and the comfort of an old friend.  She tells Dan everything she’s been keeping locked up inside herself for such a long time now . . . like how she had sex with Chuck once, but Louis-Bot many times.  Apparently, according to Blair, he’s “surprisingly virile.”  I didn’t know robots could copulate?   Who knew?

You totally paid the writers to put that part about you being virile in the script, didn’t you?

And even though Blair is not yet certain who the father of her child is, she knows that it was conceived out of love, and therefore wants to keep it.

Ahhh, memories! 

  Honestly, I’m still skeptical as to whether Blair loves Louis-Bot, especially considerng she went back to him, more or less, as a consulation prize, after Chuck gave her up for the greater good.

But for now, I will give her the benefit of the doubt.  (OK . . . maybe I won’t.)  Of course, Blair’s life will be much easier if the baby is Louis-Bots, as it will leave her with much less explaining to do.   And yet, she is conflicted, scared, and petrified of losing everything.

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You’ve really gotta hand it to Dan.  And this is coming from someone who isn’t usually his biggest fan.  Given how clearly head over heels he is in love with her, it couldn’t have been easy for him to endure her graphic description of Louis’ virility, or of her sex with Chuck, or of her love for both men, and not him .  . . not in that way, at least.  And yet, the used-to-be extremely judgy Dan takes the fragile Blair in his arms, and convinces her to find out the baby’s paternity.

“What if I lose everything?” She asks tearfully.

“You’ll still have me,” he replies, as the episode draws to a close.

Well . .  now, that’s nice . . . sweet even.  (See?  I can behave!)  🙂

Until next time, XOXO!

[www.juliekushner.com][Fangirls Forever]

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The Beautiful and Damned (and Pregnant) – A Recap of Gossip Girl’s Season 5 Premiere “Yes, Then Zero”

NATE: “It’s Season 5, folks.  You know what that means . . . we get to have five times more sex than we had in Season 1.  CHEERS!” 

CHUCK: “I’ll drink to that!”

Welcome back, Upper East Siders!  Man, have I missed you!   It’s been a long, hot and lonely summer without my Non-Judging Breakfast Club .
. . and Dan.

A lot has changed, since we last saw one another.  There are new zip codes to explore.  New opportunities to enjoy . . . and destroy.  New romances are on the horizon.  And SOMEONE might just have a bun in her well-dressed, upper-crust, oven.

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 So, pop the cork on that champagne (unless you happen to be with child, of course), sit back in that sun chair, and just say “yes,” to a GG premiere filled with excess, intrigue, CHAIR SEX and expanding waistlines galore . . .

“Whatchu talkin about Recapper?  There will be NO expanding waistlines!” 

(Oh, and special thanks to the awesome damnthatmotherchuckerr tumblr for most of the fabulous gifs you see here!

Serena van der Woodsen – Working Girl?

Ummm . . . not THAT kind of work, Serena.

We open up on a black-and-white montage, in which a girl in a flapper type dress, dances over to a dapper dude in a period-suit.  And I’m thinking to myself, “Oh please lord, do not let this be another one of Blair’s annoying Classic Movie Dream Sequences.”  Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), it’s not.  The scene comes from an ACTUAL movie entitled “The Beautiful and Damned” (based on an F. Scott Fitzgerald book of the same name), which has apparently been filming in LA all summer in GG world, and on which Serena has worked as Assistant-to-the-Assistant-Producer . . . Otherwise Known as “Coffee Girl.”

*insert Mary Tyler Moore Show theme music here* 

It’s kind of refreshing to see the Non-Judging Breakfast Club’s second laziest member (I’m looking at YOU Nate), you know WORKING.  (Well, we don’t actually get to SEE her work.  But she does a very good job of pretending that she is, by tiptoeing around other people who are working, while carrying around thick stacks of paper, and lattes.)  I would have thought for sure, our blonde ne’er do well would have already started sleeping with the director, or lead actor, by now, and lounging around set, dressed in nothing but her new lover’s t-shirt, and a thong.

(This reminds me, remember those two episodes a couple of Seasons ago, when Serena was all gung ho about having a career in Public Relations?  Good times!)

The LA sun has clearly been kind to Serena,  who’s got a great tan, and a surprisingly great attitude to match.  It’s the first time in a long time we’ve seen Serena, when she’s NOT whining over some relationship crisis, or pouting over some friend or another’s betrayal, our shouting at her mother for some unknown, amorphous reason.  Heck Serena even withstands some tough and belittling talk from her doucheface boss, who, though not much older than her, seems to be the first male character on this show (save for Chuck Bass) who seems unnaturally immune to Serena’s charms.

He must be gay!

In fact, if anything, he seems threatened by her potential to best him at his own job!

“Don’t let my angelface fool you.   I’m a TOTAL asshat!” 

SERIOUSLY?  Serena van der Woodsen the Corporate Ladder Climber?  Is this supposed to be some parallel universe?  Did my DVR I don’t actually have DVR tape the right show?

As if in answer to my question, Serena, rather unrealistically, gets her personal mail delivered right to the set.  And, lo and behold, it’s the Save the Date card for Blair’s sham of a Wedding to Not-Chuck-Bass . . .

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Speaking of Chuck . . .

Chuck Bass – Zen-tastic Biker Dude?

“Yes, I DO ride a hog, wearing white chinos, and an ascot.  Got a problem with that?” 

Oh, Chuck!  How I missed this man-whoring, uber-cocky, in love with his own name, version of you!  So, what if he’s CLEARLY in denial of the Blair Waldorf-sized hole in his heart, and has somehow converted all that angsty heartsickness into a Death Wish, and a life philosophy straight out of a not-particularly-good Jim Carrey movie?  He’s still WAY more fun to watch than that mopey workaholic doofus, who magically found himself in love with the bland as cottage cheese Raina Thorpe, last season, and punched his hand through a glass window for sh*ts and giggles . . .

(I’m still trying to repress the memories of those two storylines from my mind.)

When we first see Chuck he is hopping off his Harley (How the heck did he get a motorcycle license?  My guess is he the f*&ked a guy named Bubba for it.), and heading onto some boat he won in a Poker Game (naturally!), arm-in-arm with two blonde floozies with whom he is about to have loud raucous sex.  Like his pal Serena, LA seems to have been kind to Chuck, who is looking sexier than ever, with his longer than usual wind-swept hair, and decidedly un-preppy bomber jacket.  He’s even sporting a tan . . . something I never thought possible for this character to achieve, considering I always secretly believed him to be a vampire . . .

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Nate’s on the boat too.  He’s also pretty tan, and is doing ABSOLUTELY nothing, when Chuck arrives.

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(I guess some things NEVER change.) 

“If you hear anything crazy, then I’m doing something right,” announces Chuck proudly, as he escapes to the bedroom with his whores.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. 

After Chuck is safely out of sight,  Nate pulls out his and Chuck’s version of Blair’s Save the Date cards, and hides them in his pants . . . or someplace less likely for Chuck to go digging them up . . .

Dan Humpty Dumpty – Athlete?? 

Oh, Danny Boy!  My how you’ve grown, since Season 1 . . . 

My, oh, my has Dan the Donut (thus called, because he always appears to be both glazed, and oddly jelly filled) come a long way from his Poor Little Brooklyn Boy routes.  While his only remaining friends (I leave Manessa out of this limited circle, completely, of course), are busy planning their Royal Weddings, and taking Hollywood by storm, Dan has been summering in the Hamptons, of all places.  When we first see him, he is taking part in an Artists and Writers baseball game, which I’m sure is SUPER intense.  (You know how competitive those Artists and Writers can be!)

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Sorry to interrupt your game.  I just really needed to ruin your life, and it absolutely couldn’t wait.”

Papa Rufus, who has the WORST timing ever, decides to interrupt Dan, right in the middle of the game to give him HIS Save the Date from Blair.  (Really?  That couldn’t have waited until he got home?)  Though Dan tries to play it cool (HAHA!), the punched in the gut look he gets on his face, upon viewing the invitation, only serves to confirm Doofus Daddy’s long-held suspicion that his son is still harboring some pretty intense feelings for our Queen B . . .

Blair Waldorf – Kept Woman??

BLAIR: “Louis, darling, should I be worried that there is a picture of Marie Antoinette, a.k.a. that Queen that got beheaded, behind me, at this very moment.”

LOUIS: “No, dahlinnnng.  Do not worry.  You are save with me.” *pulls out the knife he’s been holding behind his back*

 Without her Non-Judging Breakfast Club friends to attend lavish parties and have HOT LIMO SEX WITH bolster her mood, things seem surprisingly dreary for Blair, back on the Upper East Side.  As a staunch lover of all things New York, I was shocked by how much more fun the LA portions of this episode seemed, in comparison to their East Coast counterparts.

Unfortunately, no limo sex was to be had on either coast . . . 

Blair is spending her morning with Prince Louis, who I have decided to call Louis-Bot.  This is because I am convinced that we will soon learn that he is not an actual human being, but  rather a cyborg, programmed to utter polite sentences, every time you push a button on the back of his neck, and to obey the commands of whoever spoke to him last.

I can sort of see a resemblance.  Can’t you? 

Blair rubs up on Louis, and suggests that the two of them stay in bed and screw all day.  Louis declines, because he has to go to some hoity, toity Assembly Speech / Dinner that Blair is not allowed to attend, until the two of them are married.  So, instead, he gives his fiance a ridiculously over-priced necklace, and exits stage left.

OK . . . here’s a guy who just TURNED DOWN sex with Blair Waldorf . . .

Ahem . . . 

 . . . to meet with his mother, and prepare from some snooty dinner that is still hours away.  Now, I KNOW he’s not human . . .

It’s Chuck Bass’ World (and we just live in it)

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Surprisingly enough (especially considering what a staunch Chair fan I am, and how much Serena’s and Nate’s subplots typically bug the hell out of me) my absolute favorite scenes from this premiere were the ones where Serena, Nate and Chuck got to pal around, give eachother advice, and tease one another, like the old close friends we had forgotten they were.

The lighthearted, fun and easygoing banter between the three harkened back to the show’s first season, before random special guest stars, betrayals, and separate plotlines unintentionally got in the way of this beautifully enviable friendship.  The only thing that would have made these scenes better would have been if Blair was there with them, thereby resulting in a Non-Judging Breakfast Club reunion of the highest order . . .

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Anywhoo, Serena comes to visit Chuck and Nate on their new party boat.  The boys offer her champagne, but Serena politely declines, claiming she has adopted a new healthy LA lifestyle.  Serena, sober?  HUH?

Immediately, I called shenanigans, and wondered whether it was HER positive pregnancy test we found in the trash can last season.  But I digress . . .

Once Serena is seated and NOT drinking, Chuck decides to regale us all on his new life philosophy, one that revolves around a bad Jim Carrey movie the word “YES.”  Said life philosophy is actually fairly simple.  If someone presents Chuck with an opportunity he HAS to accept it.

Well, in that case, Chuck, have sex with me, and then stop Blair’s ridiculously dull wedding, this instant! 

NO?  Well, it was worth a shot . . .

Chuck’s words have an immediately inspirational affect on Serena, who was recently given the opportunity to write a scene for The Beautiful and Damned (yeah, because that opportunity ALWAYS comes up for coffee girls, with NO film writing experience whatsoever), but declined it, out of fear of pissing off her immediate supervisor.  Serena decides to accept the challenge, but requests that her two male besties accompany her for moral support.

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Speaking of someone in need of moral support . . .

Say Yes to the Dress, Say NO to the Prosecco . . .

“I’m smiling right now, but only because I’m imagining what it would feel like to kick your mother’s bony ass.” 

Back on the Upper East Side, both Blair and Louis-bot are meeting with both of their mothers to discuss the details of the upcoming royal nuptials.  Unfortunately for Blair, she and Louis-bot’s Mommy butt heads on nearly every detail, from the flowers (Blair wants peonies, Mommy-bot insists on a more traditional bouquet), to the dress (Blair wants to pick out her own, Mommy-bot wants her to wear HERS), to how Blair should look in her upcoming Vogue magazine spread.

Rather than stick up for herself, every time Blair doesn’t get her way, she turns to Louis-bot and pouts, expecting him to stick up for her as Chuck Bass undoubtedly would.  But Louis-bot, unfortunately, is not programmed to disobey his Mommy.  And so he just sits there, with a blank expression on his face, waiting for someone to push the button on the back of his neck, so that he can speak again . . .

This VERY awkward moment is interrupted by another one, in which Dorota arrives bringing Prosecco, which Blair politely declines (UH OH!  Another “Just say no to alcohol moment.”  Somehow I don’t think this one has anything to do with the fact that Blair is still underage.)  After dropping off the booze, Dorota notices a Gossip Girl blast on Blair’s cell phone about someone on the Upper East Side being with child.

She nervously deletes the message, before Blair can see it.

Annnnnnd the plot thickens . . .

Once this wedding discussion nonsense is over, Blair calls Serena to complain about how her robot fiance can’t stick up for her.  And I find myself once again wishing that Blair was with Chuck the others in LA.  The effortless banter between B and S is just so much more entertaining to watch than ANYTHING that happens between Blair and her Prince of Lame.

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Blair expresses shock over the fact that Serena is actually working.  And Serena, in turn, offers Blair some surprisingly sound advice, namely: give Mommy-Bot what she wants for the Vogue feature, and maybe she will leave you alone, when it comes to picking a wedding dress.

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Blair and Serena then reluctantly get off the phone, promising to contact one another the following day .  . Man, if Blair actually ends up going through with this wedding, she’s going to need a SERIOUSLY good international cell phone plan.  Because, take it from someone who knows, those little ten-minute nation-to-nation phonecalls can REALLY add up .  . . not that either of these girls ever need to worry about money, of course.

Speaking of S . . .

The Actor, The Stuntman . . . and the Screenwriter?

Just as she knew they would, both Nate and Chuck accompany Serena to the set, where her douchebag boss, of course, gives her heat for the intrusion, reminding her that Take Your Hotties to Work Day isn’t until next week.  (As Nate cleverly noted, “Douchebags are the same, no matter where you go,” which, by the way, would be a great saying to print on a t-shirt.)

Douchey McPussFace then motions over to Chuck, and asks who the heck he is, to which Serena and Nate, both respond, hilariously and in unison, “That’s Chuck Bass.”  (He’s got them trained SO WELL!)

CHUCK APPROVES!

Both Nate and Chuck immediately get the chance to put Chuck’s “Just say yes,” philosophy to the test, when Chuck somehow gets mistaken for a stuntman, and Nate gets pulled in to an audition for a role on the film.  (Ummm . . . wouldn’t they have already cast all the parts, considering the movie is almost done filming?  Just sayin . .  .)

Now, it’s Serena’s turn, she heads over to the producer, and is immediately offered more responsibility on the film set.  I’d say the producer just wants to get into her pants like everybody else on this show but she’s female, and at least seems to be straight.  So, I guess Serena is just REALLY good at getting coffee and carring around piles of paper!  When Serena leaves “the meeting,” her grumbly, and now extremely jealous, boss, Douchey McPussFace informs her that SHE has been given HIS task list for the rest of the day.

“I totally hate you, right now but I’d still have sex with you.”

 If she finishes all the tasks listed by noon, she can attend some swanky Hollywood party.  Serena excitedly accepts the challenge.  But I’m already not trusting this Douchey McPussFace as far as I can throw him . . .

This exchange is interrupted by Chuck performing an impromptu jump off a high platform onto what looks like the BIGGEST BED EVER!  And I am so turned on watching this, it is not even funny.  Apparently, the cougar in charge of stunts feels the same way, because she immediately accepts Chuck’s offer for a date .  . .

Louis-Bot Makes Amends

 After being scolded by Blair, for being such a Mama’s Boy / Weenie, and not sticking up for her on all things wedding, Louis-Bot is programmed to placate Blair by inviting her to the Non-Royal FORBIDDEN assembly speech / dinner thingy.   Blair is thrilled, but still not satisfied.  So, she decides to wear a SCANDALOUS green dress to the event to test Louis-Bot’s ability to stand by his woman.

But then, when it comes time for the EPIC Dinner, Louis-Bot is nowhere to be found.  So, Blair begins to think she has been stood up, and wonders whether she has made a mistake in agreeing to marry this Wussy Pants . . .  YES!  IT’S A MISTAKE!  He’s a cyborg!  RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!

My own personal reservations aside, Louis-Bot actually has a REALLY good reason for not picking up Blair for the Assembly Speech / Dinner Thingy.  And it has to do with a certain Dopey Donut, and his former friend, Manessa . . .

Donut on the Run . . .

At another Artist and Writer Baseball Game, Dan’s former internship boss, back in Season 2, and current writer friend, remarks about a certain Anonymous manuscript that is making the rounds in the literary world.  Apparently, a chapter of it is set to be published in Vanity Fair relatively soon.  The writer mentions it to Dan because the main protagonist has his same initials as the young aspiring author, and a similar writing style. (Yeah, real CREATIVE, DONUT!)

Wow, someone really likes to read! 

Dopey Donut immediately realizes that the Anonymous Novel in question is HIS, about BLAIR, and apparently, though it is not explicitly stated, it ends with a rather explicit sex scene between the soon-to-be royal Queen B and Dan Humpty Dumpty’s alter ego.

“Damn you, Manessa!”

“That’s right.  Even when I’m NOT on the show, I ruin everything!”

Freaked out about the idea of Blair reading this article, Dopey Donut goes to the only person he thinks might be able to help him . . . Louis-Bot.  Dopey Donut catches Louis on the way to pick up Blair for the Assembly Speech / Dinner thingy, and warns him that he HAS to stop publication on this story, or it could mean some serious embarrassment for his future wife.

Louis-Bot, who really does seem to love Blair, despite the fact that he barely knows her, and is virtually incapable of conveying real emotion, due to his being a robot, agrees to help . . .

Weed is GOOD (unless you’re a drug addict . . .)

NATE:  “I don’t think we’re in New York anymore, Serena.”

SERENA:  “Umm . . . we haven’t been in New York all summer.”

NATE:  “Sh*t.  I am so high right now . . .” 

Having completed the last item on Douchey McPussFace’s list: “Get medicinal weed for the lead actor in the film.”  (Ummm . . . don’t you need to have some kind of license to do that?), Serena and Nate walk the streets of Hollywood,  en route to their first celebrity bash.

“I think I’m getting a contact high.” 

Stoner Nate, of course, can’t stop jabbering on excitedly about the amazing variety of pot in LA, as compared to the garden variety spliff he’s stuck with in NYC.  Nate then admits that for the past few seasons lately, he’s been kind of lost in really bad story lines, with really annoying Special Guest Stars that are completely unrelated to the rest of the characters or plot.  Serena’s been feeling a bit lost herself.  And so, the two of them decide to use this big Fancy, Schmancy Party as an opportunity to “reinvent themselves.”

I love how Nate’s idea of “reinventing himself,” was to pretend that he was some random actor (Chace Crawford, perhaps?) who owned the house where the party was, so that he could have raucous sex with the Cougar Special Guest Star Elizabeth Hurley Diana, who ACTUALLY owned the house.  Umm . . . Nate, isn’t this pretty much what you do at the beginning of EVERY SEASON?  Someone’s seen The Graduate and American Pie a few too many times . . .

“Ahhh . . . love interests . . . they keep getting older, and I keep staying the SAME AGE . . .” 

Lest you think this was just a one-night stand for Nate and Special Guest Star, we later overhear a conversation “Diana” is having with a friend, about her having planned to meet and seduce Nate all along . . .  It sounds like she’s going to go back to NYC and stalk him or something.  I’m still not quite sure what that was all about.   The sex looked pretty good though . . .

As for Serena, she gives the actor his weed, only to learn the completely obvious from the time she first got the list shocking truth that Douchey McPussFace had set her up!

Apparently, the actor she just drug dealed for has a bit of “substance abuse problem.”  In fact, one of the stipulations the production company had for continuing to fund the film was that this actor “stay sober.”

Cue Douchey McPussFace to swoop in and save the day before the actor in question sparked his dooby.  As the actor’s handlers rush to find out who gave him the offending smokes, Serena confronts Douchey McPussFace about what he did.  The dude then starts boohooing about how life is SO hard for him, because he has student loans, and needs this job . . . and how everything comes easy to Serena, who got this job without trying, and could easily get another job just by sleeping with another producer or director batting her eyelashes and asking for it.

Yeah . . . as much as I REALLY don’t like this guy, He was MUCH nicer in those Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movies he kind of has a point.  Serena obviously thought so too, because she decided to fess up, and take the blame for the pot distribution.  She then offers to quit the first job she’s ever loved.  *sniffle, sniffle*

But HEY, this is Serena we’re talking about.   And . . . aside from that time when she “killed a man,” and that other time when Crazy Juliet drugged her and made everyone think she was a royal nutbar, NOTHING bad ever happens to Serena.  So, of course, when Serena returns to the set to pack up her stuff, the film’s producer offers her a full time job, working directly for her, as soon as the movie wraps.

So, it looks like Serena is staying in LA . . . for now, anyway . . .  Oooh, Douchey McPussFace probably isn’t going to like that (unless he ends up falling in love with Serena, and sleeping with her, which, knowing this show, he probably will . . .)

Meanwhile, in Chuck Bass land . . .

Oooh . . . WIPEOUT!

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So, while Nate is busting up the bedroom with HIS Cougar, Chuck is riding matching motorcycles with HIS.  They stop back at Chuck’s place to change clothing before heading out again on Mullholland Drive.  The original plan is to take a CAR on this leg of the trip, since the road is notoriously rocky.  However, when Chuck, accidentally finds Blair’s Save the Date invitation, buried underneath a pile of other papers, he decides to brave the road by motorcycle anyway . . .

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While riding, Chuck wipes out in a pretty major way, while riding at top speed.  He looks pretty darn hurt, but when Cougar Lady offers to take him to the hospital, he brushes her off, nonchalantly insisting that the pair keep riding.  This freaks Cougar Lady out enough to realize that Chuck’s daredevil antics bely a darker, and more deep-rooted psychological issue. named “Blair.” (If only she knew!)  She instructs Chuck to get some mental help (an idea that is probably suggested to Chuck at least once EVERY season . . . usually by Blair, herself), and dumps his ass.

Despite the rejection, and his obvious heartbreak, Zen-Master Chuck still has positive words for both Serena and Nate, the morning after the party.  Undoubtedly assuming the voice of both the writers, and many fans, Chuck reminds both Serena and Nate how incredibly lame they’ve been the past few seasons, and backhandedly compliments them on FINALLY getting on the right track, in this episode . . . Serena, by FINALLY taking responsibility for herself and her actions, and Nate, by realizing that being someone else, like Chuck Bass, for example  is way more fun than actually being “Nate.”

“You should write a book or something,” Serena suggests to Chuck, only half kidding.  (Hey, if Dopey Dan can do it, why not him?)

“People like me don’t write books.  We’re written about,” Chuck replies.

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MAN, I love Chuck!  So, do Serena and Nate, apparently, who pull him in for the most adorable three-way group hug EVER!

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This adorableness is repeated again, outside a limousine, as Chuck and Nate prepare to return to NYC, and say goodbye to their pal, Serena, who will be sticking around LA for a little while.  The group open a celebratory bottle of champagne (I guess Serena’s not pregnant!), which promptly spills all over Chuck, forcing him to go into a nearby trailer to dry himself off . . .

Weeeeee!

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In a scene that stands in stark contrast to the joyous ones immediately preceding it, Chuck enters the trailer alone.  Once inside, he quietly looks in the mirror at the large gash on his stomach.  This physical wound is clearly meant to represent how broken and damaged our Bass Man truly is on the inside, despite his carefree, and happy external facade.  The resulting image is both poignant and genuinely heartbreaking (not to mention, a little gross) . . .

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He still has awesome abs, though  . . . That Bass-tard’s been WORKING OUT!

Speaking of heartbreaking . . . (or not, depending on how you feel about babies . . . and weddings) . . .

Baby Got Back . . . Donut Got Dumped.

Donut Dan is trying desperately to determine whether the rest of his book about Blair is about to be published, when the vixen herself appears on his doorstep.

She is distraught over Louis’ believed refusal to take her to the Assembly Speech / Dinner thingy . . . so distraught, in fact, that she wants to call off the entire wedding.  Blair tells Dan that he’s the only friend she has on the East Coast now.  So, she asks him if he could help her make an escape.  GO TO LA, GIRLFRIEND!  GO TO LA!

Blair suggests to Dan that the two of them go to his empty place in the Hamptons.  And the Donut immediately agrees, undoubtedly doing a dopey dance on the inside, despite knowing that this little impromptu getaway is being taken under false pretenses, since Louis-Bot, though boring, does not actually lack honor.

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“I’m soooooo getting laid, tonight .   . . It’ll be JUST LIKE IN MY BOOK (except my weiner isn’t a foot long, in real life)!”

Cue the doorbell  It’s Louis-bot.  He’s coming to tell Dan that he’s successfully prevented his short story about Blair from getting published.

“DOH!”

UH OH!  BUSTED!  Now Donut is forced to come clean to Blair about knowing Louis’ positive intentions all along.  “YouKNEW . . . You were going to let me walk away from everything,” exclaims an extremely hurt and betrayed feeling Blair.

Dan has no response to this.  He just stares at Blair with his droopy puppy dog eyes, as she storms out of his apartment with Louis-Bot . . .

As it turns out, the story CHAPTER is the least of Dan’s problems.  Cue the mailman!  Well, what do you know, there’s  a CHECK for $10,000 from Manessa to Dan, congratulating him on having his first FULL novel published . . .

RUH-ROH!

And finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for . . .

Back at La Casa de Waldorf, Blair’s busy getting ready for her Vogue shoot, dressed in Mommy-Bot’s frumpy wedding dress, when her Mom comes in with a “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book.  She immediately thinks Blair is pregnant, and is FURIOUS!  But guess what?  The book is DOROTA’S, who’s apparently pregnant with Baby #2, and THRILLED that she’s been deemed important enough to make it onto gossip girl.

Zzzzzzz!  Seriously?   That’s what we’ve been waiting all summer to find out!

But wait . . . it’s not over until the pregnant lady sings, right?  Out at the photo shoot, Louis-Bot proves himself worthy of Blair’s love once again, by insisting that she appear in the photo shoot with her choice of bouquet.  It’s a nice gesture, and a symbolic step in the right direction for Louis-Bot, in terms of his putting Blair before Mommy-Bot in his marriage . . . It’s too bad he’s still boring.

“Seamstress say WHAT?!” 

Then in the  not particularly surprising ultimate shocker, Blair’s seamstress inquires of Blair how far along she is, noticing that her measurements have been rapidly expanding.

Blair denies the pregnancy allegation, but the frantic look on her face says otherwise.  If her seamstress can already tell that she’s pregnant, how long before EVERYONE knows?  And, perhaps, more importantly, who’s the daddy?  Will this a Baby Louis-Bot?

Or a Baby Bass?

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Or did the Dopey Donut somehow manage to insert his coin in the Queen B’s slot off camera?

Only time (and, perhaps, a paternity test) will tell.  But, suffice to say, things are about to get ROYALLY UGLY .  . .

In other, kind of random news . . .

Poison Ivy Blues

At the end of the episode, we see that faux-Charlie / Ivy / “Call me Serena” is in LA, working at a restaurant with her boyfriend, and, most certainly, up to no good.  Serena, of course, enters the restaurant right when “Ivy” is supposed to start her shift, but still thinks she’s “Rich Charlie,” and starts talking her up, as if they are actually cousins or something.  Not wanting to give up the jig just yet, Ivy ditches her waitressing shift, and walks off with Serena, continuing to play up her false identity.

Hey there!  I just pretended I was you during sex . . .

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AW-KWARD!

This can’t end well . . .

And there you have it folks, the Gossip Girl Season 5 premiere in a diamond-encrusted nutshell.  So, what did you think?  Were you as bothered as I was by the separation of Blair from her Non-Judging Breakfast Club . . . or the COMPLETE lack of Chair interaction?   How do you like the new Chuck Bass, and Serena’s new LA home?  What about Nate’s NEW Cougar, do you think she will be as dull and pointless as the rest of his non-main cast member girlfriends?  Or will this time be different?  And, most importantly, who do you think is the daddy?

Please sound off in the comment section, below.   Until next week . . . XOXO!

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An Excerpt from Life Sucks, Death Bites: A Novel by Julie Kushner

Food Mart, Inc.                                                                                                                                             

2 Metro Corporate Drive                                                                                                                      

 Los Angeles, CA 90001                                                                                                                       

Attn: Fred Thompson, CEO

Dear Mr. Thompson:

I’m not usually the type of person who writes letters like the one you are reading right now.  OK, that’s a lie.  I’m exactly the type of person who writes these sort of letters.  But that is not really the point . . .

“The point” is that my most recent experience at one of your Food Mart stores (62 Blueberry Hill, Los Angeles, CA 90015) was particularly harrowing.  No, “harrowing” is not a strong enough word.  “Downright terrifying” is more accurate. 

 It was like something out of that awful horror movie franchise.  You know, the one where that crazy guy with the creepy mask, whose name I can’t remember (Bulls Eye?  Puzzle Piece?), makes people choose between doing something truly awful to another human being or dying an excruciatingly painful death.  Of course, you couldn’t pay me to watch such a movie.  So, I’m afraid that I cannot be much more specific than that.  But I think you catch my drift . . .

Anyway, as CEO of Food Mart, I believe that you have a right and a duty to know what is going on at your stores.  Furthermore, as a consumer, I believe that I have a right and a duty to make you aware that at least one of your stores just so happens to be a toxic death trap.

This past Sunday, around 8:00 AM Pacific Time, just as your store was opening, I drove to Food Mart for my weekly purchase of groceries.  Upon arrival, I exited my car, only to be attacked by a vicious shopping cart. Said shopping cart was clearly on the loose and out for revenge, against what I don’t know. (Perhaps it was angered about being shackled to such a dangerous, ill-kept store). 

Owing to the fact that it was a windy day (weather.com said winds could reach speeds of up to 50 mph that Sunday), and that none of your associates thought it worth their precious time to return said cart to its rightful holding pen, located mere inches away, the Errant Shopping Cart flew right into me at a frighteningly fast speed (50 mph?).  By some miracle, the cart narrowly missed squashing my body into the side of my car, arms and legs akimbo, as if I were a large fly.

Have you any idea how many fatal accidents have been caused by shopping carts in the past year alone, Mr. Thompson?  I’ll spare you the specific statistics.  But, rest assured, there were a lot . . . 

You see, I am in the business of evaluating risk, so it is literally my job to know these things.  If I told you what I actually did for a living I would have to kill you.  OK, that is a lie too . . . the “having to kill you” part, I mean, not the “risk evaluation” part.  I just always wanted to use that cliché for some reason.  But I digress.  Let’s get back to the Toxic Death Trap, shall we? 

Upon regaining my composure (In addition to almost dying, my morning brush with death nearly gave me a heart attack.), and selecting a shopping cart other than the one obviously intent on murdering me, I entered the store and hastened toward the vegetable aisle.  You see, I’ve kind of been trying to lose a few pounds.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m fat or anything, just . . . plump . . . chubby . . . overweight.  And, as far as risky behaviors go, being any of the three aforementioned things is probably right up there with bungee jumping, riding a motorcycle, or going hunting with Dick Cheney.

So I get to the vegetable aisle, and what do I see?  This teenage girl, with long, obviously unwashed hair, is fondling the tomatoes with her unclean hands!!!!  I stood watching the girl for nearly five minutes.  In that time, she must have slimed every single solitary Food Mart tomato with her greasy fingertips. 

As if that wasn’t bad enough, she then starts having this really loud grotesque- sounding coughing fit.  So, there she is, sort of covering her mouth, but there are these little gaps between her fingers.  You can actually see the phlegm and mucus escaping right through them, coating the tomatoes with a sticky layer of germs (probably the Swine Flu or the Bubonic Plague).  After that, she goes back to fondling the tomatoes . . . AGAIN!

Now, to my knowledge, this woman was not an employee of Food Mart.  At least, she didn’t appear to be wearing one of those red smocks they always wear (which, by the way, always give off an unlaundered look).   But, nevertheless, shouldn’t there be some sort of policy against patrons of Food Mart touching unwrapped food with their bare diseased hands?  Studies have shown that our hands are the dirtiest parts of our bodies.  (You would think it would be our asses or our private parts, but that’s actually a common misconception . . .)  If, by 8 AM, Food Mart tomatoes have already been contaminated with the plague once, lord knows what state they are in by noon, or 5 PM.

Needless to say, I avoided the vegetable aisle completely after that.  I mean, I guess I could have sprung for one of those pre-packaged overpriced salad bags.  But those things are so riddled with pesticides and growth hormone that you could hardly call them nutritionally sound.  And my physician wonders why I can’t lose the pounds . . .

Suddenly overcome with an intense urge to wash my own hands, I finally located the “Employee Bathroom” in the corner of the store, but only after asking about five people where it was and getting no answer.  (So, let me get this straight, Food Mart doesn’t have public restrooms?  Better that your customers feel free to shit and vomit on the floor, after inevitably being taken ill upon eating bad tomatoes, right?)

In addition to smelling like the fetid armpit of a marathon runner, and being “unisex” (I despise unisex bathrooms because I am deathly afraid of tampons and the women who use them.  I mean, really, what kind of perverted SOB would invent such a thing?  A blood flotation device . . . on a string . . . beyond disgusting), there was so much dirt, empty rolls of toilet paper, and sanitary napkin wrappers (a bit better than tampons, but not much) on the floor  that I thought I had somehow landed in the flatbed of a garbage truck instead of a non-public restroom in a very public establishment. 

As I entered the bathroom, one of your employees was flushing the toilet (at least he flushed).  However, when he went to wash his hands, I noticed that he turned on the cold water (not the hot water, mind you, which is necessary if you want to actually kill any germs on your hands) for only 5 seconds.  FIVE SECONDS!  That is barely enough time to find a working soap dispenser (2 out of the 3 in this bathroom were completely empty), let alone thoroughly clean your hands prior to the preparation and handling of food.  Physicians say you should wash your hands for at least 20 seconds (roughly the length of time it takes you to sing the Happy Birthday song twice through) in order to properly cleanse your hands following a stint on the toilet.  After this encounter, I knew I had to avoid, not only the vegetable aisle, but any unwrapped food prepared or handled by members of your staff.

Despite coming to Food Mart with a shopping list that was two notebook pages long, I arrived at the checkout counter with just a six-pack of Charmin Ultra Strong toilet paper (less likelihood of leakage), a tube of Crest toothpaste, and a package of pre-wrapped Hersheys miniatures: three items (eight, if you count each of the Charmin rolls separately, which, I don’t).  Either way, I was significantly under the 15 item limit required to use the Express Checkout Lane. 

Apparently, however, I’m the only Food Mart shopper capable of counting, because the four people in line in front of me each had a shopping cart full of at least 16 items.  One person had 32 items.   I know because I counted them . . . twice.  Instead of politely directing these cheaters to another aisle, YOUR cashier proceeded to ring each of them up . . . very . . . slowly . . . one . . . item . . . at . . . a  . . . time.

To make matters worse, each of these patrons waited until the person in front of them had paid in full and exited the store to unpack their groceries onto the conveyer belt.  And the person before me purchased, you guessed it, among other things, seven diseased tomatoes that she didn’t even bother to put in a plastic bag prior to paying.   She then spread her items out on the conveyor belt, so liberally, that there was no room for my items at all (not that I could possibly use the grotesquely tainted belt now).  When it came to be my turn, I had to rush to unpack and bag my items (What?  No one believes in having bag boys anymore?) so that I could be finished in time for the next person to be rung up.  It was very stressful. 

By the time I exited Food Mart that morning, I felt like I needed a stiff drink.  But I abstained, because it was only 8:30 AM, and I am not foolhardy enough to drink and drive. 

So you see, the way things are now, I cannot possibly continue to shop at Food Mart if I wish to maintain my health and sanity.

Thank you for your attention to these matters.  Hopefully, they can be dealt with in an efficient and expedient manner.

                                    Cordially,

                           Gerald Blumenstein


Chapter 1

Happy Death Day to Me!

Risk Assessment Analysis:

Odds of being killed by lightning:       2,320,000 to 1

Odds of being killed in a plane crash:            52.6 million to 1

Odds of dying in your shrink’s office during some ridiculous therapy session involving a vampire bat:      Actually, that kind of shit tends only to happen to me . . .

            “Hey there, Mr. Blumenstein!  How was your day?”

            Every evening, when I return to my apartment building, the concierge, i.e. the lanky pimple-faced pubescent son of my landlord, asks me the above question, in his trademark faux – cheery, sounds like he’s been kicked in the nuts a few too many times, voice.  On most days, I refuse to answer this inquiry, because, personally, I find it offensive.  Now I know some of you readers out there are probably thinking I’m rude for snubbing Little Jimmy over there, who, after all, was just trying to be polite, right?  Make “conversation”?  Well allow me to explain myself.

              On principle, I resolutely refuse to respond to any question where the asker doesn’t give two shits about my reply.  Am I supposed to believe that Little Jimmy is truly concerned for my well being?  That he is actually expecting me to provide him with any sort of response to his question other than “Fine and Dandy.  How was yours?”  Because, honestly, most of the time, my days are total and complete crap. 

              But does Little Jimmy want to hear about that?  Does he want me to tell him all about the fact that I am nearly forty, and haven’t had sex in six years?  That my boss hates me?  That I’m a massive disappointment to my family?  No!  Little Jimmy wants me to lie, and I refuse to perjure myself for some snot-nosed kid.

                     And yet, on this particular day, circumstances have unfolded in such an extreme way during the past twelve or so hours, that I decide, just this once, to answer Little Jimmy.  And to his inane question, instead of merely grunting or simply ignoring him, like I usually do, I respond, “Well, aside from being brutally murdered, my day was pretty fucking fabulous.”

                  Now, technically, this too is a lie . . . well, the part about my day being fucking fabulous, at least.  My day, quite literally, sucked.  Nevertheless, this was the answer I gave Little Jimmy, or whatever the twit’s actual name is, just to see how he would respond.

                  “Ha, ha.  Good one, Mr. Blumenstein,” squeaks the boy wonder.  “You have a great night,” he chirps after me, as I head across the lobby to the elevator.

                  See what I mean?   You try to impart an important piece of personal information to someone, and all they do is laugh in your face.  Sighing, I reach into my messenger bag, pull out a tissue, secure it tightly over my pointer finger with a rubber band, and enter the already open double doors of the elevator, which, thank the Lord, is empty.  With my covered finger (Did you know that nearly 15% of all elevator buttons are covered with human feces?), I press the number 6, which responds to my command by lighting up.  Or at least it would, if my dipshit landlord ever got around to fixing the elevator.  Instead, the elevator door closes and I ride in utter and complete darkness for six floors, which I mind less today than I would under normal circumstances.

                 By the time I enter my apartment, I am dead tired (har de har, har).  Upon removing the tissue from my finger, triple locking my door, and fastening the chain across it, I then bend down to put my “doorstop” (a six by four inch cement block) in front of it.  Seem a bit excessive to you?  Did you know that the odds of having your apartment broken into by a gang of hoodlums are as small as one in 1,000?  And if that was to happen to me, who do you think would come to my rescue?  My 84-year old neighbor, Ms. Tingle?  My dipshit landlord?  Little Jimmy?  I’d rather take my chances throwing out my back (which I’ve done about five times since I moved in) with the cement block.  Thank you very much.

                           My apartment safely secured, I slouch dejectedly in front of the full- length mirror situated in my entrance foyer.  Staring back at me is a pasty, prematurely bald (although, I gather, once you pass thirty the “premature” label is debatable) paunchy loser in an ill-fitting suit.  “Still ugly,” I mutter under my breath at my mirror image, who, having taken offense to my comment, glares back at me as if to say “Pot calling kettle . . . “ or, whatever the heck that saying is supposed to be. 

                      For the record, all those movies and books that would lead you to believe that people who turn into . . . what I turned into . . . suddenly become all “Brad Pitt” in the looks department are a crock of shit.  That is unless, of course, you are Brad Pitt, in which case, more fucking power to you, I guess . . .

                    Without passing Go or collecting 200 dollars, I head directly to my bed and flop down on my mattress fully dressed.  But I can’t sleep, because my head is spinning and the wooden headboard hovering over me makes me feel as though I am sleeping in a coffin, which, while apropos of the situation, disturbs me greatly.  Thirsty, I head to my fridge, and take a swig of milk straight from the carton (which is actually statistically shown to be more germ free than glassware, especially if you live alone like me).  Even though the expiration date on the carton is still over a week away, the milk tastes rancid, so I spit it out and spill the contents of the carton into the sink.  I then pop open a can of non-name brand soda (I’ll be damned if I have to pay over a dollar for a can of pop when the fifty cent cans are just as good), but it tastes terrible too.

                  Resolved to my fate, I reach into my messenger bag and remove a bulky mason jar I received earlier that evening from Dr. Freenly.  Taking a deep breath, I open the jar, close my eyes, and pour its entire contents down my throat.  The red liquid is warm and thick, but it feels good going down.  So good, that I don’t even mind it when some of the liquid trickles down my chin and chunky globule lands on and ruins my brand new shirt.

                    Once I have finished, I forlornly rinse out the empty jar and place it with the rest of the recycling.  To my relief, I recall that Dr. Freenly has placed two more jars of the stuff in my bag.  I extract them and place them on my counter, staring at them in confusion. 

               Am I supposed to refrigerate these?  I think to myself.  Do NOT Refrigerate! reads a handwritten label hastily secured on one of the jars.  After putting the two jars away in a nearby cabinet, I slump down into a chair in front of my kitchen table and begin to ponder my last hours among the living . . .

___________________________________________________________________

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