Yes yes, my ass is a full week behind on recaps. It’s not that I’m lazy. It’s not even that I was too busy. I love writing recaps, but unfortunately in order to recap this show I have to actually watch it, and that’s when my motivation goes to shit and procrastination takes over. This show is awful. Not good awful like a lot of the reality dreck that’s out there, but just plain awful awful. I know none of you guys are watching it, so I hope you appreciate the sacrifices I make for your entertainment. Even if those sacrifices occasionally take two weeks to come to fruition.
Pardon me for looking for excuses to spare my brain from this.
Last week there was a fashion show and some sort of elusion to a challenge for the crazy sister to date a guy that Ma! and the responsible sister think is suitable, which in Jersey talk means spray-tanned and possessing mafia connections. This week we’re doing some sort of Sweet Sixteen blah-di-blah. Let’s get it over with, shall we?
No, I said I wanted male strippers. You’re ruining my bachelor party.
DJ Douche is answering phones inside Diane and Hoes while the daughters put some poor innocent sixteen-year-olds in tacky shiny dresses. Wow, what the hell are they putting in the water these days? These high-schoolers look like 30-year-olds after their fourth breast enhancement operations. Crazy sis is apparently the master of making girls feel like princesses, so she lends her expertise while passive-aggressively mentioning how she never had a sweet sixteen. Yeah, boo-hoo, life’s rough. When I was sixteen my mom found out I liked girls and she changed the locks and put all my shit out on the front lawn. Well, all my shit that wouldn’t fetch a price at the pawn shop anyway. Excuse me while I weep silently on the inside because P-Diddy didn’t show up to rap to you when daddy drove up in your brand new Miata.
Are you a good witch or a bad witch?
Did I get side-tracked there? Yeah, I guess I might have. Back in the dress shop, the birthday girl has settled on a dress that makes her look like half of a wedding topper, and that rings in at a cool $519. Yikes.
For that much money they’d better throw in a tiny groom.
Over at Casa Le Crazy Sis, Responsible shows up to drag her to Ma!’s for din-din, but Crazy is making food for some unnamed someone-or-other, and there are candles. **gasp** Candles are code for “I will have wild unprotected sex with you and bring shame upon my bright orange family.” Of course Responsible runs off and tattles to Ma! who tells DJ Douchebag. And then DJ Douchebag regains five or six cool points by stopping Ma! while she’s yelling “Booty pop pop pop” and telling her that the booty pop thing is getting really annoying.
Three candles? Is this a gang-bang?
The next day at the dress shop, Responsible is grilling Crazy for the “juice” (yes, that’s what they call it) on her dinner the night before. Crazy blows her off, and it’s back to work. Responsible shows us how smart she is by informing us that there’s no Sweet Sixteen season because people turn sixteen all year round. Gosh, really? My mind is officially blown. Crazy is STILL bitching about not getting a Sweet Sixteen, even though Responsible informs us that Crazy got to choose between a car and a party and she chose the car. Yeah, still weeping for you on the inside, bitch. Dry your tears before they make your spray tan run.
Crazy is all in love with some fugly dress that she wishes she could have worn to her sweet sixteen. She has some hapless assistant distract Ma! while she tries it on, and somehow in the zipping process the sisters manage to rip the dress. Ma! has a flippin’ meltdown because it’s a six-thousand-dollar gown. Dude, that gown better do the dishes, give me backrubs, and read me bedtime stories for six grand. Do you know how many hookers that could buy? Or how much blow? You know what’s better than shiny-sparkly dresses? Doing lines of coke off a hooker’s ass. Or so I’ve heard anyway. I wouldn’t know from personal experience or anything. Shut up.
Six high-end hookers worth of taffeta
So finally the family decides to cave to the mad levels of passive aggression, and they start covertly planning to throw Crazy a belated Sweet Sixteen. Great, because rewarding negative behavior is an excellent tactic. I’m sure this will put an end to all of Crazy’s immature behavior right away. Responsible is ordering a cake, and she throws out works like ‘Pink’ and ‘Leopard print’ and then says she needs to incorporate feathers. Yum. Feather cake. I loves me some cake, but I think I’ll pass on this one.
But last time I didn’t receive a piece of… Are those feathers? Never mind, I’ll pass it down.
So some dude named Jeff, who is a dress vendor, is coming by the store for a showing. Of course Crazy is running late, because she’s busy barrelling through pedestrians and cyclists in her massive SUV while gossiping on the phone with her bestie, Sam. They talk about the mystery man, and all the juicy details seem to be that he stayed late and nothing happened. Yeah, this juice is old and stale. Next.
Back at the store, Responsible is putting the brakes on Ma!’s urge to buy every single dress that Jeff the Vendor brought in. Poor jeff, he looks like he’s trying to make the Jersey Bitches’ heads explode with his mind. Crazy finally shows up and there’s some more yell-talking and cackling and squacking over each other while they decide if they really want some dark red number. Ma! tries it on and sings the booty pop song again. Yay. That never gets old.
I command your head to explode!
Jeff the Vendor finally gets to escape from the dress store, and I envy him deeply. DJ Douchbag breaks into Crazy’s house to steal her childhood photos for a Sweet Sixteen montage, and sadly no cops tackle him or send in the dogs or anything. When he gets back to the store they flip through the albums and I realize that Crazy may be the most self-centered bitch in all of Jersey. Who has that many pictures of themselves? Responsible wants to invite mystery dude, so she calls in Sam and very slyly asks her to invite, “Any guy Chrissy might be seeing or interested in.” Smooth.
Making a collage for a narcissist is surprisingly not difficult.
At the end of the day, Crazy takes off for a date but won’t tell anyone that she really is going on a date or who the date is with. Oh, the intrigue. I’m on the edge of my seat, but only because I’m fighting off the urge to get up and change the channel.
DJ Douchebag is helping out a college grad who needs a multi-purpose graduation party/attending a wedding dress. Crazy tells the camera that most of the women who come in don’t have size 2 frames because they’re real women with real bodies. You know what, fucker? I’m a size 4 and I’m pretty sure I’m still a real woman. I mean, I just stuck my hand down my pants to double-check, and that sure as shit felt like a vagina. I’m all about accepting your body type and not starving yourself to fit some unhealthy mold of what’s attractive, but stop trying to give all us skinny bitches a complex. You don’t grow testicles if you drop below a size 8, okay? Don’t be hatin’.
If she’s not a real woman then I’m gonna have to switch my preference to bisexual.
Whatever. They find the “Real woman” a pink and purple dress that reminds me of this Hypercolor sweatshirt I had when I was a kid. Is anyone else old enough to remember those? Goole images rememebers.
I miss when being cool was this easy
The sisters are taking off for the Sweet Sixteen party cause I guess they’re doing full wardrobe and hair and make-up and everything. Good lord… You know what I got for my sixteenth birthday? A job.
DJ Douchebag is in charge of the music for Crazy’s Sweet Thrity-five or however old the skank actually is. He’s trying to make his whole DJ experience with the lights and the sounds come off as awesome and impressive, but it looks exactly like the set-up they had at my eighth grade dance. He hops on a crotch-rocket and runs errands for the dumb fake party, and I hate him just a little bit more for his outfit/bike combo.
Look Ma! No hands! Or talent! Or any sort of discernible skills whatsoever.
The sisters arrive for the Sweet Sixteen party of the girl who’s actually turning sixteen, and they’ve misplaced her dress. Birthday Girl’s mom is freaking out silently, as in glaring at Crazy like she’s trying to light her on fire Drew Barrymore in Firestarter style. False alarm though, because Responsible had the dress all along. I guess that’s why she’s the responsible one. They keep calling the meeting to do hair and make-up and wardrobe for the sixteen-year-old a “Fluff Meet.” I’ve clearly watched way too much porn because I have a totally different image of what “Fluffing” is, and I keep hearing “Meet” as “Meat.” Yes, I know they’re homonyms and they sound the same, but I see the word “Meat” in my head and it makes me think dirty awful things.
This is not fluffing
The guy in the gloves is fluffing. Photo cropped for the sake of the children.
The real birthday girl makes her entrance in her overpriced gown and Crazy opines about the lack of a Sweet Sixteen party when she was younger. The sisters leave the party and head back to the hotel room to gather up their belongings. Responsible tells Crazy they have to meet Ma! and Daddy, but Crazy is resisting. I can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to spend time with that family. They’re delightful.
BFF Sam is setting up a “Fluff Meat” for Crazy’s party while Responsible pulls up with Crazy in tow for the big event. They walk in and everyone yells “Surprise!” and there’s hugs and shouting and black-lights galore. DJ Douchebag drags Crazy back and says, “We’re gonna fluff you sis.” Good lord, do none of these people watch porn? Don’t they know how heinous that sounds? Crazy is resisting the ball gown, but Responsible gets her to wear it. Crazy draws the line at the tiara though, until Daddy puts it on. There’s bad music and worse dancing and even worse fashion.
Yay! We’re on TV!!! Oh, and happy fake birthday.
Crazy finds her mystery dude, who looks like a bloated version of DJ Douchebag, but with thicker facial hair.
Responsible notices them holding hands and freaks out for some reason. I guess hand-holding does lead to pregnancy and all. And the AIDS. They watch a photo montage and it’s as exciting as it sounds. C’mon, Oxygen. People fall asleep during slide-shows in person. Who the fuck wants to watch one on TV?. They wheel out the cake, which someone ruined by setting an ugly leopard shoe full of feathers on top of. Those fuckers.
Daddy-Daughter dance, tears, whining, more tears, and that wraps up another exciting episode of Jersey Couture. Join me next week for more edge-of-your-seat entertainment. And by next week, I mean in like an hour when I get the second recap up so I’m all caught up on this shitshow.