Shipton vs Schlottmann: Redux (heirofann) wrote in mnhttnprjct, @ 2010-06-28 23:44:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, lindsay van der jagt, liz shipton |
WHO: Lindsay and Liz
WHAT: An official meeting of the Spurned Women's Club
WHERE: Liz's apartment, District 5.
WHEN: June 22, 2029, evening
STATUS: Logged/Complete
RATING: PG-13 verging on R simply for language and drunkenness. They're vulgar girls okay?
Fuck Charley Thurlow. No, seriously. Fuck him. This was the main thought that was going through Liz Shipton's head as she began looking through her kitchen for another bottle of wine, the one that Lindsay had brought already having been polished off. And quite frankly, Liz was not drunk enough for her life right now. Fuck Charley for being nice, and not an asshole (unlike Blaine, she reflected, she didn't know what was wrong with Lindsay, if Liz had been with him she would have been over him ages ago), and most significantly, fuck him for making her still have feelings for him. Very clearly, this was his fault and not hers. There was an unopened bottle of white in the door of the fridge, a sauvignon blanc. Liz retrieved it, uncorked it, and resisted the urge to chug some straight from the open bottle. She then went back into the living room. "This is the best I've got," she said, refilling each of their glasses. After picking hers up, she added, "To being single in the city. Because... because men suck." Lindsay was laying back on Liz's couch with her shoes off and her arm flung up dramatically behind her as she contemplated the offerings currently displayed on the television screen. She was in a mildy buzzed zone of alcohol and sugar and contemplating whether she ought to move to Milwaukee. Surely if Laverne and Shirley could do it their way, she could do it. She could work in the beer factory and bowl and have irritating little men for neighbors, it would be nearly like her life in New York. "Men definitely shuck. Suck. Whatever." She raised her glass to Liz's and stretched across to clink them together before finding the remote and flipping through the channels again. "They are all cock suckers and mother fuckers and if I thought women were attractive I would definitely consider becoming a lesbian." Her eyes went back over to Liz. "Not that you are unattractive just... no." "Oh my god!" Liz had sloshed some sauvignon blanc on herself, but that wasn't why she had exclaimed. She had changed into her pajamas, which still conveniently smelled like her ex-husband's bed. Maybe she should seal them off in a bag somewhere. "I was about to suggest that we become lesbians! Not with each other, though, because that would be weird. I mean, not that I don't think that you're pretty, but you know. We're friends and then when our lesbian relationships inevitably got all fucked to shit who would we talk to? Not Naomi cause I think she's still like... not over how her husband died. And not Aubrey because damn that girl is not cynibal -- cynical enough yet. Has not been properly fucked over enough yet." With that long (only slightly sensical) rant, she downed about half her glass of wine in one gulp. Liz, sadly, was the sort of person who didn't know how to stop things once she started them, and unfortunately, that applied to drinking as well. She was frankly lucky she hadn't ever drunk herself into a case of alcohol poisoning in college. "I smell good, don't I?" she asked. Lindsay considered Liz over the rim of her glass, before moving marginally closer, putting her head on her friends shoulder and closing her eyes, considering this question quite seriously for a moment. "You smell good," she said finally, sitting up and turning up the volume on the television a bit. It was on the Spanish channel and sadly increasing the volume did not increase her comprehension. "I kissed a woman once. At a party. Did I tell you that? She ended up being my gynecologist and oh my God is that ever an awkward topic of conversation. Thank God for redistrcting, because I was able to switch and not have it be too obvious." Annoyed, she turned the channel yet again, stopping when she heard English and leaving it there. Her own wine glass was disturbingly full next to Liz's, and she took a long drink from it, and leaned back again on the couch. "I like dick though. That's the problem. Because men are ALL dicks and you apparently can't have one without the other." As Lindsay talked, Liz finished off the rest of her wine glass. It was really starting to go to her head -- she didn't have the alcohol tolerance she once did. Working at least five days a week and coming in early in the morning didn't really lend itself to much more than a cocktail in the nights, and she frankly didn't have the time for heavy drinking on the weekends. Having grown up in southern Florida, she understood the Spanish channel, but was in too much of a haze to bother paying much attention to the television, anyway. "I think I made out with some chick in like... my junior year of college but honest to Jesus I don't remember it. I just heard about it later but I was really shitfaced that night so who knows what I did. I did some really dumbass shit while I was drunk at college. Like... sleep with total losers." It was true, though it wasn't something that she talked about often. 'I was that girl guys got drunk because they knew she was easy once she gets a few drinks in her' wasn't really something you wanted to brag about in your adult life. After reconsidering her friend's last point, she said, "Charley's not a dick." "I always slept with losers. Still do. Getting old hasn't changed that." Lindsay let out a breath through her nose slowly, putting her hand over her eyes and blinking very rapidly because she could feel tears forming there and she refused to cry. "When you were together I didn't think he was," she admitted, her voice thick. "But now I don't know. I don't like that he hurt you." She made a noise in her throat as she tried to clear it. "I wanted to kill him." It wasn't entirely clear whether she meant Charley or Blaine just then, and to be honest she wasn't really sure. "Don't be upset!" Liz cried, rather dramatically. She drew her arms around Lindsay in a tight embrace which, after the discussion about turning to lesbianism, might have been interpreted as homoerotic. Not that Liz meant it that way. Lindsay was more of an older sister figure to her than anything else, and that made homoeroticism distinctly weird. She had accidentally spilled some more wine (what a waste), but she was frankly past caring. "I'm -- I'm," (she paused to hiccough) "Okay. It's Blaine who's an asshole." She paused, pulling away. "Let's go to New Jersey and find him and beat him to death with his own dick. That'd show him." Lindsay had nearly spilled her wine when Liz clutched at her, but she managed to save it somehow while simultaneously burying her face for a moment in Liz's hair. It was funny what sister love meant, how much easier it made going through a hard time when you knew you had that one person or group of people who would love you despite the fact you'd put on ten pounds and didn't want to leave the house. When she pulled away, she started to laugh, which was better than crying which she was also doing. "It's... it's not big enough," she managed, before breaking out in hysterical laughter which necessitated her having to put her wine glass down or risk spilling it completely. She buried her face in her hands and tried to catch her breath. "Oh God. Do we ever learn? Really? Does it ever get easier?" After a moment she looked back up at Liz. "Do you miss Charley?" Liz had been taking a drink as Lindsay sunk so far as to insult Blaine's penis size, and she actually spit out some of her wine as she, too, burst into hysterical laughter. She was close to tears as well, thinking about how badly she had fucked up her own life. Drinking muddled most of her thoughts, but it made it all the more clear that it was her fault that Charley had asked for a divorce. It was her fault that she had nothing but a stupid job that half the time wasn't that fulfilling anyway. All of this was her fault, and it was probably somehow her fault that Blaine and Lindsay hadn't worked out, too. These thoughts made her dangerously close to tears, but she held them back. "Of course I miss him. I miss him all the time and I was stupid and it was my fault we got a divorce." With that, Liz burst into hysterical sobs, sobs that she had been holding in all weekend, because she missed her old life. She missed her ex-husband, stupid as that may have been. She missed their apartment, their bottles of wine, their bathroom, every conversation they had not being arguing or awkward. If there was anything Lindsay was good at it was at being the fierce older sister to her friends. Seeing Liz cry made it easier to push aside her own feelings and instead focus on her. "You aren't stupid," she said, putting an arm around her and pulling her close and holding on. "Not at all. And if it will help I think you should tell him this. Or hell I'll tell him and I'll yell at him and terrify him until he's beaten into submission and takes you back." She closed her eyes and put her chin on top of Liz's head. "One of us ought to be happy. Both of us are going to be. Eventually. I decree it and dammit holy fuck... they have Hanukkah Barbie dolls." Her voice was completely astonished, and for a moment she forgot what they were talking about as she stared at the television which had somehow stopped on the Home Shopping Network. "Oh we are so buying those for Naomi and Aubrey. Look, they have Latkes!" Just as quickly she recollected herself and patted Liz's back before reaching for some tissues. "See. Miracles DO HAPPEN." Liz hiccoughed and reached for the wine before the tissues, taking a drink straight out of the bottle. Then she reluctantly wiped at her eyes. She didn't know if she wanted Charley to take her back. That would mean admitting to his face that she had been in the wrong, and she had spent the better part of a year doing the opposite. Of course, if Liz hadn't been a prideful person, they might have never gotten a divorce in the first place, as she would have been able to beg him not to get a divorce when he'd asked for one, rather than just accepting it. "I can't beg him to take me back. I'll tell you, Lindsay. I'll tell you -- Elizabeth Grace Shipton does not beg. Other people beg her for mercy." She knocked back another mouthful of wine. "Just buy the Hanukkah Barbies or whatever they are. That way at least Naomi and Aubrey will have representations of themselves with huge tits and tiny feet." She swallowed more wine. "I doubt they have 'Pathetic Divorcee Barbie.'" Lindsay leaned back after finding her wine glass again. "Oh that's probably coming up next. Special just for us." She cast a look at her friend and considered how best to say this. "Don't beg. Just tell him you miss him. And let it go from there. Believe me, if Blaine had been a better guy, I'd like to think how long I stuck with him would have mattered. It didn't for me. But maybe you... I mean as much as I like fucking with Charley and making his life a living hell, I'd far rather the two of you be together and me just have to play nice." She reached for her I-Holo and keyed it so it recognized the station on television and brought up the website to order. "And who doesn't want a version of themselves with big tits and tiny feet, honestly. Everyone knows the small shoes sizes are the only ones left in the big sales." There wasn't any hope of getting back together with Charley, and Liz knew this. At least, not successfully. There was too much bad blood there, and even if they got past it (which they wouldn't), there would be some new hurt feelings or something. She'd have to skip one dinner and it'd be the divorce all over again and as much as Liz wanted him back, she also didn't particularly want to go through the experience of being handed divorce papers again. Plus, that would mean that all the money she'd spent on that useless divorce lawyer would have been an even bigger waste. Liz reached over and refilled Lindsay's glass. This bottle of sauvignon blanc was going alarmingly fast. "You know," she said, dodging the topic of her divorce entirely. She hated admitting when she was wrong, hated it, hated even thinking about it. "Frank motherfucking Nauman actually suggested I get breast implants once. Breast implants!" She looked down at her breasts, which, to be fair, were not exactly large. "Asshole. No one's 'commercial' unless they have blonde hair and enormous tits." "Let's not even talk about big tits," Lindsay said. "It reminds me too much of the fucking whore fairy." Her voice was grumpy slightly at that as she finished placing her order and clicked the send button. She noted that Liz was changing the subject and respectfully did not linger on it, knowing how she herself felt about that very sort of sensitive issue. After a minute she did a double take. "Did he not realize you were on the RADIO? Like as in people cannot see you?" She looked down at her own chest. "I will not lie and say I've never thought about it, although at this age it's more about making sure they're not sagging around my waist than anything else." Experimentally she lifted up one of her breasts and looked at the Barbies on the television before letting it go. "Forget it. I'd be better off binding my fucking feet. At least then I'd get some good shoes." Sticking her chest out, Liz looked down at her own breasts. They weren't that small, were they? Well, maybe they were. But Lindsay was right, she was in radio. And augmented breasts always looked weird. If they thought she wasn't commercial enough, they could always stick her in a Super Duty Push Up Bra. With this thought, she looked down her shirt for further inspection. She was too old for that shit, anyway. Breast implants were for when you were young and no one had "before" photos of you. "They take photos, you know. But Charley said I didn't need them and Frank could look all he wanted but he couldn't touch. Asshole." With that, Liz burst out into more hysterical laughter, though at this point, she wasn't sure why she was laughing. To be honest, Frank had meant that comment as mentorly helpfulness, but still. Breasts were a sensitive issue. "We need more to drink. We're almost out of wine." She got up, tripped a little over the leg of her own coffee table, and shuffled back into the kitchen. Lindsay nodded, before pulling the pillow under her head and laying down more comfortably. She reached down for her purse and pulled out her cigarettes, lighting one and leaving them where Liz could have one if she wanted to. "See if there's anything else," she said. "Oh. Shit. You aren't going to believe this, they're having Christmas in June this whole next hour. Light up Santa here I come." Yes honestly, there were times it was very good to have people you could one hundred percent be yourself around. Especially when you were as odd as they were. |