Jess was halfway through a can of soda when his eyes landed on the commercial.

'Two virgins, two self pronounced pimps," the television drawled out.

'Cheapass knock off show,' he dismissed, preparing to return to his reading. That was when Rory's picture flashed across the screen. Guess she had decided to do that show. Nearly dying from the sharp intake of breath he had taken while the soda was halfway down his throat, Jess managed to barely catch the next line.

"How long will it take till desires take over and our sweet Virgin Marys to give into their sexual needs?"

Jess almost laughed at the idea of Paris being sweet, if it wasn't for the even more shocking discovery.

"I realize I am extremely attractive to the female mind," Kirk was saying to the camera. Yes, Kirk. The very same Kirk who lives with his mother and cried when Jess knocked over his ice cream, "I very often find myself having to fight off quite a number of lust driven women, all of which are dying to get a hold of my body. I have a very desirable body, you know," he turned to the camera, trying and failing miserably to channel Marilyn Monroe, "I sleep in the nude."

Jess winced outwardly at the thought of Kirk's 'desirable body', but visibly relaxed. Nothing to worry about, he decided.

He thought too soon.

The screen flashed, switched over to different guy. The first thing that was painfully noticeable was the hair. For pete's fucking sake, this guy probably spent more time on his hair than half the women in the world put together.

"I'm Trevor," the guy said, flashing the screen a shiny smile filled with Chiclet teeth, "I don't usually go after girls, but for television, I guess it'd be fine."

"I don't usually go around bashing strangers heads in," Jess muttered (the thought wasn't entirely true, but nevertheless…), "but for you, I guess it'd be fine, too."

"And plus," the annoying guy, Trevor, continued, "That brunette chick. Rory? Her name Rory? Now she's a looker. Break me off a piece of that."

Who says that anymore? Jess thought, tightening his grip on the can, not noticing the sticky liquid that was splurting from the top and running over his hand, No seriously, who says that anymore? Stupid, fucking…

"And to her boyfriend? Who's watching this? I always get what I want. Remember that," the guy flashed the screen another Chiclet smile, "I'll be sure to send you that condolence card for when she breaks it off with you for me."

"And I'll be sure to send you that condolence card for when I smash your face in," Jess thought aloud, feeling the frustration churn inside his gut as he felt the childish urge to slam his fist through the television.

Luckily for the television, the shot changed to Rory. Who was looking uneasily at the screen, eyes darting around uncomfortably as she visibly fidgeted in her seat. Jess felt his lips curl into a smirk remembering how she had told him once that she thought cameras were the equivalent to 20th century brain suckers and that for every second you stare into one, your brain cells notably decrease, 'that's why' she had declared, 'Jessica Simpson can't tell chicken from tuna. All in the paparazzi.'

"Trevor?" Rory asked, responding to the cameraman's question on her feelings towards the annoying hair guy. She blinked a few times, looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights, "Who's Trevor?"

Jess relaxed his grip on the soda can. He shouldn't have been worried.

The screen then flashed over to Paris, "I can have fun," Paris declared forcefully, "I'm a very fun person. I mean, just because I refuse to indulge on a night of useless teen normalcy where I dress like a hooker and allow strange men to lick salt off my stomach does not make me a prude! Hear that Jamie! I'm fun! I don't take things too seriously! I'm fun you hear me! I don't take things too seriously at all! Do you think I take things too seriously?" she demanded, turning her death glare to the cameraman, in which he stuttered a hasty 'oh no. n-not at all,' "Damn right I'm fun! I'm Paris Gellar! And from now on, I'll dress like a damn cha cha trapeze artist escapee from Circus Ole and allow every guy on the street to stick their tongue down my throat! Are you happy now Jamie! Are you? Are you?"

Jess quickly shut off the television, wondering how Jamie was feeling right about now.

OOOOOOOO

It'd been five minutes. Five minutes into the house. And Rory already felt obliged to rip her own damn head off in an act of aguish, where her death will become a historical landmark as the fall of reality tv. Because granted, she really didn't think this show would last too long if someone decided to kill themself on it.

Or maybe it'd just draw in more viewers. With the utter chaos going on in television network out there, it could pull either way. And the less people knew about her little television debut, the better.

She hadn't even wanted to do it in the first place. But of course, Paris will not be denied. And plus, her relationship with Jess could best be compared to at the moment, a drowned cat flailing in water, and that was at its good times. A tiny break would be better for the both of them. In fact, this won't even justify as a break. More like a temporary… bend.

Which was exactly what she had decided to tell him as she rang him up that particular moment.

"A... bend," he repeated slowly, drinking in this new information, "And exactly what does this mean?"

What did it mean? Damn it, Rory cursed herself for not having anticipated this question in the first place, "Well… uh… you know. A bend. Not quite a break and not quite… straight."

"I'm sorry. I don't speak crazy."

There was a familiar bitterness laced in his voice that Rory knew all too well. This would be the part where monosyllabic replies come to play and he shuts down like her computer during a blackout while she was in the middle of typing up a super important paper.

Panicking, Rory resorted to rambling, "Well it's a bend. I guess you could call it a break. Just instead of completely breaking, we're together still. So if I walk in on you cheating on me with Bambi McBimbo I reserve the right to be angry. 'Cause you know, it's a bend. Not really a break… A bend isn't a break. A bend is a bend. A slight twist in straight, yup that's what bend is…"

There was a distinctable sigh of angry breath from the other line. Causing Rory to pull deeper into the pit of panic and as she racked her brain, clinging to the last strands of hope in their somewhat civil conversation.

"… Or the dictionary definition," she tried, relieved that those years of memorizing the entire definition of every word in the English alphabet (or at least up to T) was coming in handy, "Uh… one, to bring something in a state of tension: to bend a bow. Two, To cause to assumed a curved—

"Oh wait I know, what's the definition for girls who just love aggravating the hell out of their boyfriends?"

Okay. That hurt. For a split second, Rory considered resorting to tears and guilting her way to the top. But thewhole principle of usingtearsas to her advantage were never too good. Nevertheless, she was still allowed to be female right? And with that she still retained the right to be fanatically pissed.

"I don't know," she answered, "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm saying."

"Were you saying you want to break up? Because correct me if I'm wrong, that's what you seemed to be getting at."

"No! No I-I don't know what I want."

"Do you ever?"

What did that mean? "What does that mean?"

"Never mind," Jess muttered, regretting ever opening the topic of conversation. From here, it'd be downhill. Pandora's box. Releasing a flood of affliction and distress.

"No Jess, tell me. For once you don't get to turn into Frank Sands."

"You know what? Maybe I don't talk to you about anything because I don't need to, did that ever cross your mind? Of course it didn't. Because you just have to fix everything. Can't mind your own fucking business. For god's sake this whole damn town can't seem to mind their own business."

Ouch. That was harsh. Beyond harsh actually. She could have sworn, from the increasing throbbing in her chest, that her insides were ripping in half. Split straight across the seam and oh, doused in salt water. Just for kicks.

"I-I don't know what I did…" she sniffed. Oh to hell with morals. If she wanted to blubber, she could very much blubber. Screw you, Mariano, she thought to herself, internally shaking her fist.

He knew that tone of voice all too well. Damn it she was blubbering. So he resorted to silence.

So she continued her blubbering, "I-I'm not breaking up with you or anything. God, did you think I was breaking up with you? No way-- you couldn't have, I mean, I did say bend not break about ten times. And if you please, at one point I distinctly remember listing off the official Oxford dictionary definition --which I had memorized by the way-- of bend for you. But I don't know, I couldn't tell with all the angry mumbling from the other line," she took a deep breath as she continued, no longer blubbering, but just pissed, and plus she had momentum. So as Jess began to respond, she cut him off, "So folks, what can we conclude from all this? Well, door number one is my boyfriend is a pretentious asshole in need of an insane asylum." Okay. She decided that was pretty harsh. The momentum was wearing off. Now she just felt guilty, "…and door number two is I'm a just being a touchy dolt. I'm sorry. It's just that Paris has been going on and on about the anatomy of an Australian wallaby and let me tell you, don't let their adorable, innocent… virginal names fool you, wallabies are more hormonal driven than you think, Kirk is walking around naked. Naked. Kirk. Those two words should never resort to being in a sentence together. Ever. And there's this guy with this annoyingly... shiny hair, I forgot his name. Terry? Trey?"

"Trevor," Jess supplied, not bothering to offer any explanation. But her obliviousness towards him did provide him some sense of relief.

"Right. Well he's trying to get me drunk, I think. Is soda supposed to smell like Samuel Adams? Because after leaving Tr--god, what's his name?... in the kitchen with my soda, and finding him trying to hide a rather large bottle of beer behind his back, that's what my poor Sprite ended up smelling like. Anyways, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he dismissed, letting a smirk cross his lips, "You memorized the entire Oxford dictionary."

"Only up to T."

"You're a freak."

"Aw, thanks sweetie," she replied dryly, but nevertheless letting her face break into a grin.

"I think you're right."

"About you being a pretentious asshole?"

"About the break."

"Break? No- no, no break. I said bend, bend!"

"A break would be the right thing, I guess."

"Did you not hear me? Do I have to spell it out for you? Well here it goes, B- E—

"Sure given my history of... casualties," One night stands, Screw fests, Wham bam thank you ma'ams, Rory knew was what he really meant, "I'm far… far away from being the best opinionated person when it comes to… steady relationships," Jess continued slowly, seeming to be thinking aloud or talking to himself if anything, "But yeah. A break would be good."

Break. The word repeated in her head as Rory resisted the urge to bash the phone into a wall. She was really starting to hate that word, "Yeah… a br—I mean, bend. Would be good, that is. Yup. Bends are good."

Bend. The word replayed in his mind as Jess struggled to keep himself from bashing his fist into a wall. He was really starting to hate that word, "Yeah. Yeah. A… break. It would be good, a break."

And there was that word again, Rory sighed. Not bothering to correct him this time. If it was a break he wanted. Then it was a break he'd get. But nevertheless, she made sure to make a mental note to buy him a hearing aid for his birthday anyway.

And as Rory looked back on their conversation now she felt an overwhelming urge to smack herself on the head for not specifying what the hell he meant by break. Were they broken up? Because usually the result of break is broken. You break a monkey lamp, it's broken. You break a flower pot, it's broken. You break your mother's favorite pair of Jimmy Choos, they're broken. Didn't he say break? Does this mean they're dating other people now?

There was a sick feeling in her gut at the memory of how he had Shane backed up against the tree, post-herself running to Washington and pre-the start of their relationship. Quickly pushing the image away, she resorted to the only option she could think of.

Time to call in the mother.

Or not. Because, quoted directly from the screening, Lorelai was, at the moment, "out prostituting and having missionary intercourse with up and coming hot British actors."

Damn it. Now she was here. Stuck in a 200 square foot townhouse floor with a cantankerous Paris Gellar, a naked Kirk, and… Trey? What that his name?

She limited herself to one angsty groan. And that somehow escalated into throwing the phone quite roughly against a wall. In which was about when she found herself face to face with a big, black video camera lens. Great, now not only was her relationship… was it even a relationship anymore?... with her boyfriend… was he even her boyfriend anymore?... no longer definable, but she would now be known to the entire country of corrupted America as the phone girl with temperamental issues.

This day couldn't get worse.

Famous last words