In the third episode of Burn Notice, Michael is asked by his landlord to help a waitress who witnessed a crime and is being threatened by the perpetrator. That perp (Desantos) happens to be a mid-level drug guy, and when Michael goes to him to try to strike up some kind of deal he learns that Desantos has already sent a hit squad out for her. Fiona saves the day with some molotov cocktails and Michael is back to the drawing board. So he sets them up a safehouse (his mother’s garage) and tries to get Desantos’s lawyer to get the drug overlord to tell Desantos to back off, making the very good point that if Desantos gets caught for all this attempted murder crap he’ll put the rest of the cartel in a lot more danger than if he just went to jail for the assault charges he’s facing now. This goes awry as well when the cartel sends a hitman for Michael. Luckily Michael is way more awesome than their hitman, but again he’s back to square one. He figures El Hefe needs some convincing, so he and his gang falsify some footage of Desantos talking with the FBI, asking for witness protection. When the fed that the lawyer (of course) has in his pocket leaks this information to El Hefe, the cartel turns on him. He’s toast, and the waitress is left alone.
You know what made all this harder? Two things, really. First of all, Fiona pestering him for a key to his place. Well ok, actually that was adorable. I mean he was irritated, but you gotta know he’s also glad that she doesn’t hate him. And she’s so cute all episode, with her flirty tree stroking and breathless phone teasing. Her sense of humor begins to emerge in this episode, which is awesome.
No, what really was irritating was Sophie. Sophie is the waitress’s daughter, who is 19, and who sucks. She complained the whole time, and I mean THE WHOLE TIME, and Michael kept coming back with deadpan wit. “Whatever, it’s a freaking garage, I’d rather be killed than live here!” “Well, those are your two options.” HA! “What are we supposed to do in Buffalo?” “Same thing you do here. There are malls, and… clothing stores.” HA HA!!! I love him.
Sophie couldn’t see past her stupid Spring Formal to the serious situation she was facing. She was too concerned with her stupid little friends to help Michael oh I don’t know save her mother’s life. She was too busy feeling sorry for herself to be thankful that this mysterious guy who owes them absolutely nothing was putting his life on the line to save her sorry ass. She even called him a drama queen when he came to rescue her at the school, asking him why he couldn’t just leave her alone. And then she was all like, “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.” Um, your apology is missing a few lines there sweetheart. Like, “I’m also sorry that I’m a dumbass bitch and I owe you like a freaking $1,000,000 gift card to the Spy Store.”
The only parallel I can draw for myself this week is that I need to stop being Sophie. I’ve been complaining and feeling sorry for myself a lot lately. All week really. Even now I feel the urge to list for you all the things that are just terrible about my life, boo hoo. But you know what? There’s no hit squad after me. I even have all my legs. No malaria, no flesh-eating bacteria, no Myiasis. (Look that up, I dare you.) Not only is my life objectively awesome, what with it’s apartment and plumbing and freedom, but it has the possibility of getting even MORE awesome, what with my talents and skills and intelligence. If I don’t like the direction my life is going in, I should change it. If I don’t like how my body looks, I should change it. And if I feel like complaining about something, I should shut the hell up. Nobody likes a Sophie.
I gained a pound this week. I am not surprised, due to all the pity partying that took place in the form of binges. This week I want to remember how good it feels to move. I haven’t exercised yet, partly because I’m not looking forward to how much less I’ll be able to do compared to earlier this year when I was working out pretty regularly. Well, tough. This week I will do a little bit of push ups, planks, and squats every day. And on Halloween of 2014, I will dress up as Fiona. And I will look GOOD.
My name is Amber Elizabeth. I used to be a self-loathing lazy sadsack fatass.
What Would Michael Westen Do? 