Sloppy bitches. Clutter bunnies, the pursuit of the pefect Duck Lip and 6 CARATS. Fuck you, kiss my ass and I don’t give a shit. As you can tell by my introduction to this episode, it was wall to wall class.
Orange County’s finest are very well known for their subtle, natural beauty but who knew that all that poise was hiding such a treasure trove of linguistic jewels and subtle social nuance? I was simply floored, I tell you, and went right to my local community college and signed up for Class by the Countess- Etiquette for Plebeians. I hope I can catch up! They’ve set the bar sooooo high.What is one of the first rules of proper social conduct in Newport? Always worry about what other people think of you, of course. Get your motorcycle license just to show up those catty bitches that said your Harley was all for show. Put on so much make-up and hair spray that your helmet becomes moot. Wear your prettiest pink kerchief and let your blonde hair flow stiffly in the wind as you tell those women to “suck it,” over and over again. Class.
You ARE taking notes, right Gasmii?
Tamra was a little jealous of the bike last year, and I remember her riding with Simon and the Petersons the year before, no? I wonder what happened to the Blarneys’ motorcycle? Maybe they gave it away out of safety concerns. They do have young children, after all, and their little ones are their highest priority, not a big old dangerous Harley.
Or whether or not their son ate supper the night before.
It’s wake-up time at the rented palatial faux Tuscan McManor, and Simon is knocking on the kiddies’ doors while Tamra spackles her complexion for the day. She chases after Spencer in an effort to do his hair but he wants about as much to do with her as you or I would. At breakfast, Tamra says that she didn’t eat the night before. Well, neither did Simon Jr. and he tells his mom to “get used to it.”
Smart ass. What the hell was that about? I have a guess. Mommy has been complaining about not having enough botox, or new bejewelled boobie tops and Simon Sr. has been telling her to “get used to it,” because it turned out that those pieces of paper that the credit card company mails to you every month? They’re bills. You have to pay them.
Tamra says that the kids can sense the tension in the house between Simon and her, and I do not doubt it in the least. She has such a freaking big tactless mouth that I wouldn’t be surprised if little Sophia or Spencer have overheard entire cellular bitchfests while Simon is out at beachside taverns shilling his hooch.
It’s bad enough that they have certainly overheard your discussions about your dwindling finances, but now they get to enjoy the nightmare of their little world falling apart on television and you are worried about how noisy the coffee maker is. More great parenting.
Sidney and Spence grab their backpacks and bikes and ride out of the garage and off to Summer school. My God, Crackie’s front stoop is bigger than their entire driveway!
Maybe yours would be too if you were out WORKING right now.
Spencer wobbles a little bit as he takes off and what does Simon do? He follows them to school, thereby completely negating the point of riding the damn bike in the first place. Talk about misguided concern. Someone is feeling guilty.
Both kids are embarrassed, which is totally understandable. Either drive them or leave them alone, for God’s sake. If you are so concerned for their safety and well being, how about you stop arguing and drinking in front of them? Those scars don’t heal nearly as fast as any little boo-boo wee Spence might get if he falls down.
Are these two in couple’s therapy? Is that what Tamra was referring to when she said that they were trying to work it out for the kids? And by the way, what is up with Tamra’s arms? Some of you noticed last week that Slurry’s were looking weird and now Tamra Sue’s are looking huge!
So much for not eating before bed.
On the other side of town, Alexa, who I am referring to as Moon Unit from now on because of her liberal use of the word ‘like’, is getting her make-up done at her friend’s house. I guess that the Summer school classes in biochemical engineering were all filled up.
Just once I want to see someone open a fucking book.
Somebody’s got to have something with pages and a binding, a copy of Keeping Secrets by the great Suzanne Somers, perhaps? No Jackie Collins or Judith Krantz? Not one copy of Super Looks by Morgan Fairchild? That one’s a classic. I learned how to eat without mussing my lipstick from that book. Indispensible knowledge for a 14 year old in the 80s who wouldn’t have been allowed to wear it to the table anyway.
If I remember correctly, her no-smudge tip was something about smiling and sliding the food off the fork with your teeth. Basically the opposite of a blow job, and almost as valuable a skill where I grew up.
It’s Morgan’s birthday today too, she’s 60!
And probably still looks decades younger than these bitches.
I love her. She is so gorgeous in that ‘lounging on my Lausa Ashley chaise while sipping Rose Champagne in an ivory Vassarette teddy’ way. Yes, I worship 80s night time soaps. They RULED. Satin and silk and mink stoles, hair by Jose Eber and make-up by Way Bandy.
Where do girls learn to do their make-up these days?
I had books and MaryKay parties. Moon Unit has her friend Hailey. They talk about Slurry who is waiting out front to take her shopping, and Hailey tells her that shopping is the only time that she and her mother get along. No doubt. That’s probably when I was the nicest to my mother too. I may have even been nice for a whole week if she let me shop at Foxmoor or The Limited instead of the crappy O’Neils’ junior missy section.
They exchange pleasantries in the uninsured Beemer when Slurry has to go and ruin it by bringing up the crappy meeting with the ‘youthologist.’ It’s button pushing time again and Moon Unit tells her that she didn’t want to meet up that day because she was too hung over. So, there!
In case we need a tutorial on the situation at hand:
What happened to Slurry’s facelift? Isn’t it only a few weeks old? Maybe she forgot to take the potion Isabella Rosselini gave her, cuz she’s looking like crap again. I know that I joke about having it repossessed but I would think that that would be one bill that Frank would make sure to pay.
Oh shit. He forgot.
How did she manage to get a facelift and forget to do something about the manly lower half of her face? Look at her- she’s freaking George Clooney from the nose down! Didn’t the little fact that she resembles Danny Ocean come up in consultations, or did they save a little money and hire a doctor from the back page of the Penny Saver?
We’re back on the merry-go-round of Slurry trying to parent and failing miserably while Moon Unit confuses her with logic and eventually ends up either crying or swearing. Let’s mix it up this week and have both, shall we?
Slurry tells her that it’s hard juggling being a mommy and a stoner cuff mogel at the same time, dontcha know, and Moonie asks why that resulted in meeting with teen whisperers that are barely out of their teens themselves.
‘But didn’t she inspire you,’ mommy of the year wants to know. ‘I want you to inspire me,’ future Teen Mom answers. Do they pay the kids on that show? Cuz girl needs a job if she wants to buy anything at South Coast Plaza, where they carry on with the rest of their discussion.
They have the usual convo about Slurry’s words not matching her actions and for a while it felt like the child was lecturing the parent. God, this is so fucked up.
When Slurry finally tells her that she hired Vanessa to help communicate to her and get her to show some respect instead of disregarding everything that she says, guess what? Moonie doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
F*#!^%G HELL! Why do you people keep ruining my shopping trips?
Maybe Slurry and Gretchen are just trying to get her to save money by making her associate shopping with bad vibes and downers.
Moon Unit is getting that fight-or-flight look on her face when she starts freaking crying, right in the mall, where, like, Moonie’s friends could, like, see it and stuff! Her mom just stares like a dumbass so, Moonie does what anyone else would do and calls her a fucking bitch.
Wrong housewife, honey. That’s Tamra.
This is where my mother would have turned beet red, I would have frozen in my tracks like an abductee about to get an anal probe, and in super slow motion watch the slap heard ’round the world approach my face. For years afterward, the people of Fairlawn, Ohio would marvel at the seismic activity that baffled scientists from M.I.T. to Stanford.
But we’re not through. Oh no, not by a long shot.
Moon Unit stomps off to another food court chair, leaving her mother catching flies and trying to wrap her bong resined mind around what just happened. When that fails, she walks over to her daughter to talk about respecting each other’s feelings.
Oh, my God. Quit moaning and groaning, hippy, and start beating her with those gorilla arms of yours!
Nobody’s going to call Child Protective Services, I promise!
They sit down at a table where Slurry defends her absentee mom-ism by saying that she needs to work because Moonie wants nice things, and “you’re always asking for nice stuff.” Oops. Oopsy, Slurry. Wrong move. Big time.
Her daughter looks at her like, “Are you serious?” and then tells her that she’s full of it, she just wants her to be a walking advertisement for her stupid stoner cuffs, takes off said cuff and throws it on the table.
“Can we go shopping now? For something NOT made with a glue gun?”
She then tells her to kiss her ass and I hope that she was taking notes because she just found mommy’s biggest trigger. It’s not the part where she maligned her mother by inviting her to pucker up to her stair mastered buttocks, no. It was insulting THE CUFF.
The rest of this conversation is unreal so i will let it speak for itself.
“Keep it up, nice to treat my cuff that way!”
“You only care about yourself!”
“But I took you shopping!!!!”
Aaaaand Moon Unit walks away while Slurry cradles her precious cuff, stewing.
Since she obviously didn’t listen to the advice I so generously offered last week, let’s see if she’ll listen now.
Pssst, Slurry. Frowning causes way more wrinkles than smiling.
I bet that she already knew that. She just couldn’t afford the nasal labial fold botox this month. She didn’t sell enough CUFFS.
Here’s some more advice- Give away free spray tans to anyone who purchases a baker’s dozen, dummie. Form a ‘Cuff of the Month’ club, do a Twilight tie-in and glue CosmoGirl photos of Robert Pattinson or Taylor Lautner on them. Hot Topic would sell out in a week. An hour if it was located next to a movie theater last November.
Slapping them on the wrists of broke down leather skinned hoes isn’t exactly moving them off the shelves now, is it? Who wants to look like one of you? You don’t exist outside of the ‘Gated Communities’ of Orange County, and you know who the last person to popularize cuffs was? (handcuffs don’t count, so don’t say Josh Waring) It was Wonder Woman, and she’s about as real as Raquel’s nose.
Whatever she does, she needs to do it quick if she wants to return to the halcion days of having a roof over her family’s head, like the Bellinos do. And what are the happy little Christians up to these days, you ask? The very Saintly excercise of meddling in other people’s lives. Goody. That ALWAYS works out well.
Alexis isn’t content with showing up at events orchestrated by the other housewives, nope, she wants to fabricate an event of her own for a change! Get her ‘woo-hoo’ on, perfect mother and wife style. Hmmmm, what should she do? What is she good at? Oh, of course! Picking up the phone and hiring people to do stuff!
She tells the Pawn Preacher that she wants to have a ‘Gourmet Chef Party,’ where you invite an actual chef to come into your home and teach you how to make something edible that doesn’t say Chef Boyardee or Lean Cuisine on the side, all the while getting hammered enough to marinate the meat with the fumes from your breath.
It must be a simply super idea because Jimbo endorses it wholeheartedly, and praises her creativity and originality. She looks like she’s so excited that she might break into a facial expression any minute and….. was that joy? Glee? Gratitude? Who can tell? I’ve got to assume that she’s amped up.
“Thuffering thuccotash, Jim!”
It’s like getting a compliment from Jesus himself, or Dr. Rey! She’s so excited that she blurts out her ulterior motive of reconsiling Tamra and Gretchen, and oh, wouldn’t it be nice to be the peacemaker, when he tells her to stop rambling and says, “you want my input or not.”
And no, it wasn’t a question.
Why is it that every time they have one of these lord of the manor/servant girl exchanges, the picture of my recollection is one of her on her knees before him? It’s weird. I’ll be coming up with jokes that go along with pictures that only exist figuratively in my mind. Does anyone else get the same impression, of him looking down on her while she gazes adoringly upward? It’s so disturbing.
He doesn’t just give her advice about how to handle the situation, he tells her exactly what to do. He says something about making a small joking inference to their disagreement, followed by a serious affirmation of their truce. I think he called it a ‘prelude to resolution.’ More like a delusion, if you ask me.
There is no way in hell to bring up the tiff between these two women and expect it to end well, no matter how much Jesus, Mary and Joseph are on your side. Go ahead and hang your home with garlands of rosaries, get ‘Love thy Neighbor’ tattooed on your ass and put fonts full of holy water in every corner if it makes you feel better, but make sure that you put the Fire Department on stand-by. Oh, and don’t forget the martinis. I like three olives. I’ll be on my lawnchair across the street roasting cocktail weenies for my Triscuits with Shantigal and Marijai.
By the way, Alexis calls Jimbo’s advice “brilliant.” Further evidence of her first class physical fitness applied sciences education.
At the Italianate Wonder Villa of Bitter NitPickers and Their Spawn, it’s garage clean-up time. Yay. Most of the stuff that is getting thrown out belongs to the kids, proving that the Blarney’s are making this whole ‘poor’ thing a family affair.
If mommy has to downsize, so do you!
I feel sorry for poor little Sophia Richter when Tamra Sue throws away an entire garbage bag of stuffed animals. This has got to be hard on these kids and it’s true what they say about how much worse it is to lose things when you have grown used to having everything you want.
Not having so much crap in the first place might have been the smarter move, like buying your children maybe ten stuffed animals at the most, instead of the entire Wild Kingdom collection at F.A.O. Schwartz. It reminds me of that episode of Hoarders (someone should be recapping that shit) where the kid loses his cookies over relinquishing one stupid generic something or other. I’d remember what it was if someone was recapping that nightmare (hint, hint).
I think that i had five stuffed animals when i was a kid. My brothers had one. If you were a boy you got made fun of if you had more than that, and you hid the one you had or risked it ending up in the bottom of the storm sewer. These Blarney kids have more toys that they’ve forgotten about than everything my parents bought me from the age of four on up. And that’s saying A LOT.
I could scan you a picture of Christmas morning in our house when I was a little Twunt, and you would cry for the amount of wrapping paper cuts it took for my mother to get that shit together, but the damn scanner isn’t working. To give you some idea of the insane lengths my parents went to, this was under the tree one year-
I wish. I’d gladly trade places with one of the Bellino twins if Richard Pryor was my paid companion. Hell, I’d even pretend to think that Sister Mallard Mouth was attractive and Pawn Preacher was wise.
If God would strike me blind and deaf.
Back in the garage, the Blarneys are still shoveling through their trash. Tamra Sue wants to know why Simon needs three pairs of golf shoes while she giggles over the fact that she filled a trash bag with discarded clothing that still has the price tags on it. Self awareness is not her forte, eh Gasmii?
She pulls some of the tagged clothing out of the trash bag but makes sure to throw out plenty of the kids’ stuff. They’ll have to make do with fewer cuddle toys and generic Barbies from the dollar store from now. Everyone has to sacrifice, certain material goods must be relinquished.
Funny, I don’t see anyone trading in their S Class for a Honda.
Old Rapey Eyes stops by to drop off his new business cards, and he didn’t whip them up in Excel! They’re real, with colors and letters and everything! Awwwww, Tamra Sue is so proud of her widdle hillbilly wapist. You can’t help but smile. Let’s all raise our glasses to Simon’s biggest fear- Ryan becoming more successful than he is!
I don’t know, can you make a ton of dough selling gym memberships? I know what you CAN accomplish when you shill for a fitness empire-
Yep, that’s him, immortalized on a website called ‘guys with iPhones.’
Something else for Tamra to be proud of, along with the hunting knife that she starts waving around. Ryan asks where it came from and Simon tells him that his (Ryan’s) dad gave it to him. He said that he would need it if he was going to be married to Tamra.
Hahahaha, hilarious. Jokes on you, though.
I wonder if the two ex husbands are liquored up in a Newport dive right now, trashing Tamra. Why not? All of US do.
As much as their efforts at pinching pennies strain the limits of my comprehension, Crackie being normal and loving is stretching it more. She and Donn are having date night again and if I have to listen to more lovey dovey crap, I’m going to steal her damn pipe, fill it with insurance policies and not stop until I’ve smoked up every last thing in her office, right down to Lucy’s life insurance papers.
They are dining out at a beachfront restaurant and I am wondering how she finagled a free meal THIS time when all of a sudden a bird poops on their server. Wow. This may be the shittiest day of that poor woman’s life. Not only did she get Crackie’s table but she got dive bombed by a seagull.
Stay away from this one. Jesus hates her.
Donn isn’t wearing his new wedding ring since it is off at Barbara’s getting sized but he brought a nice new shiny 6 CARAT ring for Crackie.
I just wanted to thank you for being you. And not murdering me in my sleep.
The dumb bitch can’t just say thank you and move on, she has to count all the rows of diamonds OUT LOUD. Further proof of the amazing amount of class exhibited on this show.
Since she went there, I will too. It’s 6 CARATS, yes, but six freaking carats of teeny tiny itty bitty diamonds, not one big huge show-offy clunker. Plus, Alexis beat you with a 7 carat necklace. Do you think that’s what they fight about next week- who has the most mini diamonds? Lame.
Crackie isn’t used to getting gifts, plus she’s a cheap ho, so she bugs out so much over it she gets wine and food all over her blouse.
Too bad it ain’t blood.
Her stupid laugh is so annoying. Donn is a saint. There aren’t enough Nobels or Boy Scout merit badges on the planet to compensate that poor man for all he puts up with. The Dalai Lama should be worshipping HIM.
Gretchen time. Did you ever notice how cluttered her condo is? Every available surface has a tchotchkie on it, or a picture of her lowness. And the antiques! Did she get them from Jeff? What the hell?
In the spirit of last year’s RHNY episode that was one long commercial, I will be paying very little attention to Gretchen’s meeting with her make-up artist. All she’s doing is using the show to sell her Tovah Borgnine- quality ‘Beaute’ line.
We do learn two pertinant facts, though. First, she was known as the ‘Madonna of Real Estate’ back when she was actually working, SNORT! Two- she SUPPOSEDLY didn’t inherit 2.5 mil. She says that Jeff’s estate got gobbled up by debts, DOUBLE SNORT!
I do not have time to research either one of these claims so I am going to assume that they are lies and ask a more important question-
Why does every woman in Orange County dress like they’re in an episode of Charlie’s Angels?
If I tried to pull that shit here in Cleveland, my neighbors would ask me where the costume party was. They’d be giving Mr. McSlore the sad ‘you poor thing, she finally went off the deep end,’ looks every time he steps out to get the morning paper.
But, no need to worry. I only dress up like Farrah if that happens to be a special request from Mr. McSlore. I still have some old flares and cork wedges I can pull out for when he wants to play ‘kidnapped by a Cloumbian drug cartel’ in the basement.
Since everybody is shilling their businesses, we’d be remiss to forget Crackie! She is hosting a crowded wine soaked din-din in one of her conference rooms, under the guise of giving her children financial planning advice.
Okay, then why are all your employees there?
This is getting almost as old as the Tamra/Gretchen fight. Yes, you have saved hundreds from the unemployment lines. Yes, you are doing God’s work by selling a piece of the rock to people with pebbles. No, you don’t spend 4 hours a day in the gym or sleep for twelve hours a day. Neither do I. BUT YOU DON’T SEE ME SHOVING IT DOWN EVERYONE’S THROAT EVERY CHANCE I GET. Woman, that is just vile. The only reason Michael hasn’t smothered you at night, other than the fact that you don’t sleep, is because he is waiting on his final reward- his inheritance.
The only thing she accompishes with this little slide show is embarrassing Brianna for having an over draft and getting Michael drunk. Congrats, while you were doing that I got banged by Mr. McSlore and ordered a really cute emerald bangle.
It’s sad, really. When does Crackie ever speak like an actual human being? When she’s drunk? Nope, when she’s tanked all she does is ‘woo-hoo.’ Everything she utters on this show sounds rehearsed, like she read it in a brochure or self-help book.
I’m starting to think that she’s a robot. A robot that goes to eleven. The day she breaks down is the day California slides into the ocean, mark my words.
We need some sanity on this show and we get it in the form of Slurry’s elderly mama, Marilou.
Or is she her sister?
I can’t tell. They look the same age to me.
Slurry tells her that she is having some problems taming the teenage beast in her home and her Marilou says, “That’s just the way it goes sometimes,” sounding exactly like one of the Curtains. I’ll let it slide, though. She’s definitely earned her right to start the day with a little Lorazepam and Lambrusco. She raised the hippy of Orange County, after all.
She has a pretty nice home too. I wonder if the Curtains had to move in with her. Can you imagine? They’ll be the ones sneaking around to get their party on for a change. I would DIE.
I’d lock up your medicine cabinet if I were you.
Next to her mother, Slurry looks like a hooker, and for some reason the camera zooms in on her cuff for a while. Maybe she put in a special request to Miss Andy.
They talk about how Moon Unit doesn’t listen and goes out all the time, and then she tells her mom that she didn’t know about half the stuff that mellowed out Slurry did when she was a teenager. Granny glosses over that by saying, “You didn’t have half the temptations.” Not true. If you’re looking for trouble, you’ll find it whether you grew up in 12th century North Africa or 21st century Laguna Beach.
It’s funny that Slurry cops to having been a wild child but gave Gretchen so much shit for the exact same thing. I’m starting to think that none of these people have any self awareness whatsoever.
At least Slurry says that she’s going to put Moonie to work. Thank you. I’ve been saying that from the very beginning! Why aren’t her daughters holding down a job? Kara is at UCLA full time and a waitress at Pink Taco. These Curtain girls should be ashamed of themselves in comparison.
There have to be literally thousands of shops and boutiques where they live. Are none of them hiring? Give me a break, even those God awful Kardashian chicks work retail! If I were Alexa, I’d be putting in decent hours at Express and taking advantage of my discount on a weekly basis, at the very least! Pathetic.
You best believe that the little Bellino boy will be working in the pawnshop when he gets older. He’s already in training to become just like dear old dad. They take him to get his hair cut and I thought that Alexis was going to get back handed right in the salon when she referred to Jim Jr’s freshened up faux hawk as a hair-do.
I personally would back hand both of them for letting him run around town looking like he just got eliminated from Top Chef. If they really want their four year old to look cool, let him grow dreads. That would be fucking AWESOME.
Almost as awesome as him growing up to be gay.
Can you imagine? Soooo unacceptable in ‘their reality.’ You know what IS acceptable? Throwing drunken ‘gourmet parties’ in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. That is where we head next, the Bellino kitchen where a nice chef and his lovely assistant are setting up shop.
Tamra arrives first, empty handed. Nice. The Bellino Bimbo looks her up and down and then Slurry arrives, bottle in hand. I guess that when alcohol is involved, Slurry has her hostess present duties down pat. And tell me if I’m wrong, but when someone invites you over for a meal, isn’t it standard practice to bring something, even if it’s just a pie form the bakery? I never go anywhere empty handed, never. I was trained well. I even send thank you notes to people and Valentines to my widowed mother. They eat that shit UP. Try it when you need to score some extra points. It worked wonders on my mother in law, I’m telling you.
Gretchen arrives, they put their stupid chef hats on And Slurry seems confused by the mere concept of hat wearing. She’s like a two year old that discovered newspaper for the first time and doesn’t quite understand the purpose of it.
But wine- that she understands.
Girl is getting wasted AGAIN. Does a week go by where these whores don’t get blotto? I’m running out of ways to describe their varying states of inebriation. Should I just skip the fact and we’ll all just assume it? I mean, chances are, whether the scene involves dusting or picking the kids up from school, some housewife has a wine glass in her hand.
You say there’s an Easter egg hunt? Just let me grab my wine.
I hate to be mean (yeah, right), but Alexis is not looking pretty today. I wonder of the Pawn Preacher kept her up really late lecturing her on how to behave at her inaugural househo party.
What’s that, what do I hear?
I think it was God telling you to get your first face lift.
Crackie couldn’t attend. She had to attend another Superiority seminar. This one’s called Denying Claims of Crack Use, or How to Blame Your Shitty Personality on WORKING. As soon as she’s done with that, I hear there’s a corporate mixer where they’ll go over the finer points of Blaming All Drama On Jeana.
Is she slowly distancing herself from this show? I don’t care either way, I just want to beg Miss Andy not, in the name of all he considers holy, to give her her own show. If I want to watch a screaming Wildebeast for an hour, I’ll watch Kell on Earth.
The women start chopping things and prepping food in much the same manner as alcoholic kindergarten kids. They giggle, don’t follow instructions and drink an entire bottle of wine before Slurry figures out that she’s at Alexis’s house and not her own kitchen.
Oh, that’s right. You don’t have one.
I wouldn’t be surprised if her shoes were on the wrong feet, she’s so far gone. At least no one got hurt, even when Slurry made a joke about doing her Kegel excercises. Scary.
Those shenanigans over, the bitches sit down to eat their lush-ious meal. Everything is going just fine and dandy, Tamra and Gretchen are being faux friendly, and then Alexis puts her half baked plan into action by asking if they are “good.”
Tamra interviews that Alexis is just trying to stir shit up but I don’t think that’s the case at all. I think that she wants to look like a heroic do-gooder that solved the great crisis of Gretchen-Gate ’09.
They both say that they are over it but the dumb bitch won’t let it go. Jimbo pushes a button behind his emerald curtain and she asks if they can move forward smoothly from this point on. She sounded awkward and rehearsed, like this was her big moment on camera and she wanted to sound extra smart and in charge, and not disappoint brilliant Jimbo.
Slurry mumbles something in her corner about how proud she is to have finally figured out that the boot marked ‘L’ goes on her left foot, and the one marked ‘R?’ I don’t know if she has a grasp on that one yet.
“Does that stand for Reefer?”
Alexis has the chef save her uneaten food for her husband, and Slurry thinks it’s sweet to always be thinking of him. She goes on to compliment her own bankrupt hubby, only she calls him a whores-man. An honest mistake considering her present company.
She then goes on to garble something about him being hung like a horse. Ewwwwwwwwwwww. No thank you, but if he’s so endowed, let him make some pornos. At this point who cares how you put food on the table and keep MaryJane in the pipe. Times are tough, and Crackie isn’t handing out any loans, as we found out from the real horse’s mouth earlier this season. Jim is, though, with the right collateral.
But I don’t think he’s accepting pocket lint and tie dyed Zippos this week.
To deflect attention from herself and hammer her stupid point into poor Slurry’s already overloaded brain, Gretchen asks her how her sweet little angel of a daughter is doing.
“Who, Lucy? She’s fine. We’re dressing her up as a hobo these days. She’s got a stunning little knapsack and britches with hole in them……….zzzzzzzzzzzz.”
She should whip up some cute little Fleur de Lis booties for her Dachsund and sell them at Doctors Foster & Smith. Are you listening, Slurry? I’m giving you some great ideas here- run with them. Your dealer will thank you.
Slurry face falls from the buzz kill, and she tells the ladies that Moonie is a work in progress and a damn fine little actress, now get me some more Riunite, man! Sheesh!
Gretchen asks if Moonie was ‘acting’ all sad when they went shopping that day and I wish she would shut her big trap. Tamra wants to know what they are talking about and I have to laugh over the fact that she’s out of the loop.
Just tell her she’s HOT. That should shut her up for a while.
They dredge up the whole fucking misunderstanding, thereby breaking another simple rule of etiquette- Don’t bring your baggage to other people’s houses! It’s simple. Ask the Count-ass, she’ll set you straight. And make your own, “Not at the Cancer Society! Never at the Cancer Society!” Countess joke here. I’m saving mine for March.
We all know that Alexis needs more guidance and discipline. We all know that Gretchen is over-stepping her boundaries by handing out Dr. Slade fueled advice. We all know that no mother wants to hear that she’s doing a shit job, especially from a dead beat dating, drunk on fame, camera humping Phoebe Price wannabe.
Slurry tells her, once again, that she should shut it since she hasn’t had kids yet. This is the point where Gretchen makes her “just because you popped a kid out…” comment, and Slurry takes a page out of Moon Unit’s book and says “Fuck you.” Class, I tell you, it doesn’t grow on trees.
Or grapevines, sadly.
This whole time Alexis is watching her party swirl down the pooper and Tamra is off to the side, barely controlling her utter glee. Fucking cunt.
Maybe Simon will let me borrow that knife. I got a freckle spackled piece of white trash to hunt down.
Who am I kidding. All it will take is a flyer for free botox.
I do hope that Simon is watching all this. He may be a controlling jerk but I believe that he truly loves his kids and they shouldn’t have to live alone with such a flaming harpy for their role model. If I were him I’d be on my knees begging Briana to be a Big Sister to his girls. Spencer, I’m not as worried about- he’s already being molded into his dad. Here’s hoping that he learns from Simon’s mistakes and doesn’t grow up to marry an evil river rat in a cheap weave.
Meanwhile, poor Slurry is developing the uncontrollable drunk sobs. The kind you get after a break-up when every commercial and RomCom reminds you of happier times, especially after that fifth of Svedka.
She’s not making a whole lot of sense now and random thoughts are spewing out of her mouth.
Like- one day they are watching Barney and the next they need a new Beemer for their Sweet 16. She goes on and on about how she tries to be a good mother but it’s simply not true, Slurry! You don’t try! You want things to be as easy as possible and freak out when the opposite happens.
If you do not make the effort to instill the right values and expectations from the very beginning, you end up with the wrong ones. You taught your girls that the most important things in life were money and looks, and if you want to get high every day? That’s fine. So, don’t be surprised if that is exactly what they do!
She should just take Marilou’s advice and let Moon Unit go. Set the aspiring mode/actress/whatever free. Tell her to move to L.A. with her friends and get a job. Stop taking her to the mall when you feel guilty and stop making her wear your stupid cuffs.
I think that I’m going to be sick. Stephen King doesn’t write stuff scarier than this.
Tune in next time when Hurrican Crackie finally arrives and we find out what Alexis did to make her storm out of the restaurant crying.
Sniffle, sniffle. None of these people WORK, I tell you! None of them!
Crazy busy, crazy in love and crazy about golf. Not so crazy about narcissists and do-nothings. Completely indifferent to network TV unless a sporting event is being covered, and completely in love with half the chefs on the Travel and Food channels. Chefs, not COOKS. If any of them really ARE chefs. I haven't seen any proof.