We already met the Real World Brooklyn cast members (twice, [cough] three times). Last week, Sharon Steel watched Ryan make out with a drag queen and wash his mouth out with Soap. This week, he sings about a tampon.
Baya and Ryan
There comes a time in every Real World season where an entire episode is dedicated to potential hook-ups and questionable flirtations. And last night was that episode. The sexual tension pits Baya against Ryan, Devyn against Scott, Chett against some Brooklynite model who is ten thousand times out of his league, and Katelynn against her long-distance boyfriend Mike, who likes her so much he pretends she doesn’t exist. This week, I watched and wept as the King’s County swore in its newest Decider. It’s summer in Brooklyn, and the air is thick with heinously inappropriate crushes and fear.
Right away, we get Ryan serenading Baya on the guitar and she ogles him through her eyelashes. It’s very sad that she thinks this is the best she can do. Sylvia Plathtastic should have kept dancing; now she just moons around the Red Hook Castle and wishes that Ryan would break up with his girlfriend and knock boots with her under an Ikea comforter. What occurs, instead, is that Devyn and Scott play with some raw chicken breasts in the kitchen, in their underwear. This is how they figure out whether they’re BFFs or LUVAHS 4-LYFE. Devyn was reading some self-help book with “Bitches” and “Love” in the title that I was so terrified of, I wouldn’t allow myself to press pause in order to see it properly. I hope she found some answers, or the book grew tiny reptile legs and crawled into the Hudson River to mutate itself some more.
Scott and Devyn, play with some raw chicken breasts in the kitchen, in their underwear
Meanwhile, Sarah has some kind of gravely laryngitis or early onset emphysema that either came from smoking too many clove cigarettes, or doling out advice like a second-rate analyst to people who aren’t listening. The point is talking about yourself, not actually fixing anything! Duh, Sarah.
Lest we forget that Ryan is an aspiring musician and Chet unironically desires to be the next Carson Daly a/k/a Great American Toolbag–“hosting,” he calls it–the roomies head to the Fall Out Boy bar a/k/a Angels & Kings in hopes they’ll bump into Pete Wentz, who will of course blog about them, leading to shared goth dinners with Ashlee Simp and record deals with Papa Joe, cause that’s what happens in New York, you foolish, foolish dreamers. FAIL.
Crush Management schmuck, Ryan, and Baya at Angels & Kings
Instead they met some Crush Management schmucks who were like, Hey Chet, we’ll let you interview bands for a web site nobody will look at, and Sure, Baya, we’ll teach you to DJ (since when was this a goal?!) and Oh, mmkay, Ryan, come to a studio and sing a song about Iraq. As Simon Cowell would say, it’s all about song choice, you stupid twat. And instead of debuting the terrible torch song he wrote with a chorus that has him chanting “liar, liar, liar,” Ryan actually chose to wail about used feminine hygiene products for the professional record producer man. Swear to God, these were the real lyrics:
I would like to live/As a tampon/In the woman I love.
Suddenly, Ryan turned into a Bollywood dancer, except it was a Disney Princess movie, and he was Jasmine and Chet was Aladdin, and they went flying away on a magic carpet, leaving the rest of this cruel city behind so they could start A Whole New World, together. Also, Katelynn, the transgendered roomie, kissed a girl. Katy Perry was not playing on the jukebox.
Ryan trying to live as a tampon.
At Elmo restaurant, Scott sat squarely between Devyn and his model-friend, delighted with his life. Devyn told him that “the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice,” which was supposed to convince him that he should date her, and not his model-friend. Chet, who looks as if he sat in a tanning bed for 82 hours and fried himself like a supermarket chicken, thought the model-friend was into him. “She’s a model, and I’m Chet,” he said, and then, feeling weepy and grossed out by all the cleavage, headed to the little boy’s room to reapply his guyliner.
But good gracious God in heaven, Devyn is confused by Scott’s “mixed signals,” because boys like to hug friendly girls they live with and don’t really worry too much about WHAT IT ALL MEANS. This isn’t Felicity, Devyn.
Katelynn expresses some real, tender emotion for her neglectful boyfriend Mike. She’s afraid nobody else will love her as a trans-woman, which is so interesting because it’s a super specific and universal terror that all women have when someone dumps them and they are scared nobody will ever love them again. Then Katelynn tries to rebound! She goes out on a date with a Matt person she met at Matchless, who ain’t half bad looking! They window-shop on “the Lower East Side,” Matt says, all scene-pointy. But, sob, Katelynn just wants her stupid boyfriend who ignores her back, and she cried in her bed for awhile. Naked emotion. If there were a Judy Blume tone-poem that MTV had approved in advance, it would have been playing.
The ladies and Ryan end by attending a pole dancing class–not making this up–for housewives who strip in their spare time. Their loins, they are a-aching. The day before or something, Ryan and Baya were grabbing at each other’s man-and-woman-parts in a bar. So flirty! So devil-may-care! Ryan mumbled, “I have a girlfriend,” which of course meant Baya needed to rub up against Chet, turning them both into wax figurines for Madame Tussad’s collection. Ryan stared at them in a corner and sent Baya a Twitter tweet about how he’d enjoy keeping her hot bod on the backburner till things go sour with his girlfriend. This means he likes her! He then proceeded to twist his face into an expression so asinine, so deformed; J.D. marched up to him, kissed his feet, and crowned him with a garland of orchids and condoms. HUZZAH! Put that in your Facebook status and smoke it. Brooklyn has found its newest Dear Leader.–Sharon Steel