Sarah: So you just left?

Regina: Yeah.

Sarah: Just grabbed your bag and —

Regina: Hell yeah!

Sarah: No explanation. Nothing.

Regina: Dude. He ordered a girl drink. It’s not like I could stay there.

Sarah: What kind of girl drink?

Regina: What do you mean “what kind” of — the drinking-which-girls-do kind of girl drink. That kind.

Sarah: But how “girl” was the drink?

Regina: How — what?

Sarah: Well, there’s a girl drink where you can go, “Hey, dude, that’s kind of a girl drink,” and then you have a laugh about it, and he has a sense of humor about it, you know.

Regina: Like pointing out that his fly is open.

Sarah: Right! Totally. Like you’re doing him a solid.

Regina: Okay. But —

Sarah: But then there’s a girl drink where there’s just nothing left to say.

Regina: Well, obviously it was that kind of girl drink.

Sarah: Yeah, but you might have jumped the girl-drink gun. Like, say —

Regina: Dude, seriously? There’s really no grey area here.

Sarah: Lay it on me.

Regina: A grasshopper.

Sarah: A what?

Regina: Yeah.

Sarah: Oh, man. Okay, clearly you had to bolt.

Regina: Clearly, thank you.

Sarah: You’re my hero for that, by the way.

Regina: Oh, you’d have left too.

Sarah: I don’t know.

Regina: You would have. Trust me. I tried to ignore it, rise above, you know, but I kept looking at the drink, which is just violently green in a way that green should never be, and the way his lips pursed around the straw, and I just had to pretend to go to the bathroom and then run home and move to St. Louis.

Sarah: And not all men can handle a straw, either. Like when they have to hunt around for it with their tongues? Not a good sign.

Regina: I’m telling you! Could. Not. Stay.

Sarah: So the manly drinking is a requirement for you.

Regina: Well, not the manly drinking so much as, like, staying on the right side of, you know, androgynous drinking. Like, a cosmopolitan is fine, but don’t push it.

Sarah: And when they get all babyish about the microbrew? Can’t have that either.

Regina: Oh, I KNOW. Like, it’s beer. Drink enough of it, and it DOESN’T MATTER. But the thing is that I could have let the grasshopper slide, maybe, but then I happened to look down when I was reaching for something in my bag —

Sarah: Oh, no.

Regina: Tiny feet. Tiny.

Sarah: Not the shoes?

Regina: The shoes? I mean, besides the fact that a Barbie could have fit into them.

Sarah: See, I don’t see the feet so much. I see the shoes. The shoes are a make-or-break proposition.

Regina: Really? You don’t care if a guy has a normal, proportionate six-footer body and then little bitty dancer feet?

Sarah: No.

Regina: Huh. See, I can’t do the bitty feet. At all.

Sarah: But if he’s got the bitty feet, and the feet are encased in a pair of those tack-ass Men’s Wearhouse woven vinyl loafers with the fake-gold buckle and a ton of sock showing on the top —

Regina: Ew, dude.

Sarah: See? That’s what I’m saying. Like, please buy a whole shoe, pal. And the socks are always so nast. Like, patterned. No. Unacceptable.

Regina: I never thought about that, but you know what I just realized I hate? Crepe-soled shoes on a man.

Sarah: Crepe-soled — you know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that. Thank the Lord.

Regina: And sandals, come to think of it.

Sarah: Oh, I’m okay with sandals. It’s bad dress shoes I can’t take, and if he’s wearing bad shoes —

Regina: He’s wearing a bad suit, uh-huh.

Sarah: Yes! No break on the pantlegs? It’s the silent killer.

Regina: God, no kidding. But the gangster break’s no good either.

Sarah: Oh, I’m from New Jersey. That’s the only break we’ve got.

Regina: I can’t take it. Too much fabric. It’s like he’s got something to hide.

Sarah: What — his ankles? You’re over-thinking a little here.

Regina: I’m overthinking? You’re the one carrying around an FBI printout of offensive dress shoes.

Sarah: I’m sorry. I can’t forgive bad shoes.

Regina: Ever?

Sarah: Well…

Regina: Fine, hypothetical. Goran Visnjic —

Sarah: Forgiven.

Regina: Oh, Jesus. Right. You and the Goran.

Sarah: Woven loafers and an olive-green suit with no break in the pants and a knit tie? Drinking a Brandy Alexander? Hitler mustache? Nooooo problem.

Regina: Okay, okay. William Fichtner. Okay?

Sarah: Okay. Hit me.

Regina: William Fichtner shows up at your front door with a bottle of bourbon and a gift certificate to Steve Madden. He’s wearing Armani, he brought you Gerbera daisies, he’s got the hot sideburns from Albino Alligator —

Sarah: Oh, man. I’m sweating over here.

Regina: Right? So he comes in, offers to throw in a Liz Phair disc and cook you up some ravioli, and then you notice that he’s wearing Topsiders. The deal is off?

Sarah: Okay, no, the deal is so on.

Regina: Topsiders?

Sarah: Sideburns.

Regina: Sideburns trump bad shoes?

Sarah: Well, not the sideburns alone. But…well, yeah. A good sideburn hits me where I live, what can I say.

Regina: What about great shoes and no sideburns?

Sarah: Ooooh, tough one!

Regina: Because I could get with bad shoes and no sideburns if he’s got good teeth.

Sarah: Bad shoes and no sideburns…tough call. But let’s define “good teeth.”

Regina: Well, teeth that aren’t bad.

Sarah: But “bad” like snaggly?

Regina: “Bad” like “big.”

Sarah: So crooked is okay, but no Chiclets?

Regina: No Chiclets under any circumstances.

Sarah: Even with big feet.

Regina: Oh, big feet aren’t a plus, necessarily. But small feet are a minus.

Sarah: Got it.

Regina: And no hammertoes.

Sarah: You know, that’s so funny that feet get to people. I just don’t care.

Regina: Hairy toe knuckles? You can shrug that off?

Sarah: Sure. Hairy knuckles, hairy back — I’m fine with the hair.

Regina: Reeeeeally.

Sarah: Well, I don’t prowl for hairy guys or anything, but it doesn’t bother me.

Regina: I like ’em smooth.

Sarah: Well, then you must like ’em young, too, because you get to a certain age range, and they’re gonna have some hair.

Regina: “Some” is fine. “Rug” is not.

Sarah: Some women like that.

Regina: Women like you.

Sarah: Look, I didn’t say I liked it, I said it didn’t bother me.

Regina: So you don’t like it.

Sarah: What, do you have a hairy brother you want me to marry or something? Drop it, dude!

Regina: “You said it, Chewie.”

Sarah: The hell? Shut up already!

Regina: “Reeeaarrrrowww!”

Sarah: I’m going to hang up now so that I can scan a photo of bound feet from the Mutter Museum and —

Regina: Okay, okay! Sorry!

Sarah: I’ll do it, too.

Regina: “Seen in the wild, Buntings groom one another –”

Sarah: Oh, that’s it. You’re so getting ten million emails of Gary Busey’s teeth in your inbox, bitch.

Regina: ACK!

Sarah: That’s right.

Regina: Oh, man. Can you imagine?

Sarah: What, throwing a leg over Gary Busey? Jesus, no.

Regina: How many accidents has he had now?

Sarah: God, I have no idea. He’s not paralyzed, though, is he?

Regina: I don’t think so. Or if he got paralyzed, they Luke Skywalkered him.

Sarah: I thought he died.

Regina: No, that’s Jan-Michael Vincent.

Sarah: Oh, he didn’t die, he just turned into Axl Rose.

Regina: Ew, Axl Rose.

Sarah: That hair. Nap city.

Regina: I had a ponytail phase, too, a long one, and that hair is still wrong.

Sarah: Yeah, right? My ponytail phase lasted a while.

Regina: All good things must come to an end.

Sarah: Yeah. [nostalgic sigh]

Regina: [nostalgic sigh]

Sarah: On the right guy, though…whew.

Regina: Not anymore, though, right?

Sarah: Well, “the right guy” is twenty now, so, no, not really.

Regina: Or he’s forty and trying WAY too hard.

Sarah: Oh, those are the worst. The band’s not getting back together, dude. Cut it.

Regina: Totally. And, like, it’s kind of a mullet when it’s down?

Sarah: Ohhhh, the mullet. You’re playing my song.

Regina: Ew! The mullet?

Sarah: I’m kidding, dude.

Regina: Oh.

Sarah: God. Thanks a lot.

Regina: Sorry.

Sarah: No, no mullets.

Regina: Ever.

Sarah: Well…

Regina: You’d consider a mullet. I’m not allowed to make hairy jokes when you’d consider a mullet? I demand a ruling from the judges.

Sarah: Well, it’s like The Fichtner Proposition. If everything else is okay —

Regina: IT’S A MULLET, Sarah!

Sarah: I know that! I’m just saying!

Regina: Dude. You’ve GOT to start ruling some shit out here. I mean —

Sarah: Look, we can’t go around —

Regina: Because you’re going to wind up married to Captain Lou Albano.

Sarah: Dude! First of all, that guy definitely died, and second of all —

Regina: That’s not the POINT.

Sarah: Hi, can I talk? Hi. Second of all, who cares, because we can’t go around being all “fuck them for wanting us to be thin with big tits” and then also be all “I demand a hairless specimen clad in designer attire who gets a weekly manicure.” It’s not fair on them.

Regina: Not “fair”? NOT “FAIR”?

Sarah: And if Captain Lou Albano knows about eighties baseball and laughs at my jokes, well, what’s the big?

Regina: “The big” is that he’s a BUILDING. A DEAD building. And plus he could marry a twenty-year-old if he wanted, so I don’t think you should be all “fair” and shit because they aren’t fair at all, and if you did marry him, you’d end up picking up his socks and looking at his butt hair, and if he’s got a small dick where does that leave you?

Sarah: Oh, here we go.

Regina: What? It’s important to some people.

Sarah: To “some people.” Uh huh.

Regina: Oh, you don’t care at all. Right. Because you’re a communist.

Sarah: I don’t — okay, all right, for the sake of argument only, how small are we talking here?

Regina: For the sake of argument? Like, a pinky.

Sarah: Okay, seriously, Reg — where do you pick up men, Gymboree?

Regina: Shut up.

Sarah: McDonald’s PlayPlace?

Regina: You never got one that small? Seriously.

Sarah: Seriously, no. Thumb, maybe. And you can work around it.

Regina: Communist.

Sarah: Pedophile.

Regina: Sittin’ around, readin’ Marx and eatin’ brown bread with the uncircumcised.

Sarah: Oh, man. You won’t go uncut either?

Regina: I — look, I was making a point.

Sarah: What point?

Regina: That you —

Sarah: TAKE it EASY, Mary KAY Le GAP KIDS.

Regina: What? I’m just saying, you’re not picky.

Sarah: “Not picky”? And what does THAT mean?

Regina: Oh, just stop.

Sarah: You meant that I’m a tramp!

Regina: I did not!

Sarah: You did TOO!

Regina: Did not! And so what? “Tramp” is not a pejorative! Anymore! Because I am one! It’s a sign of respect, okay?

Sarah: Well — that’s damn right, but —

Regina: Dude, chill. Talk about over-thinking, damn.

Sarah: I’m fragile over here.

Regina: Obviously! Jeeeesus.

Sarah: Sorry.

Regina: But — seriously. You have, like, one thing that bothers you in a man.

Sarah: See, you keep saying that, but we’re talking about circumstances under which you say, “Okay, I can’t be here at all,” and you leave.

Regina: I know that, but you never leave. Hair, women’s genitals, you’re in for the long haul.

Sarah: That’s just not true.

Regina: Okay, name one thing besides the shoes.

Sarah: Woman ass.

Regina: WHAT?

Sarah: Woman ass!

Regina: What in THE HELL is “woman ass”?

Sarah: Well, an ass like a woman’s.

Regina: I don’t get it, dude.

Sarah: Okay, there’s high ass. You know high ass, right?

Regina: Like on runners.

Sarah: Right. High ass is fine. And then there’s big hips, which is also fine.

Regina: Big hips? Fine?

Sarah: Yeah, sure.

Regina: But wouldn’t that be a component —

Sarah: No, not necessarily. The Biscuit had kind of biggish hips, but it worked on him.

Regina: Huh.

Sarah: Yeah. He could really wear a pair of jeans, that guy.

Regina: I love it when they can wear jeans.

Sarah: Oh, I know. And they can’t all wear them, quite.

Regina: I know. Isn’t that weird?

Sarah: Very weird.

Regina: Could he wear a suit?

Sarah: The Biscuit? Sure could. He had an olive suit, actually, and it still looked good on him.

Regina: Wow. I love that. Break in the pantlegs?

Sarah: Like James Bond with the break.

Regina: Good times.

Sarah: Hee. Yeah.

Regina: So, woman ass.

Sarah: Right, sorry. So there’s high ass, and there’s biggish hips, and those are both fine, but woman ass — it’s, like, hippy and round and soft.

Regina: Ah.

Sarah: Any other kind of ass? Fine. No ass at all? Great. Done it before. Woman ass? Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Because you know what it comes with?

Regina: What? Ohhhh. Zippy thighs.

Sarah: Yep. Not going to happen.

Regina: No.

Sarah: Ev. Er.

Regina: Okay. That’s a good one.

Sarah: See?

Regina: But how many men really have woman ass? Like, if they’re not overweight?

Sarah: Well, it doesn’t matter why they have it — if they have it, they have it.

Regina: And you ain’t touchin’ it.

Sarah: That’s right. General overweight is fine. Gut? Fine. I have a gut, so whatever.

Regina: Well, that doesn’t mean you’re, like, obligated to like it on someone else.

Sarah: No, but — well, I see your point. But regardless, it doesn’t bug me.

Regina: Me neither. In fact, I’d rather have a gut than one of those gym freaks with the veiny chest.

Sarah: Oh, same with me, yuck!

Regina: In fact, I’d say that “gangly” is a type I like.

Sarah: Yeah, gangly is good. But just plain “tall” will get it done too.

Regina: Oh, but you can’t say “tall” because you’re tall yourself.

Sarah: So? I’m not in the damn WNBA. What’s wrong with “tall”?

Regina: Well, nothing, but one woman’s “tall” is another woman’s —

Sarah: Okay, that’s true. But, I mean, what’s your “tall”?

Regina: Well, what’s your “short”?

Sarah: I asked you first.

Regina: Commie.

Sarah: Cradle-robber.

Regina: Captain Lou!

Sarah: Simon on 7th Heaven!

Regina: DEAD BUILDING!

Sarah: CHRISTIAN TEEN!

Regina: Wow. That’s cold.

Sarah: Don’t back me into a corner, shorty.

Regina: Fine, fine, FINE. Tall is five ten and up for me.

Sarah: I’m five ten.

Regina: My point.

Sarah: Well, I can do “shorter than me.” It’s short short I can’t do.

Regina: How short, though?

Sarah: I’m not dating a jockey, ever, is how short.

Regina: Yeah, but that’s “fuckin’ short,” not “short.” That’s a whole different thing.

Sarah: True. Okay, really? It depends. I wear a lot of platforms. I’d say that five eight’s the cut-off. But if he’s got sideburns, I could go as low as five seven. No shorter than my mom, though, ’cause that’s just…I don’t know. You know?

Regina: Okay, that’s fair.

Sarah: But I’d rather have six six.

Regina: THAT tall?

Sarah: Sure. Mmm, tall.

Regina: You wear THAT many platforms?

Sarah: I do.

Regina: So, call it in the air. Five six, sideburns, good shoes? Or six four, those annoying booties from Timberland, and bad underpants?

Sarah: Whoa whoa whoa, Nellie! How — we’re on underpants now?

Regina: Tell me you don’t accept briefs.

Sarah: Well, I’ve done it in the past.

Regina: WHO?

Sarah: Oh, for god’s sake. It’s a done deal at that point — it’s too late! The pants come off, you’re in it! And besides, the boxer briefs are okay.

Regina: Oh, those are fine. I’m talking about —

Sarah: I know what you’re talking about.

Regina: So mistakes were made?

Sarah: Oh, yes. But, really, sometimes they’re okay. You never think they will be, but I can look the other way now and then.

Regina: Or keep the lights off.

Sarah: Oh, you know what I mean.

Regina: I’d rather the boxers. I just can’t…the waistband…ugh.

Sarah: Well, no, but some things you can’t control.

Regina: You can’t control woman ass.

Sarah: I don’t know if it’s comparable.

Regina: But he could control the packaging. And should.

Sarah: Hey, that reminds me — how about bad casual dressing?

Regina: Hmm.

Sarah: Yeah. I can’t decide how I feel about that.

Regina: I don’t notice. Well. Okay, I know what I don’t like when I see it.

Sarah: Ooh, ooh! You know what guy I hate? I Only Own One Shirt Guy.

Regina: Oh, THAT guy. And he’s the spiritual, like, brother of I Can’t Admit My Waist Is Now Thirty-Four Inches Guy.

Sarah: Not a fan of that guy either. How about Ripped Jeans Guy?

Regina: No. Trying too hard.

Sarah: Really? I don’t mind it. You mind it?

Regina: Yeah. Like, “I’m ROCK AND ROLL.” Shut up, dude.

Sarah: Oh, I think it’s just “I have ripped jeans.”

Regina: I don’t like that whole “I’m ROCK AND ROLL” vibe anyway.

Sarah: It’s annoying when they’re too aware of it. Like, it’s bad news when they know they’re styling, and besides, a guy like that, his hair takes longer to do than mine. But they’re nice to look at.

Regina: Even with the white belts? Girl. Please.

Sarah: I like the white belts! I’m not gonna wear one myself, but I like that Brit-poppy hip-hugger thing they’ve got going.

Regina: They’re all short guys, though.

Sarah: Yeah, a lot of them are short guys.

Regina: With bad feet.

Sarah: Hey, that’s your thing. Besides, it’s White-Belt Mop-Hair Guy, or it’s Frat Guy.

Regina: I have a weakness for Frat Guy.

Sarah: No, no, no. No Frat Guy.

Regina: Well, we’re talking appearance, not demeanor.

Sarah: I know. Still. Webbed leather belt. No sideburns.

Regina: Not my problem.

Sarah: Giant toaster-y looking Nikes.

Regina: Oh. Oh, yeah.

Sarah: Styles His Hair With A Baseball Hat Guy?

Regina: Hank4 does that.

Sarah: Yeah, the Biscuit did too. It actually worked. Sort of.

Regina: “Sort of”?

Sarah: Well, he’d do it that way instead of trying to plaster it down like he usually did, and it sort of stood up and looked cool, but then he’d be all “this looks gay,” and I’d be like, “No, it looks pretty good,” but then I’d make the mistake of mentioning gel —

Regina: See, you can’t do that.

Sarah: I know that now. But the point is that it’s a fine line between Styles His Hair With A Baseball Hat Guy and Frat Guy.

Regina: That’s true.

Sarah: Because the thing is, Frat Guy is often Balding And In Denial Guy.

Regina: I HATE THAT GUY!

Sarah: So do I!

Regina: And I don’t hate Regular Old Secure Balding Guy!

Sarah: Nobody hates that guy! He’s secure! He’s regular! He’s balding! We love him!

Regina: LOVE!

Sarah: He eats olives!

Regina: He wears PINK!

Sarah: Yes!

Regina: But not Balding And In Denial Guy!

Sarah: No!

Regina: Owns FIVE Frisbees!

Sarah: DOESN’T hide the porn!

Regina: WON’T go out for sushi!

Sarah: Dave MATTHEWS Band!

Regina: The HISTORY Channel!

Sarah: No TOILET paper!

Regina: Afraid of his MOM!

Sarah: YEAH! Wait! Where did we just go?

Regina: Oops.

Sarah: Yeah, I’ll say.

Regina: I was waiting for you to come in with “CHICKEN FUCKING PARM” and when you didn’t, I panicked.

Sarah: I kind of thought “won’t go out for sushi” covered that. Sorry to leave you hanging there.

Regina: No problem.

Sarah: I had “doesn’t SHAVE UP those annoying back-of-the-neck” hairs all ready to go, too.

Regina: Oh, GOD, yeah. Ask for the clippers, guys.

Sarah: Really.

Regina: And then ask again. Jesus.

Sarah: Yeah.

Regina: You know we’re going to die alone.

Sarah: Probably.

Regina: With cats.

Sarah: Many, many cats.

Regina: Fuck it.

Sarah: Right.

Regina: No, seriously.

Sarah: No, I’m with you. If it’s woman ass or nothing, I’ll take nothing.

Regina: Right. We’re modern.

Sarah: We’re so modern.

Regina: We’re so lame.

Sarah: Yes.

Regina: Who cares?

Sarah: Not me. I’ve got Captain Lou.

Regina: Would you really marry him? For real. If he asked. At a séance.

Sarah: Yeah, why not. If he keeps late hours and can find his way around a mac-and-cheese box, I’m good with that.

Regina: That’s a good way to be.

Sarah: I guess. It’s like — you know that line in Say Anything where she’s like, “The world is full of guys, so don’t be a guy, be a man”?

Regina: I love that line.

Sarah: Me too.

Regina: So, but, wait — “be a man but don’t have woman ass”?

Sarah: Well, no, dude. Just be a man and then we’ll work it out with the woman ass if we have to. You know? That’s really where I’m going.

Regina: That’s where we’re all going.

Sarah: I hope so. So, you seeing him again?

Regina: Who, Grasshopper? CHRIST no.

Sarah: Girl drink?

Regina: Asshole.

Sarah: The world is full of assholes. Don’t drink a girl drink.

Regina: Fuckin’ A right.

Tags:   feminism   friends