Episode 910-919

Today's clip came perilously close to racing off the ice before we could get it posted. Its routine was perfectly memorised, it was all tarted up in performance dress, it even survived a cloud of hairspray to keep any long locks from breaking free and distracting us. And then it looked over its shoulder and saw its dreams of being a strong, smart storyline crushed by a cheap recycled plot. In its distress, it raced off the ice like so many supposedly-strong-but-really-just-trying-to-catch-a-man skaters have done before, leaving Aldi mumbling bitterly and Lil insisting that she could FIX by cutting the first 4:35 minutes. (Damn you, Roman and Deniz, for your well-deserved but ill-timed rants and irresistible rubber faces.) But after liberally administering physical restraints and calming scotch... er, sedatives, the episode finally got up the courage to try again.

Show, there are days when you make it very hard to love you.

Welcome to the Ep of Current and Former Blonde Skaters. Aliciabelle's DA SHIT, apparently. Katja spazzes, Richard sleazes, Ben puppywags, Greasy Max broods, and Roman compares her to Diana. (When he's not too busy impersonating a hormonal 14-year-old and ogling Marc, that is.) And Marc earns extra brownie points by not remembering Stella's name. Whose name? No idea.

Time to be brave, Eskimos :( The guys have tried and tried to make it work. They've tried to pretend everything was normal, that there wasn't that shadow constantly lurking at the edge of their relationship. That the past was over and done with and you can't ever go back. That the third variable wasn't there. That if they just clung to each other and to what they had, what had started so beautifully and tentatively after so much heartbreak, things would somehow magically resolve themselves. But they haven't, and it's time to fess up to a few hard truths: You can't run from the past. You can't commit fully to someone if your secret heart still belongs to someone else. And sometimes you just have to let go, even if it hurts.

Sorry, Oliver and Marian. It was beautiful while it lasted.

In which Roman potkettles at the girls for bringing problems to work, Deniz oozes threatening testosterone in Marc's general direction, Roman and Marc exchange many Complex Looks, momentous decisions are made, new boxes are introduced, everyone has insane amounts of chemistry with everyone else (thus clearly rendering a threesome the ONLY acceptable option), and Show makes it abundantly clear that it's not going to make this lame and easy by casting Marc as the villainous cake topper on this deliciously layered angst torte. For this, Show, we love you.

P.S. Mr. Hübsch, at the risk of soiling our well-laundered and neatly pressed DeRo love, your little "yes I know this is completely insane and no I can't stop myself" smile there at the end sent a rabble of butterflies fluttering through the Igloo. Did we mention that you can stay?

WARNING: YOU MUST BE WEARING A HARDHAT TO ENTER THIS VIDEO. IT CONTAINS DANGEROUS PENIS-SHAPED DYNAMITE AND MUCH CRACK.

Marc figures now's the best time to make a move on Roman ("BOYFRIEND, SHMOYFRIEND!"), seeing as he'll drop dead soon anyway when he hits the Big Evil 30 and will probably want to get laid as much as he possibly can before then. Smart chap, that Marc.

In the Ballet Room of Career Woes and Lost Youth, Deniz doesn't realise that musicals are sly, evil tools of seduction and should never ever be mocked or underestimated because...

Marc's charm and winning smile
Failed to slay Deniz in the aisle
And young Öztürk couldn't see the danger
He could not imagine any danger
He just saw in Roman all his dreams come true!

(Wait, WTF just happened? OMG the Musical Demon from Buffy is in the house!)

Ahem, NEVER MIND THAT. YOU DIDN'T SEE ANYTHING. OR HEAR ANYTHING. *magic handwave* Elsewhere, Annette is wise and insightful (and gorgeous, MROW) and refuses to play the world's tiniest violin for Roman's agonising lack of a house, wife and kid (remember, Roman, Deniz is open to MPREG, just check ep 342), Axel tries to blackmail his way into becoming majority shareholder (honestly, these shares get around more than a dockside rentboy on a Saturday night), and Max is greasing his way back into EKP's favour with his Evil Mocking Tearwipe (can he just mime all his plots, pls?)

Jörg Mielich starts his block with this episode. SUP JÖRG? HERE'S YOUR COFFEE.

Apparently Annette the Wise is the only one who ever watches any telly in fictional Essen, because nobody else there ever seems to recognise the rules by which their lives operate:

-It's never just a job offer, darling.
-Never threaten to blow shit up unless you're prepared to go through with it.
-There are no such things as door locks; the corollary of which is that someone will always walk in on you when you're naked.
-One affirmation of "I'm happy with you" and "I love my job" is reassuring. Four mean trouble.
-Challenging your rival to try and steal your boyfriend is the soap equivalent of every horror flick's "let's
split up to investigate the strange noises in the haunted house."
-Stuff you're pretending you're not hiding is always going to fall out of its not-hiding place at the most inconvenient moment.
-The service at No.7 is crap, especially when the barkeep's too busy eavesdropping on his issues-ridden boys to take your damn order. On the up side of things, the entertainment there is FAB.

Alternate description: Marc offers Roman a shot at his dream job, Roman refuses, and DeRo is saved. Phew!

Annette: So Katja's totally into you, loser.
Ben: OMGWTFBBQ?
EKP & Everyone Else (Including Characters Who've Been Around For 5 Seconds): Yeah, shocker, huh? NOT.
Ben: ...
EKP: Just take off your shirt, that's a dear.

Roman: We need a flat. Your father perving over us is more kink than I can handle at my advanced age.
Marian: Dammit, I thought I was being discreet. And you're how old again?
Deniz: Let's talk about My Awesome Boyfriend Who Is Turning 30 This Week, did you know?
EKP: *GASP* We had no idea! It's never come up!
Deniz: INORITE? Anyway, I'm filthy rich, adorable, gorgeous and so in love it's ridic. I'll buy him a flat!
Ingo: I kind of want to date you.
Marian: Yeah, tell me about it. (Er, I DID NOT SAY THAT. BECAUSE IT'S WRONG!)
EKP: ...we respectfully disagree. Although if you insist, twisty Soap twist can make you brothers, not father/son. All better?

Marc: Here puppy! Who's a fierce puppy? Who's a bad, BAD puppy, interfering with his boyfriend's dreams and destiny (which is to shag me senseless, obvs)?
Deniz: Grrrrrr. GRRRRR.
EKP: *removes muzzle and pours shots*

PS: CAMERA, WTF? FOLLOW BEHIND THE DAMN LOCKERS! WE WERE WATCHING THAT!

Oh, Deniz, love, c'mere to the red couch so we can talk. See, we think it's great, you wanting to get a super present for Roman. And thumbs up for doing it in a way that doesn't involve mistletoe kisses or swiping Greasy Max's platinum card. But see, it's one thing to ring up Uwe, Karlheinz, and the rest of the Homolulu gang for your boyfriend's surprise party. It's quite another to drop a birthday bomb in the shape of a new flat. Still, it's not a Goth skull necklace and a swim at the Centre, so you get points for effort.

And now, Roman, darling, really. In what world is whinging to your ex about your boyfriend ever a good idea? Outside your apartment, no less? If you want us to believe you aren't a blonde bimbo, then don't act like one.

In other words, things are getting messy for our dear GBWIs. Carry on!

Dear Roman: Forget about the flat for a sec. You talked to your ex. About your current. YOUR EX. YOUR CURRENT. Dude. Time for some serious apologising. Chocolate and blowjob offers wouldn't come amiss, either.

Dear Deniz: Forget about the ex for a sec. You bought a flat without talking about it first. A FLAT. WITHOUT TALKING. And clearly you don't get why it bothers him so much, so how's about we hit pause on the self-pity party for a moment and LISTEN to him?

Dear Marian: Most Eloquent Eyebrow Ever FTW!

Dear Marc: Mhmmmm. Nice striding. Keep it up.

Dear Jenny: Sup, babe? Missed you! Looking fab! Rocking that powerduo business! (Oh hey: You and Constanze totes used to shag, admit it. That's what the formal address is really about. Establishing boundaries after hot rebound fling. We're onto you, sister.)

Dear Axel: Hah. Hahahahah. Hahahahahahhahahaha. THAT IS ALL.

Dear Richard and Simone: Yep, sure she's more important than the company. Except for that time... and that other time... and that time when... and those other 37 times... give it up, dudes.