The Ultimate High Five


Guys, CBS’s once-great sitcom, How I Met Your Mother, is over. And I, who have been begging for the formerly hilarious, more recently hokey and lazy show to end, am devastated. I’m an easy crier, but I think I bruised something watching that episode. My heart.

The episode starts out with Ted being the absolute fucking worst, as is his wont, by making someone else’s wedding reception all about him. Ted is leaving tomorrow for Chicago, even though tonight is Barney and Robin’s wedding reception. Jesus. I have clutched many a friend’s hand over the year, fearfully asking, “What if I’m Ted?!”Now? I’m good.Ok Im Ok

Then Ted is annoyed by an older woman at a bus station. Go-ud, lady! Can’t you see Ted is trying to feel feelings about a moment he’s artificially infused with drama? Then there is romance (interspersed throughout many, many other scenes).

I knew I was going to need a bigger wine glass was when Robin, now divorced from Barney, reveals that she has to step away from the gang. The fissure is what makes this show great. Rarely does a group of friends have as dramatic a dynamic as these five, but the love they share is very relatable. And the idea that we can’t stay young and close forever is an omnipresent reality for those of us who were young and foolish at the same time as Robin, Barney, Lily, Marshall, and even fucking Ted. It’s the real thing from a show that gave up trying to give us a funny, honest reflection of reality a long time ago.Close

I realized there was no glass of wine big enough for this evening when Barney holds his daughter and tells her he’s fallen in love with her. Ugh, the same clichés I’ve been bitching about for two seasons had now turned on me like Wormtail’s artificial hand, ready to snatch the very breath from my lungs.

I cried so hard I choked on a carrot.

It only got uglier. “Even when she got sick…” referencing the mother (Tracy)’s tragic demise that leaves Ted, now somehow slightly less annoying, widowed and raising his two patient children.  I’m re-tearing realizing Ted, who wanted a wife so badly, really only had one for a few, very short cool

People will hate it, but Ted and Robin should end up together. The show should end with that stupid blue French horn. The show was a journey about love, a love so great that it survives two terrible seasons of a sitcom and comes out on the other end somehow still believable. I give it four and a half out of five Roseanne finales.

I hope all of you who loved, and maybe hated, How I Met Your Mother enjoy the rest of your evenings. Do not watch anything else serious on television. Someone in this studio apartment just told Once Upon a Time that she didn’t have room for it in her heart for it tonight.

Good luck gang.Kk


I Hit The Jackpot With Harry-y-y-y

When my friend Gigi first moved to the city, we dedicated ourselves to going out. We hit the town as hard as we knew how. We would bar hop all over midtown and find ourselves at the kind of clubs on 33rd and 3rd that I wouldn’t go to now if you paid my bar tab for a year. But we had a lot of fun, drank a lot of light beer and danced.

On one of these outings, I was summoned over to a corner of the bar by a tall handsome stranger. Harry was a cop. He was nice and tall. He told me he wanted to take me out for hibachi in Queens, which was, I thought, a nice display of humor. We joked about how “Nothing good happens after two AM”, one of my favorite How I Met Your Mother episodes. He was a little older than anyone who should be at a bar at 33rd and 3rd (aka, over 18), but in an attempt not to let small superficialities mar a good opportunity, I gave him my phone number.

Gigi and I found our way back to the apartment around four. I’d left my phone at home, much to my chagrin, so I immediately raced over to it to see how many millions of friends and admirers had called me. There was only one text message, from a 917 number. “Nothing good happens after 2 AM… Great to meet you tonight-Harry”

I felt inexplicably creeped out. Though I’d given him my phone number willingly an immediate text seemed a little needy. But it was four in the morning at that point and time for this little panda to go to sleep.

When I woke up around 9:30, I had five missed calls from Harry. Who calls anyone five times in a row?! Nearly every phone in the world has caller ID, and certainly every cell phone does. That kind of behavior is only for best friends and super close relatives. Even then, it needs to be an emergency. (e.g. GI Joe: Retaliation is coming out in June. It is totally appropriate for the Awesome Opossum to call me 5 times in a row to tell me this information.)

Harry left me a voice mail about grabbing hibachi that afternoon. When I am hung over, the idea of going out to Queens and having someone throw a shrimp tail at me sounds like a brutal punishment. This forty-ish year old cop contacted me six times in the less than twelve hours we’d known each other. That seemed like enough reason to never respond to him and hope that my silence would convey my intent.

No such luck. Harry called three more times within the week. I got so creeped out that I had to have the Awesome Opossum check my voice mail for me. She still does a dead-on impression of him to this day.