But that was then, and this is now, and Whitney is happy to see Jaq, maybe because she looks like every girl Whitney ever dated. Or maybe Whitney’s just in a great mood since finding that snazzy dress belt at Contempo Casual to wear on her head.
Back in LA, Kelsey is making dinner for Romi again. When the breadwinner comes home to their tiny studio, she has a passive-aggressive gift for Kelsey; a date book. So cute! And useful! Kelsey flips through the book’s pages – all as blank as her face – and drones, “I love it,” with all the enthusiasm of a depressed robot.
Now Kelsey won’t forget important dates like the weekly meetings of Cashiers Local 104, the Al-Anon schedule, and can easily note all the days she hasn’t gotten laid.
Here’s a new development in the house: Romi has stopped drinking. After her last blackout, wherein she made out with Rachel for no reason whatsoever, Romi finally answered the wake-up call, and sips water with dinner. Meanwhile, Kelsey, who denies having a drinking problem, is on her third ginormous glass of wine as she watches her girl take a bath in four inches of water. Hello boobies.
Romi and Kelsey have had a couple of calm, nice weeks. Romi attributes them to not being fall-down wasted.
Kelsey offers, “You know what I honestly think it is? The sunshine.”
Yeah, that’s it. It’s the sun. I also heard Mercury is in retrograde. And your head is in Uranus.
Back in San Francisco, Whitney is hosting the Tuesday night girl party at a Castro bar called Trigger. She gets fanned a few times and takes some pictures with girls who mistake her for a real celebrity. Oh, San Francisco. I thought you were better than that.
Whitney: The thing I don’t understand is that girls always want to smell my hair. They’ll come up and, like, sneak a sniff. And it’s like, I mean, you can, but I don’t know if I should hand it to them or what. But one thing I’ve always made sure of is this s–t always smells on point.
What do Whitney’s dreads smell like? Pantene and regret.
One person who knows damn well what Whitney smells like, from all angles, is Jaq, who’s enjoying their drama-free night by following Whitney back to her hotel room. When morning comes, Jaq’s out the door with a friendly ass slap and a “See ya later,” despite Whitney’s pleas for her to get back in bed. Whitney only wants what she can’t have.
Back in La La Land, Sara is too busy being amazeballs to care wtf Whitney is doing. Today, Sara has donned shiny, gold short-shorts and black tights, and is writhing in a friend’s music video, because, as she points out with a straight face, “I’m a dancer.” If gyrating in a bustier for dollar bills while standing on top of a speaker constitutes “dancing” I seriously don’t get why people bother auditioning for the Joffrey.