Wordsmoker

So. What’d I miss? Oh, right. While I’ve been gallivanting around France shoveling foie gras into my pie-hole, there have been three riveting episodes of Miss Advised. Because I love you all with the burning passion of a thousand baby kittens, I watched every last one. My brain hurts, my eyes have ceased their incessant blinking, and I’m weeping for humanity. So here you go, the penultimate mega recap! For brevity’s sake and because she has been a complete bore, I skipped over Emily’s story. If you are devastated by this news, please seek counseling immediately.

And away we go! Amy. She has a business partner for her matchmaking company who, appropriately, dresses like a hooker. A business partner is probably a good idea because Amy is a twelve-year-old girl trying to figure out if Lewis likes her, or like-likes her. She reads Lewis’s latest text message out loud:

Hey. Hope you had a good time salsa dancing the other night parenthesis even after getting upset with me about not texting you for one day wink. I wanted to meet up with you early next week so let me know if Monday works for you smiley face.

After hemming and hawing over a response, she settles on: Yes that sounds like fun smiley face.

A date! On a Monday! To prepare, Amy hires a stylist who selects a pair of charcoal grey pants, a white t-shirt, and a black shrug. For the record, if you can’t put that outfit together on your own, you ought to be banned from the island of Manhattan.

Amy meets Lewis at a diner, because in the land of ten thousand restaurants, nothing could be finer. Lewis does not mince words and tells Amy that her “why didn’t you text me” routine on their last date was not cool. Wait a minute, this isn’t a date at all, it’s…a dumping! “I don’t think it’s fair for both of us to go out on more dates.” No, Lewis, but it is fair for you to go out on more dates with anyone other than Amy. Wow. Amy storms out of the diner, heartbroken. After a third date. Or not even a third date, because the third date is the Dump Date. So after two dates, she is crying-on-the-street devastated.

To help get her mind off of Lewis the Louse, Amy attends a “house party” in Greenwich, Connecticut. I have no idea what a “house party” is, but I’m hoping it’s an Eyes Wide Shut thing, only with much less Tom Cruise. On the way, she stops by the home of a potential client, an attractive 48-year-old divorcee who seems fairly assertive and confident, to the point where I have to wonder why she feels the need to call a matchmaker in the first place. Amy’s assessment is that this woman gives out a masculine vibe. While most women would take that as a compliment, this particular woman does not appreciate Amy’s insight. At the “house party,” which unfortunately is just like a regular party, only it is indeed held in a house, the potential client confronts Amy. Bickering and fighting ensues, it turns into a scene, and Amy dumps a drink “on my Armani.” This is precisely why I never go to house parties in Greenwich. My Armani!!!

To soothe the savage beasts, an over-the-hill man with platinum blonde hair, earrings, and a giant scarf picks up a guitar and sings a tune in front of a fireplace. I did not recognize the song, so I must assume that it is a Michael Bolton number. His name is Scott, and he asks Amy to go apple picking with him the next day, which may be a euphemism for something that Emily does on her radio show.

Scott shows up for their date dressed like an episode of VH1’s Where Are They Now? This does not phase Amy. In fact, she finds it hot. By the end of the date, she has changed all of the “Amy + Lewis” hearts to “Amy + Scott” on her Trapper Keeper®, which also might be a euphemism for something that Emily does on her radio show.

But Amy’s love for Lewis runs deep, and it’s going to take more than an afternoon with a midlife crisis to help her recover. So it’s off to the gym, where Amy attacks her workout with the vigor of ten thousand Olympic table tennis players. Then, something magical happens. A creepy guy in a truly terrible necklace asks her out. He arranges their first date…at the gym. Which is weird, right? I mean who goes on dates at the gym? After climbing a plastic wall, they go to the juice bar…also at the gym. I’m not quite sure that this guy has ever left the premises. If this is one of those 24-hour gyms, it is entirely possible that this guy lives his entire life in the gym. Amy seems smitten, and if things continue to go well, maybe he’ll ask her to move into his locker.

And then there’s Julia. She meets with a “happiness expert,” because such things exist in Los Angeles. He immediately makes her cry, which seems like the opposite of happiness to me. Mr. Happiness explains that Julia is not being real. Really. That’s it? You hired someone to tell you that you’re not being real? The entire Internet has been telling you that for the past six years, did you not get the memo?

To find her authentic self, Julia asks her friend, Jessica, to help her pick out an outfit for a date with Andrew, a man she met on Facebook. Rather than listen to Jessica’s advice, Julia decides that the “real me” is a prom girl and insists on wearing one of her many prom dresses on the date. But which prom dress to choose? Julia dons her magic prom dress sorting tiara, and we are treated to a montage that harkens back to Iona in Pretty In Pink. Ultimately, the dress is selected based upon which one still zips up.

The date begins with Julia schepping Andrew to a tuxedo shop and dresses him up like an awkward 17-year-old boy. Generally speaking, clothing shopping is a man’s least favorite activity, so kudos to Andrew for putting up with this crap. Julia changes into her poofy, light-blue prom dress and tiara. She’s having the best time ever, and I have to say, it’s actually kind of endearing to see how excited she is about role-playing. At the same time, I’m thankful that she went to a tuxedo shop instead of a costume store, because I’m pretty sure that there’s a furry in her future.

The date continues at a grilled cheese food truck (really, Los Angeles? Grilled cheese? That’s the best you can do, truckwise?) Next, the happyish couple go to an empty restaurant and dance to terrible 80s music. Then, finally, a man voluntarily kisses Julia Allison.

To celebrate her first noncompulsory kiss, Julia and her roommate plan a dinner party and invite Andrew, who lives 297 miles away in San Francisco. Sadly, he cancels at the last minute. Julia is pissed, and utters a surprisingly insightful string of words: “You should never have to convince a guy to come see you.” Wow. Excellent advice. Excellent. Jeez, almost wise. Prophetic. Which of course means that she badgers and berates poor Andrew until he gives in and travels to Los Angeles for the stupid dinner party he never wanted to attend in the first place.

Andrew spends the night on Julia’s couch and receives his obligatory second date blow job, which entitles him to a free “I Went Out With Julia Allison And All I Got Was A Lousy Blow Job” t-shirt. To nobody’s surprise, Julia has hot pink pillowcases with her name embroidered on them in white thread. Wait a second, that’s not thread….

After Andrew departs, Julia admits that she is behind three articles on her Elle Dot Com assignment, but that Andrew makes her creative juices flow. Excuse me while I vomit into a special bucket that I keep beside my couch while I watch this show. It’s hot pink with Julia’s name embroidered on it in cake frosting. You can see the panic on the editor’s face when she confesses that she hasn’t actually written any words. Desperate for content, he tells her to “Write me emails. Four per week.” If you listen closely, you can almost hear your journalism degree weeping.

Having been on precisely two dates with Andrew, Julia’s reality television clock is ticking so she decides to have “the talk.” She invites herself to San Francisco and immediately ratchets up her cuteness levels to DEFCON 5. Maybe it’s fear of commitment, or maybe it was just a really, really lousy blow job, but Andrew does not seem interested in the fluffy pink bunny hopping around his apartment. “Look, you’re fun, smart, a little crazy, good crazy, but I don’t feel that I’m falling for you.”

Now that sound, that one’s a little bit different. That’s the sound of Julia Allison’s heart breaking into a thousand sparkly pieces. All of her hopes and dreams, shattered. “I’m supposedly a relationship expert and I totally misread the signs here!” In a particularly insightful moment, Julia explains that she creates these fantasies of men that never match up to the reality of the situation. Sigh. We all do, Julia. We just don’t do it in front of [looks up stats] 1,507,000 viewers. Really? A million and a half viewers tune into this crap? Holy hell. This is why we’re losing to China in the medal standings.

Well, that’s it. Next week is the season finale. While I don’t put it past her to find love in one episode or less, something tells me that Julia is still searching for her man. Oddly enough, I’m sort of rooting for her. Julia has a certain kind of charm, like a three-legged dog or a moderately-priced sports car. There has to be someone out there for her, somewhere. No one I know, but still. Someone. Please. Anyone. Otherwise, we run the risk of having to suffer through a Season 2.