After watching this episode I had a very strong urge to punch someone. I sat back and calmed myself down since that is not the right attitude to have when you still have round two of holiday shopping to finish. Instead, I went to a bunch more parties and am writing this hungover AGAIN. You’re welcome. Shit. I promised to get this done on time and broke that promise in under a week. Damn, I’m good.
I’ve been swearing a lot lately too, so consider yourselves warned. And for some reason I find it very entertaining to freeze the housewives faces in increasingly grotesque moments. This Slurry picture kind of says it all.
Serving you some gorgeous with a heaping side of flawless frozen face. Delicious!
Hangovers make me hungry.
So, she got her facelift and enjoyed her percocet haze immensely, the boys golfed and Crackie stirred up a big old bag of DRAMA by inviting all the women for a girl’s *cough* trip to Florida. And that’s funny, Jeana was NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.
Not possible, you say? But Twunty, Tamra said thats Jeana caused all the drama and she’s gone! Tamra’s always right!
Well, Jeana must be one hell of a puppet master because the bullshit continues. I really hope that she’s doing better and earning good money again. That house that Shane wants to move into with his “friend” in Palm Springs isn’t going to pay for itself, you know.
We start this week with Crackie taking Brianna with her to her jeweler, Barbara. Amazing for two reasons. Number one, she has a jeweler? AND a jeweler that kinda sorta hates her and cracks wise on her from the moment she walks through the door.
Just don’t look at Crackie through a loupe, I’m warning you.
Number two, Brianna is still talking to Crackie after last week’s mind numbingly boring date with that piece of cardboard, Chris. Geez, I’m surprised that I remembered his name, especially since I barely remembered my own at the end of last night. Note to self: do not, I repeat DO NOT mix martinis and red wine EVER AGAIN.
It was fun though. My hostess ended the night by puking into a blue Whole Foods bag so she barely even looked up as I walked out with the last of her rum balls. Yay! I don’t have to bake for next week’s party!
Actually, it’a a school play but don’t worry. I’ll find a way to incorporate alcohol into the night’s festivities. I always do. You could say that I have a gift for it.
Crackie has gifts on the brain too. She is at the jewelers to pick out some diamonds for a ring that she is giving to Donn. There are three stones.
One for each of her faces and an extra because she was such a twatknob to Donn last year.
She wants to inscribe it with something and Barbara asks her if he has any nicknames for her other than ‘bitch.’ Hahahaha! I like this Barbara! We need to hang out. I’ll get her drunk and while she’s puking in the recyclable bag of her choice, I’ll make off with one of those national debt payments she calls joorey. I’ll just tell Mr. McSlore that it’s fake.
If I can’t tell the difference, neither can he.
She does have one nickname. ‘Samsonite,’ because she came with so much baggage. Do tell. I was dying to know what burdens she is hiding from the rest of America, other than inner beauty, outer beauty and a soul, but then she puts her arm around Brianna.
That’s right, she called her daughter baggage in front of a woman she barely knows. Run, Brianna. Run. You can come and live at the Jersey Shore with the rest of us Gasmii next summer. I promise not to embarrass you, only myself.
On the other side of town, Alexis doesn’t want to be alone at the spa so she brings her twins to get their first mani/pedis. That’s totally normal. I’m sure she’ll have them getting highlights at five and botox at twelve, if she hasn’t started it already.
It’s like a Norman Rockwell painting, no?
Have they done any studies on this botox? Does it cause the synapses in your brain to misfire and tell you that looking like Daisy Duck is attractive? Or does it just make you fuck ugly men that smell like pawnshop owners. Oh, that’s right. He does own pawnshops. No wonder he’s still doing so well. Come to think of it, that’s probably where the fugly necklace from last week started out. He just melted down some old white gold and threw some random diamonds on it. How many was it, again?
They also could have fallen out of Crackie’s ass. I don’t know, I’m hungover.
Surprise, surprise, the twins are acting up. Future Goldigger #1 is crying her little eyes out while FG#2 is squirming and acting like a normal curious 20 month old. This is where Alexis decides to tell us that although she is a stay at home mom, she started out in marketing but has a passion for health and fitness. What doesn’t she have a passion for?
She doesn’t like to play with them and probably just had them because Fat Jim wanted some heirs to his check cashing fortune. And here’s a question- if it takes her three days to work off a donut, how long did it take to lose the baby weight from twins? I have a guess.
It’s called four hours of lipo.
No wonder she says that she’s done with kids, she doesn’t want to stretch out her tummy tuck.
That nail technician’s face was priceless when she was trying to do precious little Bellino bambina’s toes.
I bet she just loves to babysit wealthy whore’s children for nothing while she probably can’t even afford to put hers in Kindercare.
On to the mommy tuck. Slurry’s day with the scalpel has finally arrived. How is she paying for it? Nobody knows. Maybe the surgeon really likes fleur de lis embossed snakeskin cuffs.
Mr. Slurry is all worried because both the Mrs. and Bowlmor are going under the knife today. He shouldn’t be. What could go wrong? Is he worried about the possibility of complications? Please, these two have proven that they have no problem being anaesthetized, so it’s not that.
And if a scalpel goes awry and cuts an artery or an infection sets in, look at the bright side- you can sue for a lot of money, give Alexa a normal life and eat all the pot brownies yourself.
Vanity, vanity. He never asked her to get surgery, he likes her just the way she is. Unfortunately, he’s been promising her for years so she gets it, even if poor Alexa is freaking out.
She is the only one who can think in this family. You heard me, the girl who has the SoCal “like” tourettes disease is the only person who can string together logical thought of truth and its consequences. She asks, “If daddy is so worried about money all the time than why is he spending it on unneccessary surguries?” Good question, Grasshopper.
Unfortunately, nobody knows or cares to find out, so she’s going to be forced to continue to numb her teenage soul with gropefests in the backseat of some douchebags Beemer that he got for his sweet sixteen.
I really hope someone takes her under their wing before she ends up pregnant or auditioning for America’s Next Top Disfunctional Almost Pretty Enough Model-Type Person With No Future Or Prospects Except More Reality TV.
Or dressing like a middle aged O.C. housewife. Oops, too late!
Anyhoo, Slurry is getting a facelift, necklift and a mini brow lift, and Bowlmor is getting her bump removed. This will miraculously restore her confidence and we’ll all get to see her graduate top of her class at Orange County Communty College in no time.
They knock Slurry out, stick a tube down her throat and she’s never looked lovelier.
I hope they locked the cabinet with the demerol while she was unconscious.
I know that it’s a cliche but Bowlmor looks so much better without all the makeup, like a normal California girl.
This actually makes me sad. I wish she knew how truly pretty she is.
When I was a little Twunt, I liked to experiment with hair and makeup, mostly in my own room at my vanity table or at sleepovers. If I dared to leave the house with more than a hint of blush, mascara and lipgloss, I would be forced to remove the excess.
So, I’m not going to rag on her for the amount of war paint that she usually sports, I just think that teenagers have no idea how cute they are with only the bare minimum of gunk on their faces. Sigh. Youth is truly wasted on the young.
By the way, if you ever wondered what Helen Keller would sound like if she were getting raped by Cossacks, if you listened to Slurry when she woke up, you now know. And they played it over and over!
Nails on a chalkboard, I tell you.
Meanwhile, Bowlmor is getting prepped for her nose job and is sincerely looking forward to spending recovery time with mommy and her laudenum. There is also the added bonus of getting waited on hand and foot by her Cinderella sister and doting daddy, because it would be such a big change for her. That’s what she said, I kid you not. Is 19 too old for boot camp?
The next part is hard to watch. They knock her out and stick cotton up her nostrils, then some doo-hicky metal thingy, and they tap on her bone until it breaks. SHUDDER.
You guys probably know that I’ve had my nose broken. I pretty much mention it in at least one recap per show. It hurts. Like HELL. I have a little bump and it is slightly crooked but the people over at Time magazine still managed to find it in their generous hearts to put me on the cover once.
And those were my bug eyes BEFORE I started recapping reality TV. Imagine what they look like now!
I never got it fixed and I never will. The only thing I want is that laser operation they do to shrink your sinuses. With my allergies THAT would be heaven.
And one more thing for anyone who is considering rhinoplasty, if your honker is huge, go ahead and do it. If it is just quirky, a la Jennifer Grey, don’t do it. You want your friends and family to be able to recognize you afterwards, let alone the entire country.
As for Mr. Slurry’s comment that you can’t put a price on your wife or daughter’s happiness, maybe you should Fred Flintstone, maybe you should. At least until your wife sells out of cuffs on QVC.
Let’s see, we are in what now, week five? This must be some kind of record then. It took five whole weeks before we see the inside of Crackie’s office this season. In case you were wondering..
She manages to carve out some time to call Tamra and invite her to a girl’s *excuse me while I hurl* weekend in Florida. She will be down there for a convention (sex with other married insurance agents) and wants to hook up with the other housewives for some fun (cause trouble in their marriages) for a few days.
Tamra is in the middle of doing laundry and Crackie can’t resist the oppurtunity to jab at her a bit. “Don’t you have people for that?” Yeah, I’m sure that she used to but these days she’s forced to rinse the smell of failure out of Simon’s clothes all by her lonesome.
Crackie looooves that Tamra’s poorer now. She hearts it times infinty and can barely keep herself from laughing. God, she’s a cunt. I hope that Tamra sees this and cries, I mean kicks her out of her life.
That’s funny. I thought that Crackie said that she was going to be nicer this time around. Does that only count with the new girl? Does that make the old (and I do mean old) housewives fair game? Maybe she’s just ecstatic because she’s the only housewife with a real job.
The hardest working twat in Orange Cunty.
She’s inviting everyone, including Gretchen. That’s nice of her. Not that she hates her or anything. That’s what I would do, invite someone to West Palm because vacations are so much more fun with toxic liars.
Seriously, this is ridiculous. Are we supposed to suspend disbelief and simply go along with the idea that Crackie would invite Gretchen to anything? Of her own free will? No way. This is producer meddling and I hate(love) it.
Tamra tells Crackie that between passive-aggresively alienating her husband, she will ask him if it’s cool if she goes to Florida. Yeah, good luck with that. I hope he makes you earn the flight by blowing the travel agent, and your hotel room by doing laundry.
That sneaky Crackie, she knows that Tamra never travels without Simon so why, why, why would she even ask her to? Oh, right. She’s a smug bitch who thinks that she’s better than everyone else because she has a bible next to her vibrator in her bedside table and gets her manicure all scratched up by typing at a keyboard selling insurance.
I got news for you, Cracktwat. Everybody works hard, all over the country people slave away at jobs, earning their money through blood, sweat and tears, not sitting on their ass in a swanky mansion pushing insurance policies on friends of a friend of a friend. Everybody has to insure their vehicle, their homes, their apology jewelry so shut the fuck up and work your fingers bloody in a car factory in Lordstown, if you are one of the few that are lucky enough to keep their jobs there in the first place. THEN MAYBE I will think that you are working so much harder than everyone else. Cunt.
Oh, and I’m not done yet, just taking a break while we go to motorcycle school with Slade and Gretchen. It turns out that I was wrong when I thought that she sold the bike that Jeff gave her. She is actually taking classes with Slimeball in order to get her license to drive it. Alrighty then.
She calls Slade her ‘glorified assistant’ which is closer to the truth than anything else they’ve tried to pass off to us so far.
They go into a small classroom where Gretchen acts all goofy because she cannot stand to go without male attention for longer than it takes a hummingbird to flap its wings and she finds out that the guy behind her is from Transylvannia.
Do us all a favor Lestat, and suck her dry.
These parts with Gretchen and Slade are so boring. Why don’t they follow me around instead? I’ll move into a rented mansion with Mr. McSlore for a couple of months and they can film me picking up dog poop and drinking too much at parties. I’ll even throw in some sex for free, and I’ll totally lie to Crackie and tell her that I have five jobs just to watch the steam come out of her ears as she tries to out-do me. Then I’ll invite Tamra over, drop a roofie in her cocktail and force her own son on her. Or I’ll just bitch slap her, I haven’t decided yet.
Back at the most fascinating motorcycle test ever, we find out that the lower your score is the better. If you get 21 or over, you fail. Gretchen does really well and scores a three. Slade gets a twelve but what does it matter?
He can’t afford a big wheel, let alone a motorcycle.
Moving the hell on. Simon’s tequila business is doing so poorly that he’s allowing Tamra to work. The guy who is listing their cul-de-sac manse has a few homes that he needs some help with and since she’s such a charmer, he’s letting her handle the showings. She’s totally drinking again too, drinking out of that tumbler instead of a wine glass isn’t fooling anybody.
Where does Ryan get his drinking problem? I forget.
Simon is worried that she’ll be away from the kids too much. Good. Let her be. Then you guys can hire a housekeeper to raise them so they’ll stand a chance in life. We all know how you two did with Ryan. Do you really want Sophia to end up in the same boat?
This must occur shortly after her ten tequila (not Don Julio) lunch with Nugget’s daddy because we have to listen to more of their griping about the loser. She tells Simon that he opted for the five days in jail which of course isn’t good enough for Simon since he’ll probably pull a Nicole Ritchie and be out in a matter of hours because of over crowding.
Gosh, I hope not. That’s only enough time to fill out paperwork, not get dislocated hips from a pounding by Bubba! I bet that he had to do all five days, though. I googled the wanker and he had over 20 moving violations and won’t be able to drive until 2012. What kind of idiot racks up 20 tickets? One who is enabled, that’s who.
He’s a sociopathic alcoholic with rapey eyes who can’t drive. Anybody live in Orange County? Have sexual assaults increased around the bus stops there lately?
I hate to agree with Simon but Nugget’s poppa won’t change until he learns that there are consequences to his actions. Mommy needs to stop sweeping everything under the rug because he didn’t grow up with his real daddy. I don’t have kids of my own, so I’ll ask you guys: What would you do?
I’m leaning towards throwing him out on his ass, like Laurie did with her junkie son. Give him a choice- get a job or move to L.A. and hustle. Survival of the fittest. If you don’t possess the tools to support yourself, maybe you should end up dead in the gutter. I know that sounds harsh but nothing else has worked.
On the upside, Tamra cries. She’s been doing that every damn episode!
And we didn’t even have to ask!
It’s boy’s day out at the golf course, some place called Monarch Beach. I am so jealous. It’s right on the ocean- beautiful and warm, and I’m sitting here in my bathrobe contemplating jacking the heat up to 62 degrees while Mr. McSlore puts salt on the front steps. Bah.
Fucking Jim is there with his nasty cigars, ashing all over the pretty tee boxes. He sucks, Simon sucks and the only guy with any feel for the game is Donn. I bet he gets a lot of practice in while Crackie is off at her (swinger) conventions.
They joke about not missing their wives and that may be true for Donn but not the other two. They probably make their women submit power point spread sheets every morning detailing their every move for the day. Hell, they probably installed GPS tracking devices on them when they were knocked out for their boob jobs.
I will say this, and it is completely true. After watching the sloping shouldered, fat bellied cigar chomping slab of walrus vomit that passes for Alexis’s husband, I ran up the stairs, took one look at the gorgeous man I am lucky enough to be with and blew him with pure joy and gratitude.
This guy, I would just blow away.
And just when I thought that he couldn’t get more attractive, he brings up the lingerie party at La Perla. We have our O.C. Juicy Joe, Gasmii. He says that the party went well except for the part where he got served Champagne by the hot dude in his undies. Homophobia is not attractive, assclown. It makes you look narrow minded and insecure in your manhood.
Here’s the thing, though. I bet that the cute blonde guy turned him on. He gazed at that hot succulent unsurged bod and then glanced at his Daffy Duck wife and started hankering for a hunk, no? It’s okay, Jim. Jesus will forgive you. Right after his so-called minions on earth are done taking all the gay rights away.
He also says that they didn’t buy much because of the economy and that he’s been noticing lately how much stuff they have that they don’t really need. What do you think he’s talking about? Mani/pedis for two year olds? Bentleys?
Seven carat diamond necklaces, perhaps?
What a phony. He then brings up the trip to Florida that they will be taking with their women. Ha! Donn laughs and says, “We (the guys) are not going!” because they weren’t invited. Donn’s fine with that, of course. It’s precious time to regain his sanity after dealing with Crackie for a week or two.
Jim’s all, “In MY marriage, we never travel apart.” Yeah, that makes you soooo much better than everyone else. Dick.
Yeah well in MY MARRIAGE I never puke when Mr. McSlore climbs on top of me.
He also wants to know if Crackie is going to give he and Simon grief for going. I love Donn’s response. He tells him that he doesn’t know, Crackie’s a big girl (more coughing on my part) who makes her own decisions. He then reminds them that they weren’t invited in the first place.
My work is done here. Let her go nuclear on YOUR asses for a change.
Don’t you love how they are all a little afraid of her? I couldn’t have wished her on more deserving assholes.
So, uh-oh, DRAMA. Must be Jeana’s fault.
More insanity is just around the corner as Gretchen meets the giant boobied Alexis for lunch.
She’s such a nun with her demure christian outfits, isn’t she?
She asks about martinis and their waiter suggests a cougar cosmo. Zing! How dare he! Alexis is no cougar! She’s married to an older fatass, dummy!
Hey, are they Episcopalian? If not, then why do they drink so much? I thought that christians valued temperence almost as highly as they valued their superiority over others. All except for those gay priest-allowing Epicopalians. I’m Episcopalian, by the way. Surprise, surprise.
My priest is a lesbian. I’m not particularly religious, I just like a little communion wine Sunday mornings. I can get my prayer on and a little hair of the dog while I’m at it.
Sister of Immaculate Cleavage is buzzing a bit herself and starts in about God and the part he plays in her life. See, Jesus was tired of dealing with punishing the evil that men do and answering the prayers of starving children and decided to whisper in her ear one day.
“Marry a douchbag, Alexis. He will come cloaked in Cohiba and will carry much gold. Ignore his hideousness and I will grant you eternal botox!”
Gretchen is perplexed.
Or scared. Not sure.
I doubt that Gretchen reads TVgasm but just in case she does, I will try to explain this Alexis and her faith speak to her. This girl is dumb. Rock of Love Bus dumb. Dumb and Dumber dumb. She has no mind of her own and no opinions. She married a rich man because she thought that doing so would solve all her problems. Adopting God in her life was one way of explaining away the fact that she sold her soul for money.
“Jesus made me do it!”
Not the devil, mind you, not an ugly fat guy named Jim, but Jesus. How disgusting! Can you imagine if she had been born ugly? She’d be a bitter single mom, struggling to pay the bills by taking extra shifts at Bob Evans. Does God talk to women whose baby daddy is in prison for check forgery? I sure hope so.
This next part is precious. Why don’t they spend any time apart? Because if they do they’ll be giving the devil a chance to tempt them into doing bad things, because cheating on your spouse starts with a simple thought and before you know it you are the hooker of Orange County.
Oh, my God, she is an idiot! Slim Jim hit the jackpot with this one. But she’s stupid enough to believe that crap so I guess that she deserves him.
The only problem is that she sucks at explaining it. Listening to her try to rationalize the unrationalizable is like watching a baby try to catch soap bubbles.
And another thing, Gretchen wants to know why it’s okay to have your tits hanging out in public but it’s not okay to try on lingerie, and how is it logical to say that you trust your husband to be on a boat naked with Gretchen? Isn’t that temptation? Isn’t that how those nasty dirty thoughts get in there?
So, in summation, they live on another planet where up is down, east is west and Jimbo is going to Florida. I hope that Crackie eats his balls with her morning frittata.
Simon and Tamra are having their own Florida conversation. He thinks that it will be fine, the guys will do guy stuff while the girls get drunk at lunch and pass out on the massage table. Nothing new.
Oh, and look. A side ponytail! Somebody rented Caddyshack.
If Crackie goes ballistic, he says he will be a man and walk away. As opposed to what? Hitting her? Ack.
And when were they planning on informing her of this? When she runs into them in Florida? I hate to be in Crackie’s corner since she planned it this way to fuck with her so-called friends but, who does that? She arranged the trip. Go or don’t go, but if you want to change the rules you are messing with the wrong looney tune.
Yes, Simon. You are right. Crackie oversteps her boundaries with the people around her. She tries to stick her nose in your marriage and make Tamra her little puppet, but your marriage is not perfect. You can say it is all you want but that will not make it so. I like to say that I’m 29 with a PhD and a perfect life but I still come home to no degree, having to fix up an older home, and a puppy that pooped in her cage again.
Our little vignette this week is all about Our Lady of Silicone and her biannual botox visit. She says that she has no idea how much time she spends on maintenance, all she knows is that Jim doesn’t have to worry about her turning into a frumpy old wife
Let’s see. I’ll assume that she spends 8 hours sleeping and about 6 hours eating and drinking. That leaves 10 for her level of high maintenance. PER DIEM. That’s like a full time job, with overtime. Talk about dedication.
There’s her myriad of workouts, tanning, waxing, fillers, hair, nails, botox, pounds of makeup, teeth whitening and whatever form of Ativan she takes to deal with that hillock of monkey lard that quivers over her for five minutes twice a week before unleashing his holy seed on her ovaries.
She’s spending more in a year on maintenance than I’ve probably made in my entire life, Gross!
The place she went to get needles stuck in her face looked a lot like the clinic where Slurry got her work done.
And it’s two days later and time for the big reveal. She walks down the hall with all the grace of The Bride of Frankenstein and they remove her bandages. She looks a lot younger. This doctor is good. Here’s hoping that Frank was smart enough to get a deal on the surgery in exchange for the television exposure.
I also hope that Crackie runs straight to his office. If he can make Slurry look this good imagine what he can do with her goofy chins and freaky eyes. I wish that they could have waited until some of the medication wore off before showing us Slurry, though. This is not her best moment.
I guess they forgot to lock the drugs up after all.
Raquel shows off her new nose. It doesn’t look all that different to me but she seems happy with it. We’ll see how long that lasts. She will come up with something new in no time, some excuse for her “low self confidence.” Whatever, but how about you pay for it yourself next time?
Cut some of that hair and sell it. I hear that Ryan could use a weave.
Alexa didn’t come to see them and I’m not surprised. Frank left her at home again. She might as well be invisible. He said that she was still asleep but I bet he just forgot to wake her. Stop eating all the profits, Frank. Somebody has to pay the doctor.
Here’s an idea. Make your spoiled brat daughter pay rent. I would have told her that she could have the nose job but that she was going to have to pay for her own anaesthesia. And passing out drunk doesn’t count.
It’s time for Tamra to get to work, if you want to call it that. Today is her first open house and she does a good job with the two people who show up to see the $1,799,000 house that she’s showing. It’s cute but it has a tiny back yard. Marco tells her that she did well but, really. How hard is it to show people around a mansion? This isn’t East L.A. where you hope that your clients don’t notice the bullet holes or shitty plumbing.
She does take a jab at Simon, saying that Marco is an easier boss to deal with. I got no jokes here, just the facts.
Well you’re a cunt. So there. It’s in the fine print.
Crackie and Donn have gotten all dressed up for date night. They arrive at a fancy restaurant where Crackie informs the waiter before he even has a chance to ask, that she is ready to order. She has to get home, people. It’s a school night!
And could I get my cocktail in a to-go cup? I HAVE TO WORK.
Yes, we know. Unlike the PERSON THAT IS WAITING ON YOU. Doesn’t she realize that nobody cares? It’s so crass to talk about how you work so much harder than everyone else and have more money. What if something were to happen to you and you couldn’t work anymore? You ever think about that? Who will your friends be? Tamra? Ha! She’ll throw all your little digs right back in your face and I’ll be right there cheering her on.
Since no one has the guts to do it themselves, Donn has to tell her that the women are planning on bringing their husbands. She’s REALLY happy about that. Then he tells her that Simon said that their relationship isn’t normal. Now she’s SUPER DUPER happy. Hahahaha! I cannot wait until Florida.
SOMEONE IS GOING TO DIE.
I hope that it’s Jim, but I doubt it. It’ll be Simon. He and Crackie aren’t getting along and haven’t been for a while. I wonder if that’s why she wasn’t invited to the Drunko party. Hmmm. Plus, she’ll find a way to blame all the drama on Gretchen, just you wait and see
Remember last week and the previews for Tamra vs. Gretchen Part Deux? Well, they saved the best for last. These two besties meet at one of the millions of restaurants out there that have a patio and share the most awkward hug ever.
Tamra Blarney decides to start off the converstion with a huge bag o’ lies. It’s a funny thing about lie tellin’. You find that’s it’s really easy to lose track of them all.
She tells Gretchen that she doesn’t care anymore about what happened in the past, she wants to let bygones be bygones and move forward with a relationship that is civil enough for the trip to Florida to be pleasant. Lie.
Gretchen tries to explain to her that she never got the whole story in the first place but Tamra doesn’t listen to a damn word she says to defend herself. Well, that’s not very friendly.
I don’t know what is truth and what is lies but if she can’t even remember the lies she’s calling Gretchen out for, than why should I trust Tamra’s version of the truth?
First, she wasn’t there. She’s going on third hand information, pictures that could have been taken by anyone and a picture of her kissing that Jay guy with no time stamp on it.
Second, Gretchen tells her that she only kissed Jay once, at New Year’s Eve. What does Tamra say in interviews, dripping with sarcasm? That Gretchen claims to have kissed Jay once at a Christmas party. That’s not even what she said, dumbass!
Then she says fine, I’ll believe that you were never in a relationship with him, just take your blog down where you said all those nasty things about me and we can leave this all behind us.
Gretchen says that she’ll think about it. No doubt. You’d be wise to mull it over.
Tamra hates your guts and will turn on you the minute you get back from West Palm beach, if not sooner.
You know what Tamra says? “But there’s things on there that aren’t true!” Really? Really?!? Oh my Lord! My head is spinning in rage and I think I just spat some wine on the dog when I heard that one.
You expect Gretchen to take down a blog that you say isn’t true even though you won’t stop telling everyone who will listen a bunch of crap about Gretchen that she says isn’t true. Do you understand why you are an asshole, Tamra? Is any of this making sense to you?
Here’s the good part. After Tamra interviews that she’s so smart because her plan was to “keep her friends close and her enemies closer,” Gretchen tells her NO she will not be taking down her blog. Haha, you Twat-tard! Yay! I’m starting to like this Gretchen person. I cannot lie.
Unlike some people.
Next week we head over to Florida just as Hurricane Crackie touches down.
This is going to be EPIC. I already made a cheesecake in Yenta’s honor and bought a whole case of Three Buck Chuck! Yay!
Love and Kisses,