“You’re just reviewing the episodes!”
“Err what?” I replied, incredulously.
“You’re just reviewing the episodes and putting a few jokes in” my girlfriend continued. “There’s none of you in it.”
“What about the Real Life Sitcom Moment of the Week?”
“Oh yerh, it’s really fascinating reading a half baked anecdote about how nothing really happened but would have if real life was more like Friends™”
“Well that’s sort of the point…” I said defensively.
“In the first one you couldn’t even say what happened because your friend objected!”
“My Real Live Friend” I corrected “we’ve got to keep a consistent style here. Anyway that was beyond my control! And I can’t help that I’m terrible at anecdotes… in fact this one time I saw someone try to tell an anecdote and it trailed off and went nowhere.”
“Did you just try a joke out on me?”
“… err maybe.”
“See that’s exactly the problem. You’re using humour to deflect from actually putting any of yourself in the blog! And that’s what people want! Not just you talking about Friends™.”
“Using humour to deflect… oh my god just like Chandler!”
As she stormed out the room her words sank in more and I realised she had a point... So with that in mind:
“The One Where I Try to Get More Personal”
Because of my awkward shift patterns I sometimes end up with three days off in a row.
As much as the temptation is there to use these days productively they often result in three solid days of drinking with friends and/or family. Naturally, for someone my age, this tends to result in a period of sadness at the good times being over. As well as a prolonged hangover. And then I have to return to work. So it hasn’t been a great week for me.
Perhaps it’s the result of my heavy weekend, or because I’ve seen this episode so many times, but something felt oddly staged about it as I watched, curled up on the sofa in my wolf onesie. I can’t tell whether they were just overselling the jokes a little or, maybe, a sort of Friends™ fatigue has set in.
Nah. It’s probably just cause I'm completely zonked after going to a club night for the first time in years.
And I’m talking proper dancing till four in the morning then all back to our place for a cup of tea and a chat clubbing here.
But it hasn’t all been hedonism, sleeping on sofas and drunken discussions of bestiality since last week. (Incidentally, if anyone wants to know the logic behind why sex with dead animals is morally preferable to sex with live ones then feel free to email. I’m looking at you David Cameron!)
Before the weekend, my partner and I went to see Miss Saigon™ for her birthday.
After her criticism of me only reviewing things I won’t speak of it too much, but in a fun coincidence “The One with the Butt” also features a trip to the theatre. As someone who's been in plays I can relate to the Friends™ blunt appraisals of Joey’s star turn in a musical about Freud. Although in my own life I’ve found getting honest feedback can sometimes be like getting blood from a stone. Except of course, where my partner is concerned…
Speaking of partners, now he’s free from Janice, Chandler finds himself in a polyamorous relationship this episode.
Although I’ve had quite a few non-serious flings in the past I’ve never indulged in a polyamorous relationship. (Not for want of trying, mind). For those who don’t know: polyamory is where you believe that one person can be in love more than one person at the same time. Personally I prefer monopoly-amory, which is where everyone’s in love with one person. Me.
(Sorry… I had to cram in a joke somewhere.)
Monica’s cleanliness obsession appears for the first time this week. I used to be terminally filthy, with piles of dirty plates stacking up, overflowing ashtrays and smelly clothes filling my student houses, as I’m sure my old flatmates would attest. This wasn’t helped by us playing games such as “try and knock the cover off the fire alarm with your empty beer can” as well as my budding dependence on alcohol and kebabs.
However my aversion to washing up has led to me being obsessed with creating as little mess as possible. I have a serious lack of respect for anyone who eats a slice of toast using anything other than one knife as a result. JUST BALANCE IT ON THE MARGARINE POT, GOD.
This puts quite a strain on my relationship, as I'm loathe to clean up mess I did not create if it seems like an unreasonable amount. This issue is quadrupled by our cats who, aside from bringing in dead mice, regularly create what I would describe as “an unreasonable amount of mess” in their litter tray.
That I was misled to believe the cats would no longer need a litter tray once they started going outside is neither here nor there as I am continually branded a nag for complaining about the amount of mess on our kitchen tabletop. I wouldn’t mind if I felt it rang true. My main problem with the accusation is I used to hate being nagged by my mother.
Oh my god!!
“Ross: ‘Monica… you’re mom.’”
Well it looks like:
‘Ross… I’m Monica Number 1.’
Funnily enough, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we turn into our parents.
I was amazed (and terrified) when I looked in my rear view mirror, the other day, and saw my father’s eyes staring back at me. All it takes is a few years being ground down by work and exhaustion and the resemblance is suddenly there. But it’s not just in appearance. I’m constantly surprised in my grumpier moments to hear my father’s sarcastic voice coming out my mouth. Ironically this usually makes me more irritated; realising I’m trapped in an endless cycle of negative reinforcement.
I think it’s time to draw things to a close now (and we haven’t even talked about Al Pacino’s butt!). I was going to speak a little about my own experiences working as an extra for extra cash over the years but it looks like you’ll have to wait for that.
For the completists watching along with me there are two things to check out this episode:
Real Life Sitcom Moment of the Week:
My partner wasn’t the only one with a birthday this week as her nephew turned three.
Unfortunately right before he blew out his candles he asked where his grandmother’s recently deceased cat was. Having decided to raise him honestly his poor mother was left with no choice but to reply with “he’s gone”. The, newly grieving, child responded with the eternal question of “gone where?” only to discover the answer is “just gone”.
What a way to find out all life ends with death… as you blow out your birthday candles.
“Err what?” I replied, incredulously.
“You’re just reviewing the episodes and putting a few jokes in” my girlfriend continued. “There’s none of you in it.”
“What about the Real Life Sitcom Moment of the Week?”
“Oh yerh, it’s really fascinating reading a half baked anecdote about how nothing really happened but would have if real life was more like Friends™”
“Well that’s sort of the point…” I said defensively.
“In the first one you couldn’t even say what happened because your friend objected!”
“My Real Live Friend” I corrected “we’ve got to keep a consistent style here. Anyway that was beyond my control! And I can’t help that I’m terrible at anecdotes… in fact this one time I saw someone try to tell an anecdote and it trailed off and went nowhere.”
“Did you just try a joke out on me?”
“… err maybe.”
“See that’s exactly the problem. You’re using humour to deflect from actually putting any of yourself in the blog! And that’s what people want! Not just you talking about Friends™.”
“Using humour to deflect… oh my god just like Chandler!”
As she stormed out the room her words sank in more and I realised she had a point... So with that in mind:
“The One Where I Try to Get More Personal”
Because of my awkward shift patterns I sometimes end up with three days off in a row.
As much as the temptation is there to use these days productively they often result in three solid days of drinking with friends and/or family. Naturally, for someone my age, this tends to result in a period of sadness at the good times being over. As well as a prolonged hangover. And then I have to return to work. So it hasn’t been a great week for me.
Perhaps it’s the result of my heavy weekend, or because I’ve seen this episode so many times, but something felt oddly staged about it as I watched, curled up on the sofa in my wolf onesie. I can’t tell whether they were just overselling the jokes a little or, maybe, a sort of Friends™ fatigue has set in.
Nah. It’s probably just cause I'm completely zonked after going to a club night for the first time in years.
And I’m talking proper dancing till four in the morning then all back to our place for a cup of tea and a chat clubbing here.
But it hasn’t all been hedonism, sleeping on sofas and drunken discussions of bestiality since last week. (Incidentally, if anyone wants to know the logic behind why sex with dead animals is morally preferable to sex with live ones then feel free to email. I’m looking at you David Cameron!)
Before the weekend, my partner and I went to see Miss Saigon™ for her birthday.
After her criticism of me only reviewing things I won’t speak of it too much, but in a fun coincidence “The One with the Butt” also features a trip to the theatre. As someone who's been in plays I can relate to the Friends™ blunt appraisals of Joey’s star turn in a musical about Freud. Although in my own life I’ve found getting honest feedback can sometimes be like getting blood from a stone. Except of course, where my partner is concerned…
Speaking of partners, now he’s free from Janice, Chandler finds himself in a polyamorous relationship this episode.
Although I’ve had quite a few non-serious flings in the past I’ve never indulged in a polyamorous relationship. (Not for want of trying, mind). For those who don’t know: polyamory is where you believe that one person can be in love more than one person at the same time. Personally I prefer monopoly-amory, which is where everyone’s in love with one person. Me.
(Sorry… I had to cram in a joke somewhere.)
Monica’s cleanliness obsession appears for the first time this week. I used to be terminally filthy, with piles of dirty plates stacking up, overflowing ashtrays and smelly clothes filling my student houses, as I’m sure my old flatmates would attest. This wasn’t helped by us playing games such as “try and knock the cover off the fire alarm with your empty beer can” as well as my budding dependence on alcohol and kebabs.
However my aversion to washing up has led to me being obsessed with creating as little mess as possible. I have a serious lack of respect for anyone who eats a slice of toast using anything other than one knife as a result. JUST BALANCE IT ON THE MARGARINE POT, GOD.
This puts quite a strain on my relationship, as I'm loathe to clean up mess I did not create if it seems like an unreasonable amount. This issue is quadrupled by our cats who, aside from bringing in dead mice, regularly create what I would describe as “an unreasonable amount of mess” in their litter tray.
That I was misled to believe the cats would no longer need a litter tray once they started going outside is neither here nor there as I am continually branded a nag for complaining about the amount of mess on our kitchen tabletop. I wouldn’t mind if I felt it rang true. My main problem with the accusation is I used to hate being nagged by my mother.
Oh my god!!
“Ross: ‘Monica… you’re mom.’”
Well it looks like:
‘Ross… I’m Monica Number 1.’
Funnily enough, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how we turn into our parents.
I was amazed (and terrified) when I looked in my rear view mirror, the other day, and saw my father’s eyes staring back at me. All it takes is a few years being ground down by work and exhaustion and the resemblance is suddenly there. But it’s not just in appearance. I’m constantly surprised in my grumpier moments to hear my father’s sarcastic voice coming out my mouth. Ironically this usually makes me more irritated; realising I’m trapped in an endless cycle of negative reinforcement.
I think it’s time to draw things to a close now (and we haven’t even talked about Al Pacino’s butt!). I was going to speak a little about my own experiences working as an extra for extra cash over the years but it looks like you’ll have to wait for that.
For the completists watching along with me there are two things to check out this episode:
- First use of the Chandler emphasis “Could she BE more out of my league.”
- Check out Joey’s shadow in the shower scene. It’s incredibly obvious that he’s wearing boxers! I mean why wouldn’t he at least have gone for briefs or pants?
Real Life Sitcom Moment of the Week:
My partner wasn’t the only one with a birthday this week as her nephew turned three.
Unfortunately right before he blew out his candles he asked where his grandmother’s recently deceased cat was. Having decided to raise him honestly his poor mother was left with no choice but to reply with “he’s gone”. The, newly grieving, child responded with the eternal question of “gone where?” only to discover the answer is “just gone”.
What a way to find out all life ends with death… as you blow out your birthday candles.
