You're the Worst

Let's go.

Oh, I love your shower.

Yeah, it's a good one.

Me and this hand nozzle thingy have gotten very close.

You're S.O.L, but trust me, it's amazing.

Oh, I use it.

How?

I shoot it up my butt.

You do?

Sure.

Oh, yeah!

What do you know?

What?

You missed a step in that process.

Oh, no, it's just pee. Look.

You sit to pee?

Yeah, I sit whenever I can. I love sitting.

Sitting's definitely in my top five favorite activities.

- What are the others? - Eating things.

Shutting stupid people down verbally.

Bubble baths.

Masturbating.

- Where's sex? - Eighth probably.

- What about sex with me? - Seventh, maybe sixth.

Yeah, no, sex with you, then sleeping.

Unless I have a flying dream.

Then you're seventh.

What's your day like?

Oh, you know, tedious interactions with awful people.

Weird. Mine, too.

When are you gonna be home?

My clothes from last night are still in your dryer.

On the late side.

Want to give me a key so I can get in?

Jimmy?

You using the hand thingy?

Edgar can let you in.

Yeah, but in case he's not home.

Hey...

Hey!

I just meant a key to get my stuff, I didn't mean a key like... like that.

Okay.

I didn't.

- Okay. - Okay. Good.

- But, I mean... - God's sake!

Seriously, what if I had, would that be any reason to shit yourself?

Yes.

We've spent the last five, six nights in a row together?

'Cause you fall asleep after sex!

You're like a fat guy in an American sitcom.

It's a key.

It's a way to get in.

No, it's not.

It's...

It's my freedom melted down into a metal totem.

It means that there are rights granted and designations...

Designated.

No, it doesn't. It's a...

Oh, my God, you're right.

I am?

I must still be hungover. Thanks for calling me out.

Momentary lapse of sanity.

Jesus.

Right, so, uh... are we gonna hang out later or...?

I actually have plans.

Okay.

Well, as my grandma used to say,

"It's only a walk of shame if you're capable of feeling shame."

See you later.

Thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.

- That's a frittata. - Mm-hmm.

It's an egg-based dish similar to an omelet.

I know what a frittata is.

This one has leeks and goat cheese. I saw the recipe on Rachael Ray.

You're not supposed to watch her.

The doctor said that your obsession with her is unhealthy.

I know, but every minute that I'm watching her,

I'm not doing heroin.

Except sometimes I'm also doing heroin.

- You know, she asked for a key. - Who?

Rachael Ray. Who do you think?

- Rachael Ray could have a key. - Can you believe she would do that?

- Well, I mean, keys open doors. - It's not a key. It's a symbol.

- Of what? - Of the unceasing,

inexorable march of everything towards predictability,

blandness and mediocrity.

It's the Rachael Raying of the world.

A cozy world full of home-cooked meals and graceful weight fluctuation?

I'd live in that world.

I honestly cannot sit there and pretend not to be

horrified by things as unthought-out and unspecial

as "Can I have a key," ruled by nothing more interesting

than animal instinct to the point that I might as well

be sleeping with a migratory bird or a leatherback sea turtle.

I'm gonna eat your frittata.

"Can I have a key?"

I'll tell you what... How can you see this shit

happening and just smile and be okay with it?

How do you look at the person you're with and not just know

that there's another person inside who's boring and lame

and will eventually ask for emotional support

and to shop together for decorative sconces at Williams-Sonoma.

How can you just ignore that shit?

I don't know.

Because you like them, I guess.

Yeah, well...

I don't know how to do that, so...

Well, it makes sense she'd be emotional today.

I swear, if you're charting her menstrual cycle...

It's her birthday.

It is?

Mm-hmm.

Why didn't she tell me?

Oh, it's Gretchen's.

I better bring it to her.

Hand it over.

What?

I'm not gonna snoop.

I'm not!

Aw...

Aw, this is stupid.

Y-You are stupid.

I'm living with the stupidest person in America.

Me, the smartest, and you, the stupidest, living together.

You seriously think I'm not

strong enough to break through what... ten staples?

Have a good day at school.

You've got to be kidding me.

You're doing a juice cleanse?

You disgusting cliché.

You're going to embarrass me at my diner.

Don't care.

Day five. Gretch, you can't imagine the high.

- Mmm, bet I can. - No, you can't.

Remember the time you and Chingy snorted K off my vag?

Aw... yeah.

This one is almond, flaxseed and something called "whey runoff."

Mmm. Mmm.

Mmm.

You don't understand how skinny the wives at Paul's firm are, Gretch.

- I can't compete. - So, don't try.

Those Westside women are all overly tanned garbage monsters with fake tits.

Hip bones jutting out of their Lululemons.

- That's exactly what they are. - So screw 'em.

Screw 'em, divorce Paul, start eating food,

move back to the East Side, become goddamn interesting again.

Wow.

If it wasn't your birthday, I'd be really hurt.

Sorry.

This Jimmy thing has me all freaked out.

I warned you about him.

I bet you guys talk about me all the time, huh?

- How much it bugs me. - Nope.

Ew! You guys probably, like, talk about me during sex even.

You guys are weird.

I didn't mean the key thing like he took it.

I don't think I did. We're having fun.

- That's enough. - It better be. He is a bad person.

I'm a bad person.

Ooh, are you still seeing Mr. Fancy Director Guy?

- It's complicated. - Your life is so fun and complicated!

My life used to be fun and complicated.

- And now you're married to a banker. - Paul is actually VP

of Wealth Management and Investment Strategies.

- Idiot. - What?

There you are. I'm sorry, Gretchen.

Uh, your phone keeps going to voice mail.

Oh, I left it somewhere. What's up?

It's Sam. He did an interview.

Without consulting me? Who with?

A college paper.

Oh. And?

He used the word "gay" and "faggot" 37 times.

As in "faggot is a really terrible word" and "gay people are the best"?

The reporter is the president of the Gay and Lesbian student union,

and he's threatening to go to the Times.

Go. Breakfast is on me. Happy birthday.

Nice try.

You still have to buy me a present... cheapskate.

Mmm.

Oh, come on!

_

Who the hell is Ty?!

I stole you a card from CVS, but I lost it on the way over here.

This is serious, Sam.

Inside, it said, "You're not just getting older.