Meanwhile baby-mama-wannabes Cori and Kacy are in their little love nest, talking about sperm. They don’t want to use a sperm bank because it’s so impersonal. Cory explains, “I don’t want some Joe Schmoe who needed money for a six-pack, so he went and beat off into a cup.”
Knock one out, get paid and have a beer? Sounds good to me. That’s what I call penis envy.
Last year, Corcy’s friend Brent said he would help them out, and now it’s time to put his sperm where his mouth is. Sorry, that came out wrong.
While Corcy marks their ovulation calendar, Sara is using Whitney’s dubious handyman skills to lure her over to her house. She asks Whitney to hang a mirror and a candle holder thingy, and change a light bulb, which begs the question: How many lesbians does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: one million and two. One to screw it in, one to lift her up by the crotch, and one million to say out loud, “This is about as interesting as watching paint dry.”
Back in New York, Whitney’s ex, Rachel, is playing Keep-Away with a mini-vibrator, a random dude friend, and Hana, who happens to be Sara’s ex.
Rachel and Whitney. Whitney and Sara. Sara and Hana. Yes, it’s true, we are all connected in a disturbing, incestuous way. I’m five degrees separated from Megan Fox, but I’m saving that true Hollywood story for my memoirs.
Rachel is getting ready to visit Whitney. She says she doesn’t care who Whitney’s seeing, dating or two-timing; she will always be the Mary to their Rhoda. As much as I apreesh the Mary Tyler Moore reference, everyone knows that Rhoda was the funny, cool one with the better wardrobe.
Over at Chez Whitney, she and her level-headed, maternal roommate, Alyssa, are working on a job for the New Zealand Red Cross. If you recall, Whitney and Alyssa have a small special effects makeup company. Today, they’re gluing clear, fake shards to bloodied pieces of latex skin. What this has to do with the New Zealand Red Cross is anyone’s guess. Is there such a thing as a glass tornado?
Just then, Sara texts Whitney. Alyssa wants Whitney to get off the phone and do some work, but more importantly, take off that stupid shoelace. It’s cutting off the blood supply to your brain.
Alyssa reports that Sara’s own friends know she’s using Whitney. “She thought that doing the show would be really advantageous to her career as a hair stylist.” Hair stylist? I thought she was a dirty stripper.
The better match for Whitney, in Alyssa’s mind, is Rachel, who at this moment is somewhere over the Grand Canyon, watching an in-flight movie and eating peanuts. Alyssa asks Whitney if she wants to sleep with Rachel while she’s in LA. Whitney responds with a hesitant, “Nnooo.”
“That’s funny,” Alyssa says, “Two days ago, you said you were going to have sex with Rachel.” Sh-t. Called out. Done.
Before you can say “lesbian hamster wheel” Whitney and Alyssa are at Los Angeles International Airport, picking up Rachel. In another terminal, Claire is waiting for her emotional baggage to emerge at Carousel B.