'New Girl': Panic Moonwalk

(Page 3 of 4)

With the ice breakers finished, it was time for a musical chairs-style round of speed dating. Well, not so much for the poor chubby girl stuck trying to engage Schmidt while he eyed Cece longingly. He told her sweetly, but dismissively, “I’m so sorry, sweetie. Pass.” When he spotted one of Cece’s potential matches dressing her down for being selfish and impulsive, Schmidt snapped, “Hey! M. Night Shyamalan, I got a twist ending for you: Shut. Up. You better watch it, buddy, because I will Calcutt-a bitch up in here. I will Cal-cutt-a bitch!” Cece told Schmidt to leave her alone, but it was obvious she was affected by the douche’s snide remark, “I don’t date below table 6.”

Sam, being smart enough for table 1, could see that Jess had become flustered over her pairing with Nick. He asked if he should know something, and she finally came clean. Sam started to walk out, but Nick followed to take the blame. Cue up another sucker-punch for Nick, this time in the trachea. Jess: “Oh my God! He’s in such terrible shape, you could have killed him!” Nick, in a helium-high whisper: “I’m gonna kick your ass, man! [beat] Is there another doctor in the house? With this crowd, I’m sure.” Sam gruffly apologized, prescribed ice and elevation, then told Jess that, even if the kiss meant nothing to her, it meant something to him (Sam). And that was it. Farewell, Katie! Farewell, ill-fated cabin threesome! Farewell online fling that was never built to last!

Elsewhere, Schmidt stared across the ballroom at Cece. He took a slug of his martini as a look of pre-regret crossed his face. He walked up to the mic and delivered a rousing speech (see Dotables) about what idiots these men were if they didn’t recognize Cece as “brown angel” among them. Of course the guys swarmed her immediately, and Schmidt knee-jerked, “You don’t all have to run over there at once! She’s not that great, you guys. She’s kind of old… you should see her areolas — one’s like a helicopter pad, the other one’s like a tick bite. Very disorienting.” Nonetheless, Schmidt’s work there was done.

That night, tears streamed down Jess’s face as she tried to lose herself in rosé and Taylor Swift music (“22,” specifically). Of course Nick couldn’t let her wallow. He jerked, shuddered, and white-guy danced to the beat, but it only made Jess cry harder. So he stepped up his moves to what I believe was a primitive form of waacking. Nick wised up and realized that Taylor Swift has never made anyone feel better (not even Taylor Swift!). He turned off the music and tried to give her a pep talk. Granted, it was the worst pep talk ever — mainly a chance for him to celebrate the “victory” of making someone like Sam feel threatened by him. Seeing that Jess was on the verge of inconsolable, Nick nearly called Cece, but he realized this was his mess, he’d have to clean it up.

He apologized once again and promised not to kiss Jess again. (Crowd: “Noooooo! Drink more pink wine, Jess!”) Jess met him halfway and admitted her relationship with Sam might have been “a little bit broken” already. Witness: The morning fist bumps. Nick couldn’t resist laughing at this, but Jess was not amused. Too soon! She started to leave, and he stopped her to give her a hug. A really awkward, totally realistic hug given the situation. Still, they were getting  back to normal — only with the indelible memory of that Gone With the Wind-fabulous kiss. Story developing…

Speaking of kissing, Schmidt and Cece? So. On. Considering her horniness and his Lloyd Dobler-style grand gesture, was there any other way for these two to end the night but humping like bunnies? “The plan hasn’t changed — I’m still marrying an Indian guy,” she insisted. “No, yeah, that’s fine,” he panted, “but you went home with a Jew in a turban — I’m just saying….” And for this one night only, Schmidt kept on the turban. As Nick so succinctly put it, “I’m glad everything’s back to normal around here.”

NEXT: “Blammo! That happened!”

Latest Videos

Advertisement

From Our Partners

TV Recaps

Powered by WordPress.com VIP