Regina: Standard, garden-variety “normal and nice.”

Sarah: But not gooey, starry-eyed “normal and nice.”

Regina: No. Just “normal and nice.”

Sarah: And not the “he always seemed so normal and nice until the SWAT team broke down his front door and found him eating Campbell’s Chicken & Stars out of the top of a skull” kind of “normal and nice.”

Regina: Noooooo no no. Well, I don’t think so. Although, come to think of it, I didn’t see his place.

Sarah: Oh, you’d still know if he were a serial killer.

Regina: Yeah, everyone says that, but there’s a reason these guys go on killing for years and years and don’t get caught. It’s like you just said — the neighbors go next door to borrow an egg from the guy or something, and he comes to the door gnawing on an ulna, and there’s some kid trussed up with duct tape in the living room, but the guy’s like, “Oh, we’re going to a costume party later,” so the neighbors just go, “Oh, okay — have fun!” and they get the recipe for ulna marinade and they go back next door, and then three years later they’re on TV all, “Well, he never played his music loud — how were we supposed to know?”

Sarah: Oh, I know. And every time, they’re like, “Yeah, it did smell kinda funny, now that you mention it.” I mean, haven’t they seen all the other neighbors of serial killers on TV over the years saying exactly the same thing? Isn’t “smells kinda funny” now considered a universal sign that you should call the cops? Hello! Get cable! And some sinuses!

Regina: I’ve never understood that either. I mean, a mouse died behind my stove and I thought I was going to have to move. How “kinda funny” does it have to smell before they grab a clue and realize he’s got fifteen cheerleaders stashed in the ceiling?

Sarah: Or they do grab a clue and ask him what’s up with the stench, so he tells them all apologetically that he’s an amateur taxidermist, and they BELIEVE HIM. How dumb do you have to be to accept that explanation? It’s a one-bedroom, lady! Wake up!

Regina: People only see what they want to see, I guess. I mean, look at Ted Bundy.

Sarah: Yeah. But you know what I don’t get? How could any woman over the age of twelve have fallen for that “oh, I hurt my arm, can you help me with something in the car” shit Bundy pulled? It’s just so obviously a scam.

Regina: Well, yeah, it’s obvious now, because that scam got famous because of Bundy. You know? Because everyone watched the miniseries and saw creepy Mark Harmon wearing that creepy sling over his creepy white turtleneck and luring those girls into his creepmobile.

Sarah: Oh, man, the miniseries. It’s on Lifetime all the time, and I can never not watch it, and it always freaks me the fuck out.

Regina: Me too. Guys in white turtlenecks give me the heebs to this day.

Sarah: And how about that scene — it’s right before a commercial, with that sloooowwww pan across the snow —

Regina: Ohhhhhh yeah! And there’s the dripping from the trees? ‘Cause it’s spring, and the snow is melting?

Sarah: Uh huh, uh huh, and you get that foreboding feeling because they’ve just cut away from a Hey, It’s That Guy intoning about how they might never find these girls?

Regina: Yeah yeah yeah, and you cover your face with a pillow, and the camera drops down from that pine branch —

Sarah & Regina: AND THERE’S THE DEAD GIRL’S HAND STICKING UP OUT OF THE SNOW AAAACK!

Regina: Dude. That shit is soooo creepy.

Sarah: Seriously. Except you know what? She’s supposed to have been there for, like, three months or something, right? But her nails look like she just had them done. It takes me out of the moment.

Regina: Oh, I didn’t notice that. I just started running around turning lights on. God, how did Mark Harmon become a sex symbol after that movie? He’s so icky in it, with that weird bland smile and everything.

Sarah: That’s kind of the point, though — that he’s all handsome and clean and harmless-looking, like Bundy.

Regina: Still. How do you go from Ted Bundy to Summer School?

Sarah: Well, look at Gary Cole. He played Jeffrey MacDonald in Fatal Vision and then ten years later he’s Mike Brady.

Regina: Yeah, good point. Okay, so…death is not an option. Gary Cole Mike Brady, or Robert Reed Mike Brady?

Sarah: Robert Reed is dead.

Regina: If he weren’t. And if he and Cole both have the man-perm.

Sarah: Man-permed Gary Cole.

Regina: Me too.

Sarah: How about non-man-permed Gary Cole and Robert Reed?

Regina: Hmm…close, but still Gary Cole.

Sarah: Yeah. Bob Reed had a sexy voice, though.

Regina: “Bob”?

Sarah: I’ve read Growing Up Brady like five hundred times. Barry Williams calls him Bob. I don’t know, forget it.

Regina: Okay. Gary Cole or Mark Harmon?

Sarah: Gary Cole.

Regina: Really?

Sarah: Not a huge fan of the Harmon. You?

Regina: Oh, the Cole. There’s something very sexy about the Cole that I can’t quite put my finger on.

Sarah: Okay, as an extension of that last one…Bundy or MacDonald?

Regina: Dude. Ew?

Sarah: I know, but now I can’t take it back. So? Bundy or MacDonald?

Regina: Gross. Okay. Okay…Bundy. Ew, EW, I need a shower.

Sarah: Wow, you’d take Bundy? Because Bundy had that weird thing with his hair where it looked like a —

Regina: He is a SERIAL KILLER, and you’re nitpicking my choice based on his hair?

Sarah: Hey, nobody made you pick the serial killer!

Regina: And besides, his hair is fine!

Sarah: It is not “fine”! It is a dead badger, and it is stapled to —

Regina: It’s thick and wavy, okay? I like thick, wavy hair. On, you know, law-abiding guys. Who don’t wear white turtlenecks and drive creepy Beetles.

Sarah: I have to confess that I kind of dug the Beetle.

Regina: Ew. You dug the Beetle?

Sarah: Well, when I was a little girl, I had this, like, obsession with the Beetle, and I would count them out loud on car trips and stuff and drive my parents bazoo, because back then everyone and their mother had a Beetle — the old-style ones. And I had this fantasy where I would grow up and marry John Travolta and we’d drive around in a —

Regina: John Travolta? The John Travolta?

Sarah: No, the John Travolta who worked at the dump — yes, the John Travolta.

Regina: Dude. You had a crush on John Travolta?

Sarah: Dude? I was five.

Regina: You had a CRUSH on JOHN Tra-VOLTA?

Sarah: Dude. I was FIVE.

Regina: But it’s JOHN TRAVOLTA.

Sarah: But I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD, for fuck’s sake! He used to be hot!

Regina: Okay, okay, let’s backtrack. When you were five, it was what year?

Sarah: 1978.

Regina: So, Grease John Travolta.

Sarah: Yeah, that’s what started it.

Regina: You had a crush on GREASE JOHN TRAVOLTA?

Sarah: What’s wrong with Grease John Travolta?

Regina: IT’S JOHN TRAVOLTA.

Sarah: I. WAS. FIVE. YEARS OLD!

Regina: I mean, Kotter John Travolta, I could live with, but Grease John Travolta, that’s another matter.

Sarah: Oh. Fine. All right, then. Regina, please do tell me why Kotter John Travolta is acceptable, but Grease John Travolta is not.

Regina: You don’t have to get defensive.

Sarah: I am not defensive. I am curious. I would genuinely like to know what sets Kotter Travolta apart from Grease Travolta. I would like you to enlighten me as to the difference between the two Travol…tae.

Regina: Okay, well, in my opinion, Grease Travolta was trying too hard to be bad, and it just felt like a cliché. And also, he looked ridiculous in athletic attire.

Sarah: Okay…okay, I don’t want you to view what I’m about to say as defensiveness. I just want to point something out.

Regina: Okay.

Sarah: Grease Travolta is supposed to look ridiculous in athletic attire. You know that, right? He’s trying to impress Sandy? He’s dorking out? That’s on purpose?

Regina: Sure, but that’s a plot element. I’m talking more about his actual body in the actual athletic attire. Because…okay, when Grease Travolta has sweatpants on, his buttocks look like fighting hot dog buns.

Sarah: Fighting…hot dog buns?

Regina: Yeah.

Sarah: But are the buns fighting? Or do the buns belong to fighting hot dogs?

Regina: The buns themselves are fighting. With each other. Like, you take two hot dog buns and you wrap them in a napkin, and they get into a shoving match and they’re squinching all around like they’re wrestling — that’s how Grease Travolta’s buttocks look. Don’t you think? That…they look like that?

Sarah: No.

Regina: Oh, come on. They totally look like fighting hot dog buns.

Sarah: Fighting Kaiser rolls, maybe. Not hot dog buns.

Regina: In Saturday Night Fever, they looked like fighting Kaiser rolls. Not in Grease. In Grease, total hot dog buns.

Sarah: So where does Kotter Travolta fit into this cavalcade of baked goods?

Regina: Well, that’s the beauty! Kotter Travolta’s jeans? Too tight for fighting!

Sarah: Ahhhh. All becomes clear.

Regina: See?

Sarah: It’s not the hot-dog-bun-ness you object to. It’s the hostility of said buns.

Regina: That is correct.

Sarah: And in Grease, the buns fight.

Regina: It’s fuckin’ Rocky in those sweatpants.

Sarah: I have to say, I never noticed that.

Regina: Well, you were five.

Sarah: And what of current Travolta?

Regina: I try to avoid eye contact with current Travolta’s ass.

Sarah: As do I. When did Travolta get so…wide, anyway? One day he’s doing the hustle and then all of a sudden he’s Brian Dennehy.

Regina: Hey, lay off Dennehy. He’s just…burly. He’s a burly guy.

Sarah: Who should think about ordering a salad.

Regina: Oh, come on. He’s not that big.

Sarah: A small salad. No dressing.

Regina: Okay, so the man likes to eat. What’s wrong with that?

Sarah: Oh, I see how it is now.

Regina: How what is?

Sarah: So, it’s fine for you to yell at me for liking John Travolta twenty-five YEARS ago because there’s some kind of Greco-Roman bialy DEATH match going on in his PANTS, but when YOU have a crush on a man who ATE THE KENNEDYS —

Regina: I DO NOT!

Sarah: — then he “just likes to EAT”? Ohhh, that’s FINE.

Regina: I do NOT have a crush on Brian Dennehy!

Sarah: Yes, you do!

Regina: NO I MOST CERTAINLY DO NOT!

Sarah: OH BUT YOU QUITE CLEARLY DO!

Regina: Fine, I do.

Sarah: OHHHH YES YOU — oh. You do?

Regina: Yes. I know he’s gigantic, but I find that strangely comforting. Okay?

Sarah: Well…sure, okay.

Regina: I feel much better, admitting that.

Sarah: Well, good!

Regina: Because I’ve had a little thing for him for awhile.

Sarah: It’s a relief, isn’t it? I felt so much better when I admitted the Boreanaz thing.

Regina: You have a Boreanaz thing?

Sarah: Had. It’s over — thank God. Oh, the shame. I can’t even tell you.

Regina: Oh, no need. I’ve been carrying Dennehy around forever.

Sarah: And that’s a heavy load. Heh.

Regina: Oh, shut up. He’s not that fat! He’s just —

Sarah: “Broad-shouldered”? Dude. We’ve been down this road before.

Regina: Well, I like him. And while we’re confessing our crushy sins —

Sarah: Noooo, you’re confessing your crushy sins. I’m just sitting here sounding non-judgmental and trying to hook up this cassette recorder.

Regina: Gandolfini.

Sarah: What about him — oh, you have a crush on him?

Regina: Yes. A big one. You have a problem with that?

Sarah: With crushing on Gandolfini? God, no. Dude, so many women crush on the ‘Fini.

Regina: No. Really?

Sarah: Sure! I myself have a little thing for the ‘Fini. At first I thought it was a Jersey thing, and then I thought maybe it was a power thing, but now I think maybe it’s just…a thing.

Regina: You’re kidding. Wow. I thought it was just me.

Sarah: That’s what everyone thinks! There’s this, like, conspiracy of silence around crushing on the ‘Fini! It’s like masturbation — all women do it, nobody’s admitting it.

Regina: I wish I’d known that. I’d have put a picture of the ‘Fini up in my cube.

Sarah: It’s not too late. You can wear your ‘Fini with pride.

Regina: Oh, I don’t know. I’m just a temp. Maybe I shouldn’t flaunt the ‘Fini.

Sarah: If you can’t be out at work…

Regina: Yeah, I know. It’s just a big step for me.

Sarah: Well, I’m here for you.

Regina: That’s such a strange thing with that show. I’d never look at those guys in real life, but something about them on the show is really…alluring.

Sarah: Oh, I know. Like, Jackie Junior? I knew guys like that growing up, and I’m not about to marry one, but — I don’t know. It’s like a Proustian madeleine, but in boy form.

Regina: I guess…but what’s my excuse, then?

Sarah: Bad boy syndrome?

Regina: Girl, please. I have a number of boy-related ailments but I know I’ve outgrown that one.

Sarah: Well, what else could it be?

Regina: Father issues? I don’t know.

Sarah: Your father killed people?

Regina: No, not like that. Like, the ‘Fini doesn’t remind me of my dad or anything, but he’s big and could beat people up to protect me, and I like that for some reason. Am I a bad feminist?

Sarah: What? What’s unfeminist about wanting to crack some skulls?

Regina: But, see, I want him to crack the skulls for me.

Sarah: Oh.

Regina: I mean, I want to crack skulls too. It’s just nice to know that there’s someone to get your back if you happen to be scared or something.

Sarah: Ohhh. So, like, there’s a fight, you get winged with a barstool, he takes over while you shake it off?

Regina: Yeah, exactly. I mean, I’m all for knocking heads together if I have to. But, you know, there are heads I can’t knock by myself.

Sarah: So you tag in the ‘Fini.

Regina: Exaaaaactly.

Sarah: That’s not unfeminist. That’s teamwork.

Regina: Right. Yeah, okay.

Sarah: And besides, if a man can’t kick some ass, he can’t relate when you need to kick some ass.

Regina: That’s so true.

Sarah: You’re whipping a pool cue around…he’s in the bathroom…that’s no good.

Regina: I hate it when that happens.

Sarah: God, me too.

Regina: Not that it’s happened to me.

Sarah: Me neither.

Regina: I’ve never been in a fight in my life.

Sarah: I almost got in one once. Sort of.

Regina: Ooh! A real one, or with another girl?

Sarah: A fight with another girl isn’t real?

Regina: With the hair-pulling and the clawing? Not really.

Sarah: Yeah, but if you get a girl with those fake nails with the rhinestones, that shit will fuck you up.

Regina: Ooh, yeah. So anyway.

Sarah: So anyway, I’m waiting in line for the bathroom at a really crowded club and trying to have a conversation with a drag queen from the show about where she got one of her rings, and this other girl shoves past me —

Regina: So it was a girlfight.

Sarah: No. It was a non-fight, but with a girl involved. Just let me tell the story.

Regina: Okay, sorry.

Sarah: So she shoves past me, but she gets hemmed in by the crowd and she’s pinning me up against the wall and standing on my foot. Which isn’t a big deal, but I have to push her to get her heel off of my foot because it was really hurting, and she pushes me back into the wall really hard and goes, “Fuck you, bitch.” So I called her a fucking stupid cunt.

Regina: And she turned around and said, “I’ll kick your ass,” and you yelled, “I’ll kick YOUR ass,” and then you started making out?

Sarah: Yes.

Regina: Hee.

Sarah: No, not really.

Regina: Okay, what happened?

Sarah: Well, she turns around and starts coming back towards me all yelling about how she’s going to slap me, and the drag queen moves around in front of me to block the other girl, and this queen was super-tall — like, six foot five without the Lucite heels. So the girl’s all, “I just want to talk to her, she called me a cunt,” and the queen’s all, “You’re done, sweetie, go home,” and finally the girl’s boyfriend shows up and yells at her for making a scene and pulls her away.

Regina: Whoa.

Sarah: Yeah. So, no fight.

Regina: But what if she had tried to slap you?

Sarah: Jesus, I don’t know.

Regina: You’d have kicked her ass.

Sarah: Kicked her shins, more like.

Regina: Heh.

Sarah: I don’t know what I’d do in a real fight.

Regina: I don’t either.

Sarah: Break a bottle over someone’s head? That looks satisfying.

Regina: I always wonder if those moves work, though. Like, is that the end of it, or will that just make them madder?

Sarah: I think it knocks them out.

Regina: With a beer bottle? It seems too small. One of those big Stoli bottles, okay, but it doesn’t seem like a Rolling Rock would finish the job.

Sarah: It would stun them at least, though, right? So you could get away.

Regina: Oh, I want the KO. Shove, push, kick, punch, CRACK, game over.

Sarah: Aaaaanyway.

Regina: How did we get on the subject of fights?

Sarah: God, don’t ask me. How do we get on any subject?

Regina: Like that Hasselhoff tangent we got off on the other day?

Sarah: Okay, we are so not doing the Hasselhoff tangent again.

Regina: The Hasselhoff tangent is dead.

Sarah: I think we’re going to die alone.

Regina: Yep.

Sarah: Sitting in our apartments, writing letters to serial killers and sending them naked pictures of ourselves.

Regina: Talking about Travolta’s ass.

Sarah: Getting in bar fights.

Regina: This is supposed to sound all bleak and depressing, right?

Sarah: That’s the idea.

Regina: Well, it’s not really working.

Sarah: The prospect of marrying a serial killer doesn’t depress you?

Regina: Yeah, that depresses me, but I like coming up with weird similes for Travolta’s ass. It’s fun.

Sarah: Yeah, it is.

Regina: So is watching The Sopranos and having Mafia crushes.

Sarah: Mmm, Mafia crushes.

Regina: And getting in bar fights could be fun, if we won.

Sarah: Or if we hid under a table, but met a nice boy who was also hiding there. You know, I met my first true love hiding behind a furnace when the cops came to bust up my friend’s party.

Regina: So what you’re saying is that we need to go out to a bar, arrange for a fight to start, and then hide with a cute boy.

Sarah: Or we could get in a fight with a cute boy and then get to know each other in the paddywagon.

Regina: Or we could break a bottle over a cute boy’s head, and he could say, “You got your Stoli on my head!”

Sarah: And then you’d say, “You got your head in my Stoli!”

Regina: Head! Stoli!

Sarah: Two great tastes that taste great together!

Regina: So we won’t die alone!

Sarah: And we’ll have cool scars!

Regina: Yeah!

Sarah: Okay, it’s a plan.

Regina: Okay.

Sarah: So, are you seeing him again?

Regina: Who? Oh, yeah. Meh, I don’t know. He’s so normal.

Sarah: And nice.

Regina: And nice.

Sarah: Normal and nice is okay.

Regina: I guess. I’m just not used to it.

Sarah: Fucked-up and weird is a hard habit to break.

Regina: Don’t remind me. Plus, I’m not normal and nice.

Sarah: I’m not normal and nice either.

Regina: I wonder what it’s like.

Sarah: Me too.

Regina: Pretty boring, probably.

Sarah: Maybe. Maybe it’s just normal. And nice. We may never know.

Regina: Okay, now I’m depressed.

Sarah: Aw, cheer up. The ‘Fini is single now!

Regina: Oh, shut up.

Sarah: So you can write “Mrs. Regina ‘Fini” on your Trapper Keeper.

Regina: Shut UP!

Sarah: Hee.

Regina: It does have kind of a nice ring to it.

Sarah: Yes. Very poetic.

Regina: But not as nice as…”MRS. SARAH IMPERIOLI!”

Sarah: Oh, man — how did you know about that?

Regina: I didn’t, really. I just guessed.

Sarah: Oh, man. That is embarrassing.

Regina: Because I know you like a big nose.

Sarah: It’s true. I like a big nose.

Regina: Hee.

Sarah: Shut up. Mrs. Dennehy.

Regina: Mrs. MacDonald.

Sarah: Mrs. Bundy.

Regina: Mrs. Travolta.

Sarah: Shut up.

April 15, 2002

Tags:   boys (and girls)   friends