(birds chirping, dog barking)
(snoring)
Let's go.
- Sync and corrections by brayanatsix - - www.addic7ed.com -
♪ I'm gonna leave you anyway ♪
♪ Gonna leave you anyway. ♪
(water running)
Oh, I love your shower.
Yeah, it's a good one.
Me and this hand nozzle thingy have gotten very close.
You're S.O.L, but trust me, it's amazing.
Oh, I use it.
How?
I shoot it up my butt.
You do?
Sure.
Oh, yeah!
What do you know?
(grunts)
(clears throat)
What?
You missed a step in that process.
Oh, no, it's just pee. Look.
You sit to pee?
Yeah, I sit whenever I can. I love sitting.
Sitting's definitely in my top five favorite activities.
- What are the others? - Eating things.
Shutting stupid people down verbally.
Bubble baths.
Masturbating.
- Where's sex? - Eighth probably.
- What about sex with me? - Seventh, maybe sixth.
Yeah, no, sex with you, then sleeping.
Unless I have a flying dream.
Then you're seventh.
(clears throat)
What's your day like?
Oh, you know, tedious interactions with awful people.
Weird. Mine, too.
When are you gonna be home?
My clothes from last night are still in your dryer.
On the late side.
Want to give me a key so I can get in?
Jimmy?
You using the hand thingy?
Edgar can let you in.
Yeah, but in case he's not home.
Hey...
Hey!
I just meant a key to get my stuff, I didn't mean a key like... like that.
Okay.
I didn't.
- Okay. - Okay. Good.
- But, I mean... - God's sake!
(huffs)
Seriously, what if I had, would that be any reason to shit yourself?
Yes.
We've spent the last five, six nights in a row together?
'Cause you fall asleep after sex!
You're like a fat guy in an American sitcom.
It's a key.
It's a way to get in.
No, it's not.
It's...
It's my freedom melted down into a metal totem.
It means that there are rights granted and designations...
Designated.
No, it doesn't. It's a...
Oh, my God, you're right.
I am?
I must still be hungover. Thanks for calling me out.
Momentary lapse of sanity.
Jesus.
Right, so, uh... are we gonna hang out later or...?
I actually have plans.
Okay.
Well, as my grandma used to say,
"It's only a walk of shame if you're capable of feeling shame."
See you later.
Thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.
- That's a frittata. - Mm-hmm.
It's an egg-based dish similar to an omelet.
I know what a frittata is.
This one has leeks and goat cheese. I saw the recipe on Rachael Ray.
You're not supposed to watch her.
The doctor said that your obsession with her is unhealthy.
I know, but every minute that I'm watching her,
I'm not doing heroin.
Except sometimes I'm also doing heroin.
- You know, she asked for a key. - Who?
Rachael Ray. Who do you think?
- Rachael Ray could have a key. - Can you believe she would do that?
- Well, I mean, keys open doors. - It's not a key. It's a symbol.
- Of what? - Of the unceasing,
inexorable march of everything towards predictability,
blandness and mediocrity.
It's the Rachael Raying of the world.
A cozy world full of home-cooked meals and graceful weight fluctuation?
I'd live in that world.
I honestly cannot sit there and pretend not to be
horrified by things as unthought-out and unspecial
as "Can I have a key," ruled by nothing more interesting
than animal instinct to the point that I might as well
be sleeping with a migratory bird or a leatherback sea turtle.
I'm gonna eat your frittata.
"Can I have a key?"
I'll tell you what... How can you see this shit
happening and just smile and be okay with it?
How do you look at the person you're with and not just know
that there's another person inside who's boring and lame
and will eventually ask for emotional support
and to shop together for decorative sconces at Williams-Sonoma.
How can you just ignore that shit?
I don't know.
Because you like them, I guess.
Yeah, well...
I don't know how to do that, so...
Well, it makes sense she'd be emotional today.
I swear, if you're charting her menstrual cycle...
It's her birthday.
It is?
Mm-hmm.
Why didn't she tell me?
(cell phone buzzing)
Oh, it's Gretchen's.
I better bring it to her.
Hand it over.
What?
I'm not gonna snoop.
I'm not!
Aw...
Aw, this is stupid.
Y-You are stupid.
I'm living with the stupidest person in America.
Me, the smartest, and you, the stupidest, living together.
You seriously think I'm not
strong enough to break through what... ten staples?
Have a good day at school.
You've got to be kidding me.
You're doing a juice cleanse?
You disgusting cliché.
You're going to embarrass me at my diner.
Don't care.
Day five. Gretch, you can't imagine the high.
- Mmm, bet I can. - No, you can't.
Remember the time you and Chingy snorted K off my vag?
Aw... yeah.
This one is almond, flaxseed and something called "whey runoff."
Mmm. Mmm.
Mmm.
You don't understand how skinny the wives at Paul's firm are, Gretch.
- I can't compete. - So, don't try.
Those Westside women are all overly tanned garbage monsters with fake tits.
Hip bones jutting out of their Lululemons.
- That's exactly what they are. - So screw 'em.
Screw 'em, divorce Paul, start eating food,
move back to the East Side, become goddamn interesting again.
Wow.
If it wasn't your birthday, I'd be really hurt.
Sorry.
This Jimmy thing has me all freaked out.
I warned you about him.
I bet you guys talk about me all the time, huh?
- How much it bugs me. - Nope.
Ew! You guys probably, like, talk about me during sex even.
You guys are weird.
I didn't mean the key thing like he took it.
I don't think I did. We're having fun.
- That's enough. - It better be. He is a bad person.
I'm a bad person.
Ooh, are you still seeing Mr. Fancy Director Guy?
- It's complicated. - Your life is so fun and complicated!
My life used to be fun and complicated.
- And now you're married to a banker. - Paul is actually VP
of Wealth Management and Investment Strategies.
(Gretchen snores)
- Idiot. - What?
There you are. I'm sorry, Gretchen.
Uh, your phone keeps going to voice mail.
Oh, I left it somewhere. What's up?
It's Sam. He did an interview.
Without consulting me? Who with?
A college paper.
Oh. And?
He used the word "gay" and "faggot" 37 times.
As in "faggot is a really terrible word" and "gay people are the best"?
The reporter is the president of the Gay and Lesbian student union,
and he's threatening to go to the Times.
Go. Breakfast is on me. Happy birthday.
Nice try.
You still have to buy me a present... cheapskate.
Mmm.
(engine revving)
(opera plays on stereo)
(phone chimes)
(phone buzzes, phone chimes)
(buzzing)
(man singing opera in Italian on stereo)
(Jimmy sings along in Italian)
(phone chimes)
(Jimmy sings along)
♪ La-la-la, la-la-la, la, la... ♪
(grunting)
Oh, come on!
(phone buzzes)
(phone chimes)
_
Who the hell is Ty?!
(bicycle brakes squeak)
I stole you a card from CVS, but I lost it on the way over here.
This is serious, Sam.
Inside, it said, "You're not just getting older.
You're also getting less attractive."
You can't bribe me with flowers.
It's a joke, because you're so young and beautiful and shit.
What were you thinking, doing an interview without me there?
To quote you, "I get nervous at these shits."
We were skating and messing with college girls, and
this skinny fool comes up and says, can he ask some questions.
Were you high?
It was 10:00 in the morning. Of course I was high.
And the whole time, you did not notice he was gay?
Presumptively.
Yeah, I mean, dude was hella fruity, but so what?
My generation... we don't act different around different people,
frontin' fake personalities. We cool with everybody.
Except Shitstain. He don't like Koreans.
'Cause of their manipulative currency devaluation.
And their eyes.
You called the head of the LGBT student union a "faggot."
So? I call my pops that all the time.
- Is your dad gay? - No. He's just a faggot.
Well, now I have to go down there and deal with this.
And do your job? Oh, no, Gretchen.
From now on, when you receive an interview request,
spontaneous or otherwise, what are you gonna do?
Politely direct 'em to your office?
Damn straight. Listen to Honey Nutz.
(Sam sighs)
Damn it.
Hey.
Uh, I brought your phone.
Oh. Awesome.
Thanks.
(Jimmy sputters, sighs)
Beep, beep.
(Jimmy clears his throat)
Oh, you got flowers.
Oh. Yeah.
Buy them yourself or...?
No.
Ah.
Special occasion of some sort?
People send me flowers sometimes, Jimmy. They want to see me happy.
- People like me. - Oh, I know that.
Of course I know that. So, what are you doing later?
- I have plans. - Fine! Bye.
(Jimmy clears his throat, sniffles)
Hey, can I get one of those?
- These are pretty expensive. - Don't be an asshole.
Fine.
You're boning my publicist, right?
Used to be.
Yeah, I Googled your ass. I liked your book.
Really? Thank you.
What did you like about it?
Obviously, I thought it was, like, boring as shit.
And clearly, you used to jack off to Hemingway in high school,
- but the prose was good. - Thank you.
Enjoy your smoke.
Why'd you used to be boning her?
I don't know.
We were never a real thing.
How come?
All I know is, I don't let nobody talk to me the way Gretch does.
Yeah, me, neither.
Figure she must be pretty dope if we both let her do that.
(Jimmy sighs)
- Are you going back in? - Yeah.
Give her this for me.
Hey, do you know someone named Ty?
Then I was, like, "Girl, fix your weave."
- Darren Kaplan? - Yeah?
I wanted to talk to you about Sam Halton.
Maker's, rocks.
When you went into PR, were you aware
that you'd become an instant cliché?
Snotty gay reporter is better?
(guys chuckle)
Shoo.
What do you want?
I just want to make sure my client's words aren't taken out of context.
Don't worry. I'll provide lots of context.
He's a moron.
He's not even old enough to drink. His opinions aren't fully formed.
We're on the dawn of a revolution.
You wouldn't run around saying the "N" word,
but people feel free to say "fag" whenever they want.
He says the "N" word all the time, too.
He called wheatgrass the "N" word yesterday.
He was like, "Mmm, this 'N' word is... hella good for digestion."
- You got anything else? - No. It's my birthday.
I didn't really prepare.
This is the point where I would normally try flirting with you.
Okay, I tried.
Wait, that's it?
Look, I love my client like the black son
I aborted in high school, but maybe you're right.
Banning words is always the misguided byproduct of good social movements.
So, maybe his career is worth the sacrifice.
I heard Caliber had a big hush budget.
I can give you two grand... that's it.
And he has to come give me another interview.
Done.
Happy birthday.
Thanks.
Congrats on choosing a dying profession.
She can do whatever she wants. Just go home.
Or go in there and ruin her date.
Yep.
- Farts. - Sorry.
Lindsay, what...
I'm saying, like, you can tell, like, she just stuffed
it into a bag. You know what I mean? It's so sad.
- Hey, Jimmy, how's it going? - Here, honey, oh.
- Just... - Hey, Jimmy.
- Nice to see you. - Do you work here?
Can I get a double whiskey, neat?
Jimmy, it's Paul, Lindsay's husband? We vacationed in Saint Lucia together.
- Twice. - Just get him the whiskey, Paul.
Go.
I lost eight pounds since you saw me last.
- Can you tell? - No.
So, this is creepy.
I know.
How could you not invite me to your birthday drinks?
I mean you just showing up.
- Oh, I thought you were on a date. - How is that better?
Why'd you think I was on a date?
Well, a text came through on your phone.
- You snooped? - No, I... I couldn't
figure out your password, so...
What are we doing, Jimmy?
Happy birthday, you.
It's from a winery in La Cañada I'm a partial investor of.
Oh, where the 2 meets the 210.
Yeah, they say it's our Rhine Valley.
Thanks, Ty.
Uh, Gretchen, this is Element.
- LMN? - Element.
- Like Oxygen, Hydrogen. - Arsenic, Radon.
- Ty Wyland. - Sorry, Twine what?
Ty Wyland.
(whispering) I don't understand what he's saying.
Uh, grab yourselves drinks. We're right over there.
We actually can't stay.
Uh, we have a fund-raiser
for this very promising Guatemalan reform candidate.
Ooh, heavily into Central American politics, are you, Element?
Well. Happy birthday, again.
(whispers) I need to see you. Soon.
Nice to see you guys. Okay.
So that's why you didn't invite me.
Also, I wanted to spare you Becca and Vernon.
Homeslice! Get your balls over here. What? It's Jimmy.
You could have just told me it was your birthday and you were hanging with...
friends.
I wouldn't have come.
It's not my fault my birthday came two weeks after
we started... whatever we're doing.
You thought he was coming alone.
I didn't ask for any of this to happen,
in this order.
You didn't do anything wrong. Okay?
Look, I'm gonna go, okay?
No, stay.
What, now that he's gone?
Don't be a dick.
Fine.
But if I'm in danger of getting into conversation with anyone
really annoying, just kick me under the table.
Deal.
Hey, guys.
This is Jimmy.
He's a... guy I'm sleeping with.
Jimmy. Sit next to me.
Paul, can you get me a backup drink?
Go.
She asked me not to tell you.
You're not my friend anymore.
Can I still live with you rent-free?
I guess so, yeah.
It was good to see you.
Um... hey, guys.
Nice pull. Bec didn't tell me you were hitting that.
Because I had no idea.
Jimmy, you got to see this photo my colorectal guy just texted.
- It's sick. - No.
Aw!
Just...
Your loss.
I'm getting us Jagerbombsters.
- Ugh. - Jagerbombsters!
Did it even occur to you to tell me that you're sleeping with Gretchen?
No.
You and Gretchen are poison people. This is going to end so badly.
I know, right?
(laughs, sighs)
I'm glad you came tonight.
Stop.
Tough shit. I am.
You are growing on me, Jimmy... Stupid-Three-Names.
You're drunk.
Thanks. Ditto.
There is no way that that model is as good in bed as you are.
I know, right? Okay, that's weird.
Sorry about the key thing.
Oh, yeah, speaking of which, I should probably take back the one I gave Sam.
That was my main key.
- You gave Sam a key? - To give to you, yeah.
Wait, so you wanted me to have a key?
No, I just didn't want you to be mad at me.
I'm not. I'm just embarrassed for asking.
Okay, good.
- Wait, he never gave you the key? - No.
(rattles door handle)
Oh, shit.
Hey, guys.
What the hell are you doing?
Sorry.
- We needed a place. - For what?
Hey.
You're gay?
No...
but this nigga sucks really good dick.
- www.addic7ed.com -