Episode 950-959

No kissing, no indoor hockey, no ducking out early from work... man, Roman, you're just one big fun vampire these days.

But try as you might, you can't suck out all the fun, because what's this we see? Could it be...? Is it really...? Yes, that's right, HOCKEY'S BACK! Complete with musical sports montage(TM). Now we just need Deniz's old goalie helmet (flames!) and Vanessa kicking some ass.

BOXING IS DEAD, LONG LIVE HOCKEY.

Also, Ingo seems to have some trouble with the concept of fish and where to put it. Here's a hint, mate: You don't give it to people you love and want to stay.

In which Sir Ingo and his fair Princess Floriana embark upon a quest to face down the evil Count Calculator and return the noble sport of hockey tournaments to the grim fortress of Steinkastle, aided by a band of merry men with stalwart hearts, if questionable stick-wielding skills. Meanwhile, the princess' tragic elder sister, suffering under the torturous strain of being loved by both young King Denthur and bold Sir Marcalot, receives more secret messages from the latter and bravely struggles on under the burden of her heart's desires. Woe, woe is her.

Nnnggggggh.

Somewhere, tucked away in that string of consonants, there lies a thoughtful analysis of Roman's difficult position that outlines how we can totally understand his indecision, even if we cannot condone his actions. But then there was Deniz wearing our Favourite Shirt Ever and being schmoopy and somehow not making us roll our eyes in disgust, and then there was Marc being all pouncy-sexy and making Roman smile, which made us go all melty, and then there was Deniz being all *wet* and even more schmoopy and even less eyerolling somehow and REALLY WHAT ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?

Exactly. Nnnggggggh.

Meanwhile Katja flounces about, preparing her own routine and insisting, against the better judgement of her choreographer, that she will skate to Coolio's greatest hits.

No, wait! In a complete departure from AWZ's recycled plot bin, we have a choreographer who's driven and actually involved in skating decisions. She's also a genuinely competitive female athlete who probably never raced off the ice for love of a man. Mix in a dash of motherly manipulation, stir with a helping of territorial disputes, sprinkle liberally with some well-aimed verbal blows, and you've got a recipe for a deliciously real conflict.

(And what's this we see, Roman Wild? Could it be you're finally coming to terms with the eternal third place? It might not impress that Bergmann woman, but we're quite chuffed.)

Dear Roman: There's such a thing as genuine concern and cluelessness. And then there's such a thing as thinly disguised, steely-eyed, deliberate challenge. The kind that says, loudly and clearly, "This is your last chance."

Lil went to the bank today, where she waited for over half an hour in the foreign exchange line. When another teller came over and offered to help the man behind her, Lil got really stroppy and made a scene. Really, doesn't every grocery clerk know that you take the next customer in line? But after she complained to the manager, she got a $10 Canadian Tire giftcard for her troubles. So in some sense, balance has been restored to the world.

Meanwhile Aldi has been working herself to death on some rush jobs that all seem to come at the very same time, rather than conveniently spaced out so that she can deal with them in a normal, civilised manner. She has also been desperately trying to figure out WTF one is supposed to wear to an "op shop prom party" and her cat is still rattling annoyingly because he can't hack up a hairball.

...

Oh, and on Show? Yeah, that happened.

So. We were prepped. We were braced. We'd eaten our bitchflakes and drunk our blood-laced vodka, straightened our shoulders, fixed our flaking make-up and put on our best Scarlett O'Hara Faces The Yankees impersonations. No matter what heartache was coming, we were prepared. We were ready to take it, wallow in the pain, break with dignity, get back on our feet, and soldier on.

And you know, we were doing pretty well. Until along came Deniz Öztürk, one-time commitment phobic, and blindsided us utterly with That Line about That Thing. That Thing that we never even *wanted* to happen because we're not romantics and most wedding cakes taste gross. But that he said it -- that he'd have done THAT, just to make Roman happy? Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Yeah, okay, Show. As usual, you win. "You have broken me, all the way down." :-p We'll be in the corner over there, bawling. Occasionally, when we feel super-chipper, we might attempt a hiccough or a mewl. Send Annette for hugs when you can spare her! (Make her bring fries. And wear purple.)

OMG you guys, this was heart-stopping! First with Ingo's face when he realised that Zoé lied -- holy crap, what a gutting thing to have to come to terms with, after he's defended her so fiercely! And poor, brave Celine, she's been so strong despite her delicate condition, and doesn't it just HURT SO MUCH the way she's had to bear this whole thing alone? And she even had cramps! God, if anything had happened to the baby, we don't know what we'd have done.

And Zoé, sweet, bratty, conflicted Zoé! We hope you guys won't be too hard on her. Yes, it was wrong that she lied, and pressing charges against Richard was despicable, but come on, that's why we all love her, right? She can fuck up so epically, but you can't help understand why she does it.

Thank god there's also hilarious family sparkle to balance the intensity of the big reveal. Ben and Isabelle at breakfast! Celine being all "I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT'S GOING ON PASS THE JAM PLS!" Ben being all BEN and "Soooo, are you guys back together because she's gestating another branch to the elaborate Steinkamp family tree of happy incest tiems, or are you actually shagging again?" Heeeh. And that awkward hug Richard gave Aliciabelle? Win, just pure win.

...

DeRo? What? Haven't you heard they're over?

(Careful, don't stumble over the SARCASM signs. Apparently they're invisible to some.)

Really, you'd think we'd have learned by now. Ten days of bitching for two days of bliss, right? But no, we just went in blindly, cheering over the failure of Claudia's mindmojo, giggling ourselves silly over Ingo's Bill Murray-inspired peptalk of massive HOCKEY WIN, and shouting for Jenny to just get into the shower already (Show, how did you wipe all those drawn-out weeks of fail with one scene of awkwardly awesome MaJe?).

Somehow we forgot that any much-needed cracky relief we felt was just going to be obliterated by Öztürk father-son bonding and the tragic sight of Deniz with no hair product. Woe.

For all Egon's faults, and they are legion, he sure instilled a better business head in young Florian. Roman just traded blow jobs for free coffee; his little brother's pimping out the entire hockey team. Well done, Klein Flo!

Elsewhere, Axel demonstrates his suave lotioning moves on Jenny (where'd you learn those, huh?), Jenny checks to see if he's got any balls (unlike the last man she dated), Grünwald taunts, Marian pitbulls, and Annette's making a skating costume for someone named Diana. Who? No idea.

*conveniently stuffs comment about dream couple into heart-shaped Box Of Woe and pushes it waaaaaaaaaaaay down deep*

Open Letters to Öztürk Men, Take 1081.

Dear Marian: Dude, we love you (especially when you're propping up your shattered son), but this thing with Jenny has moved beyond ridic. You want her, she wants you, we've been telling you for a year to grow a pair, and this whole consolation prize thing is not fair on Oliver. (Besides, what, you're making him run your bar while chasing after her? Tacky!) So you don't like her family? Boohooo. WELCOME TO 89% OF ALL RELATIONSHIPS ON PLANET EARTH.

Dear Deniz: Süßer, it hurts to see you so broken :( Look, Flo's cautionary tale of solidarity may be woefully inadequate and yes, sometimes it totally sucks to be out among people when your heart is slowly bleeding away, but you need distraction and this kid clearly needs help: He's instituting "no touching" and "het only" rules for the auction!!! Clearly he has NO idea how prostitution works. Come on, Schatz, please. Your rentboy skills are required. HE IS RUINING OUR FUN ORGY TIEMS.

Dear Uncle Yücel: We're out of pot. Please send more stat.

In which Constanze is our favourite person ever in the world, and all the other women at No.7 are Very Very Strange. Meanwhile, Nettchen goes to see Diana (who? no idea), leaving Roman and Katja to their determined-but-sad skating routines and anguished flashbacks.

Also, both Roman and Deniz seem to have contracted blinvisibility syndrome when it comes to certain of their friends. Hallo, Ingo? Are you able to see that short bloke in the grey shirt next to your wife? Does he look at all familiar? When's the last time you two even spoke? Like, to each other, not just having lines in the same room? And hallo, Katja? Remember that tall lanky guy who's your FRIEND? The one who tried to teach you how to pull guys and cuddle up during scary movies? The one who could maybe use a hug or a tube of hair gel about now?

Sigh.

Whatever. HAI TOM. We like Tom. Tom can stay :D

In which Oliver is the sparkliest thing since glittery gel pens (of which we're sending him some, along with our profuse if confused apologies for ever having thought of him as a crashing bore, except to be perfectly frank we still think of him as a crashing bore, but he's somehow mastered the art of being boring in a lovable and sparkly way [especially when he's bemoaning his doomed relationship that can never move forward as long as Marian has such unresolved issues], which we know makes no sense at all, is anyone still reading this bracket comment? didn't think so), Marian is a grumpy moronic bugger who needs to be thwapped on the nose with a newspaper, and Katja and Tom "fix" Tom's "flipper" *snicker nudge giggle dirty joke goes here*

Speaking of Tom! Your Patchouli-scented, Eastern philosophy-spouting, Neverending Story-loving, tousle-headed adorkable routine is not fooling us in the slightest, boyfriend. WE ARE ONTO YOU. We know that dragon is doomed. We know you are the props department for the lamentably neglected Hagendorf/Wild production of "SLAYER - The Ice Musical." We know that poor dragon is about to have its life ended by a mop. What we do not know is what that means for whichever part of your love life/anatomy the dragon represents in the million dirty jokes the "let's fix that dragon" scenario just begs for. But hang out, share Uncle Yücel's excellent weed, let's find out. And tell Marc to get a move on with that musical. Hallo, Claudia is dying to do dragon-slaying choreographies!

And girlfriends? You've really got to get out more.

PS: Dear André, Aldi still hates you.