Hi, Gasmii! Did you all have a nice Valentine’s Day? Mine was great- two hockey games in two days. Unfortunately, I think I picked up a bug in Detroit, so now I’m loaded on garlic and vitamin C instead of Syrah.
I got Mr. McSlore a neon Guiness sign for the basement bar and I got some cute stuff of my own, wink wink. If you were without anyone special, then let me be your Valentine. I’ve got plenty of love and nice long arms for hugs. Okay, enough of this mushiness, let’s get to the hos!This week picks up right where last week ended, with the eviction. How depressing. I am so sick of these busted down broke bitches and their new poor lifestyles. Where’s the fun, the glamour, the obnoxious displays of wealth? There’s very little joy in making fun of people during a financial crisis. It’s just not the same.
One thing I can make fun of are Slurry’s cluless kids. Raquel wants to know if she’s dreaming that she got served eviction papers since she’s hungover. Weren’t they staying at grandma Marilou’s? Wasn’t Lucy supposed to stand guard at the liquor cabinet? Someone’s not getting any new puppy cuffs this week.
Raquel Felch calls up Slurry and asks her what is going on, all the while giving the camera the finger. Classy.
Don’t flip off the hand that feeds you, dumbass.
She asks her mother, over and over, “What the fuck is going on,” while Moon Unit hides under a comforter on the sofa. That’s right, Moonie, don’t deal with stuff, don’t act rational, just hide under a duvet. Tune out the outside world with whatever drug you can get your hands on and then watch the rented flatscreen on Mommy and Daddy’s rented couch. Maybe if you cover your eyes long enough, it will all go away. Oh well, look on the bright side.
Last I time I checked Dutch Oven-ing yourself was still free.
Slurry tells Raquel that she’s just as surprised as she is and says in interviews that she feels guilty that her poor little angels had to be the ones to sign for the eviction notice. I think that she should see it as a good thing, a little wake-up call to her unemployed lazy assed good for nothing teenagers. I don’t see things changing any time soon, and in the immortal words of Spencer Blarney-
Get used to it.
Slurry is really upset.
The tears are running down her payment planned face, and she tells Frank to meet her at a park to discuss the situation. She doesn’t want Moonie or Raquel to be any more disturbed while sleeping off their hangovers and watching the ‘My Super Sweet 16′ marathon on MTV. God forbid they should be any more traumatized.
Don’t laugh, Gasmii, don’t you dare! Don’t you realise how hard it is to explain to your friends why you didn’t get a Bentley for your birthday? Years of therapy, I tell you, if not decades.
Poor Frank. He looks so dejected sitting at that picnic table and hanging his head in shame. He interviews that he got in over his head and should never have rented that big beautiful house in the first place. Money is almost as tight as Slurry’s new face, and he made a big mistake.
She sits down next to him to talk and he tells her that he couldn’t afford to pay the $10,000 deposit in time, and that’s why they got evicted. Slurry says that he lied to her because he said the place was perfect since it didn’t require a deposit and “You lied, Frank. You lied,” she sneers.
He had to put a down payment on your face, why would a house be any different?
It’s like someone is throwing her cuff across a table all over again.
I’m going to guess that the owner didn’t ask for one until she found out about the show and all the equiptment and people that were going to be in and out of the place. It’s a moot point though, and we may never know because she keeps interrupting him when he tries to explain.
Slurry is such a hippy, she sucks at expressing her anger. She’s got that whole “So there,” and “whatever, man, you suck,” kind of attitude. Plus, she comes off sounding more angry at being made to look bad and God forbid- poor, and won’t stop going on and on about how he lied and she can’t forgive him.
And don’t say that he should have told you, Slurry, that you can handle the truth. Really? Who’s the liar now?
This is the same woman that doesn’t want anything in her life that might be a downer. She wants her credit cards, her shopping trips, her plastic surgery and gym membership. She never cared about how she got those things before, so why the fuck would Frank start to clue her in now? So she can yell at him for wrecking her buzz?
I’ll tell you exactly how that would have gone down. She would have told him that she doesn’t understand, ask him to handle it and then she would have grabbed her VISA and headed for the nearest Nordstrom. She’d be in her Beemer so fast that he’d be standing there talking to nothing but the lingering aroma of skunk weed and patchouli she left behind her.
Frank knows this and tells her as much. She just keeps saying that he lied. Maybe she thinks that if she keeps saying that she won’t have to deal with the reasons why he felt he had to lie in the first place. He tells her anyway.
You see, Slurry, he wouldn’t have had to lie if you would have been amenable to truly downsizing in the first place, but no. You had to live in a high rent area of Laguna so you could look good on TV. He tells her that they have to cut back. She doesn’t want to hear it so now he’s pissed too.
It’s like they don’t even know each other. They’re just stoner buddies and when shit gets serious they look at each other like strangers when they should be figuring out how to get out of this mess.
And where does she get off saying that she’s not going to be a victim? A victim of what, the fucking fact that there’s a recession going on? Honey, there are people out there who work a hundred times harder than you do, yet they’re still on food stamps. You’re complaining about your new Stoner Cuff money going towards neccessities? If it weren’t for the carpal tunnel, I’d slap you silly.
She gets up to leave, saying that she’s “over it,” and she doesn’t think that she can forgive him. Wow. I used to think that she was a harmless rich hippy. Now I can’t stand her. Would you want to be her friend? If she treats her husband like this when the going gets tough, what would she do to a friend that was in trouble? It’s sad to say, but she’s just as much of a pampered loser as those lovely daughters she can’t control.
One more thing before we move on to Crackie’s World. Slurry says that this is the hardest time in her life. I want to do my part and make her feel better, don’t you? Let’s call up Jerry Lewis to ask him to set up a telethon for broke housewives. I just hate to see her so strapped for cash and unable to buy the sparkly boobie tops she so desperately needs to stay alive. Who’s with me?!?
On second thought, I’m over it.
Besides, I’ve learned to live with unsparkled boobie tops, and sometimes no top at all. Why can’t she?
That’s how I earn my fine joorey. Maybe she can get that stoner glue gun out and whip some up to match her cuffs. More free financial advice. I hope she’s getting this down.
If not, she can always ask Crackie for a meeting. She’d be more than happy to talk down to her while pointing out her financial flaws and holding her in contempt. Then she can talk about her behind her back, you know, like people that take the high road are wont to do.
The cameras catch Madam Crackhead coming back from another
adulterous weekend business trip and Brianna runs up to hug her. She greets her like a litte kid, all excited that mommy’s back from out of town. So cute. I remember doing that when my Dad would get back from New York or Atlanta, or wherever he was on his business trips.
Did she bring her a snow globe too, or don’t they sell those at swingers’ conventions?
Our Brianna got some new bangs and a fabulously ugly new jeweled top. I don’t get it. Why do all these women wear those hideous things? It’s like their crack, right up there with expensive Chardonnays and bedazzled iPhone protectors. I need to move to Newport and open a shop that sells only those three items, maybe run a backroom botox business as well.
I’ll be richer than Oprah before you could say Swarovski.
They sit down on the couch and Brianna talks to her about her last doctor’s visit. This confuses me a little. Brianna has not been feeling well the past 2 or 3 years and nobody could figure out what was wrong until she went to a specialist, who performed an ultrasound on her thyroid. It took an hour and a half and revealed a bunch of grape sized nodules on various areas of her neck and lymph nodes.
What I don’t understand is why it took so long to get a diagnosis. One- Brianna is a nurse. Shouldn’t she be hyper vigilant? Second- Crackie had the exact same problem. You would think that a neck ultrasound would be the first thing on the list. Plus, it just makes me mad. I’m very grateful that Brianna didn’t inherit her mother’s spastic controlling personality but did she have to get the lumpy neck gene instead? This girl doesn’t deserve so much as a hangnail after all she’s been through with that overbearing shrew.
At any rate, she has to go in for a biopsy to make sure they aren’t cancerous. She tells Crackie the date and, wait for it……. she’s WORKING that day. Somehow she sees the light and tells Brianna that she’ll go with her even though she has 150 agents coming in that day. What. The. Fuck. I think that she made that up so that Brianna would realise the immense sacrifice she would be making for her. I really do. I’ll tell you why.
I don’t doubt for a second that she cares about Brianna, I just know for a fact that this woman lives to receive affirmations from those around her. The spotlight is on her daughter’s health and she wants to make sure that she looks like a bigger martyr than Joan of Arc and Mother Teresa combined.
If this means we can send her to Calcutta and burn her at the stake, martyr it up, baby, martyr it up.
It wouldn’t be a housewives recap without a screen grab of Slurry trying to outrun the repo man in her used Beemer, so here you go:
She and her drooling dolts moved in with grandma Marilou, and FranknFailure checked into a hotel. I guess that she doesn’t want to share her stash anymore, not now that she has to pay for it with her own hard earned Stoner Cuff money.
That’s not very nice. I thought that all good potheads shared. I’m gonna have to repossess all her bedazzled tie dye t-shirts now, and revoke her Phil Lesh fan club membership.
She’s on her way to confide in Tamra since she saw how well that worked out for her and Crackie. She also wants to tell her that she probably shouldn’t go on the shopping trip to San Francisco that Andy Cohen Tamra planned for that weekend since she really shouldn’t be spending money until they get things settled. How weird, is she being reasonable or am I hearing things? My ears are kinda plugged.
Further confusing me, Tamra gives her some sound advice. She tells her not to be so angry with Frank, that he was just trying to protect her from all the stress his failing business was putting him under. She should be thankful. She could have been spending sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, worrying herself to death.
Please, this is Slurry we’re talking about. The only way she would ever be staring at the ceiling in bed at night would be if she hallucinated seeing some magic mushrooms growing up there.
She also tells her not to jump on the divorce bandwagon since Tamra has been down that road once already and it’s not a pretty one. It’s nasty and dirty, you’ll trip over tree stumps and fallen branches, you have to take care of your needy little monster children all by your lonesome, and no one sells good weed. Everyone’s a downer and the only trips you take are to pick up your WIC card.
She also talks her into going on the trip since Bravo already paid for it, I mean she needs some time away from all her problems.
Unlike every other day of her life.
Yuck. Let’s leave these icky poor people and their bothersome money issues and go hang out with some wealthy insouciant floozies. Alexis is looking particularly pneumatic this evening, I must say. How she manages four children, two nannies and all those draining mani/pedis and still look so good is beyond me. It must be all the One-A-Day vitamins and close proximity to holiness, because she doesn’t look a day over fifty. Jimbo’s a lucky man.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had my rubber ducky for even longer
She and Gretchen are out to dinner to nibble at peas and chow down on Eucharist wafers. She must have snuck them into the restaurant in her purse. I hear that she and Jim are so holy and stuff that they make them special for her, calorie free.
Gretchen wants to order some yummy mai tais but old butterball Alexis insists on skinny girl margaritas. You see, she ate a sesame seed for breakfast and when she didn’t barf it up in time, The Pawn Preacher made her take a laxative. Now her widdle tummy needs to be numb in order to process any more food.
The waitress listens patiently as she describes all the ingredients, managing to not reach her hand out and snap Alexis in half between her finger and thumb. Let’s see, soda water instead of sour mix, extra limes and salt on only 5/16ths of the rim, sounds more like a Bitch, Please margarita to me.
And holy crap, even the poor waitresses in Orange County have face lifts.
I just love how she’s proud of being high maintenance. She wears it on her sleeve like a badge of honor. Well, if she owned any sleeves she would.
It’s weird. I’ve only known a couple of women in my life that were truly, truly, high maintenance. Both of them were married to assholes that cheated on them, both got divorced and both ended up lesbians- very happy full-on Granola dykes.
She should think about that. And when she’s ready, one of them is single again AND she likes big boobs. I could hook her up, no problem.
Anyhoodle, they are rehashing the whole stupid Crackie drama that happened at Slurry’s house. I wish that Gretchen had the balls to tell Mallard Mouth that she’s a bore, because she really is. Some people just shouldn’t story tell. Save that shit for a captive audience like bedtime with the twin future gold diggers.
Remember how she was describing every little detail, like what she was wearing, what was in her bag, ad infinitum? Somebody tell me why anyone would find that interesting. Am I just overthinking when I try to understand what would possess someone to be a complete bore? I don’t know anything right now. My fever is making me stupid. If you put a Brad Pitt mask on Jimbo right now, I’d probably fuck him. That’s how far gone I am.
It’s biopsy day for Brianna. I hate this shit.
My family has a history of heart disease and strokes. There is very little cancer, thankfully, so when it strikes I get all freaked out because I’m not really used to it. I haven’t been there for anyone who has gone through chemo. I have held the hands of friends with AIDS and dying elderly relatives but those I was prepared for. It didn’t last very long and I never put in the amount of time that would be needed to help someone through that amount of treatment. I really hope that she’s okay so I’m not going to snark on her.
And the correct word is frightening, not frightful, Crack head.
Mikey says some nice things about her too. That she has a good head on her shoulders and that she can handle it. She really does deserve “the best of the best of the best,” as Crackie puts it. Get well, Brianna, we all love you!
Meanwhile at the Bellino dungeon, totally unscripted and with complete sponteneaity, Mallard Mouth goes into the Great One’s home office. He has taken a full minute from his busy schedule of internet porn and Christian rock Youtube videos to listen to her bullshit. It better be good.
She tells him that she’s so so sad that he’s not going to San Fran with her, oh so sososososo sad. Her tear ducts are even twitching and that NEVER happens anymore, not even when he uses the really big paddle.
The tragic news is that The Pawn Preacher can’t go on the trip with her because it’s not in the script, I mean he has ‘unavoidable meetings’ to attend. And they’re all on the golf course. And they involve Don Julio and hookers. Oh, and jesus of course. He’ll be there too. He RSVP’d to Jimbo personally.
It was in the Christian Science Moniter and everything.
She’s justifyably worried about leaving him alone with the kids. He is 47 after all, and his patience isn’t what it used to be. Playing with children just isn’t part of his ‘reality.’ If you don’t believe me, take a look-
He has a baby gate in his office.
I’m surprised that Alexis is allowed through.
You know who is probably having a field day with the Bellino insults right now? Crackie. She’s probably remarking that working from home on a computer is not really WORKING. She has a real office, with desks and chairs and frightened botoxed orange employees. Conference rooms and paperwork and Chamber of Commerce citations framed in real glass and wood and everything.
She repeats that Tamra didn’t stick up for her against big bad Simon, and then says that Alexis is an attention whore, something she knows absolutely nothing about. What happened to not hating on the new girl, Crackie? Were you so busy trying not to lose your step on that high road of yours that you forgot?
Whatever, it doesn’t matter. She’s going because she wants to make amends and it was in her Bravo contract. She should look at it this way- she finally gets that all girl trip she wanted, AND Brianna is coming along to act as a buffer! Yay!
They board the plane in first class and I am so jealous. I’ve never been to San Francisco. It looks really pretty in an almost European way. There are tons of gay people, good seafood, great art and nice jewelry stores. It’s basically Twunty Paradise.
Poor matchstick Alexis is having trouble getting her fifty pound bag into the overhead compartment. She says that she’s used to having Jimbo around to do it for her which is just pathetic. She works out all the damn time, she even considers fitness her expertise and she can’t lift her stinking carry-on above her head?
Take some more vitamins, woman, before you break your hip or something.
Crackie says that she was really surprised that Slim Jim didn’t come and she calls him a “smelly dork.” I don’t know about you, Gasmii, but I cannot wait for that little gem to come up at the reunion, and if they gyp us out of one this season I am calling the head of NBC Universal myself.
Tamra acts a fool by speaking plane ride instructions into her reading light. Quit trying so hard to be the fun one.
Go back to being your
tepid hot self.
She and Crackie aren’t discussing any of the housewarming drama and Crackie is surprisingly low key. She does travel quite a bit. I’m sure that she’s well aware of the fact that they throw crackheads off of plane’s in this post 9/11 world. Too bad they can’t Kevin Smith her ass but to be fair, she’s looking less porcine these days. Now if someone would get her to stop wearing flesh colored lipstick, she wouldn’t be half bad.
They take a nice limo ride to the hotel and I see that the natives are prepared for their arrival.
The penthouse is amazing, unlike the tacky Presidential Suite that the Bellinos stayed in last week.
This is what you get when you let a queen book your trip instead of a Pawnbroker.
Miss Andy done good, and hello!
I didn’t know he was best buds with John Boy!
Nice to see that he’s getting more than just voice-over work these days.
We have another treat in store, courtesy of the wonderful family at Bravo- reservations at Fleur de Lis, chef Hubert’s restaurant. Shit. I want to work for Miss Andy. he sure doesn’t skimp on the perks. And shut your big trap, Tamra. Nobody with half a brain thinks that you planned this classy trip. If they left it up to you, we’d be watching you eat wings at Hooters right now before stumbling back to your Motel 6.
Their table is a little too intimate for my tastes. They are right on top of each other in order to make room for the cameras. They sit down and Crackie tells them not to place their purses on the floor because it’s bad money luck. No, dumbo. It only applies to bathroom stalls and that’s because the floor is so dirty and germy. The only way it’s bad for your money to set it down on a restaurant floor is if the couple at the next table are purse snatchers.
Mallard Mouth’s phone rings. And rings. And rings. That controlling bastard of a husband won’t stop calling or texting her. How rude! I’m beginning to side with Crackie when it comes to her. Did I just slip into an alternate reality for a second, because I feel for Crackie and I want her to smack the living daylights out of her.
You are in a five star restaurant and you are talking on a cell phone. Can you imagine her doing that if she was out with Jim? Hell no. He’d take it away from her, along with her spa priveleges, and break every bone in her body. He’s a dick, and why doesn’t she have the guts to tell him to shut it? He’s making her look bad. I would think that since appearances are so important to them that looking like a classless whore would be the last thing they would want.
Tamra should slip her the number of her etiquette teacher. Maybe Alexis will have better luck.
More calls. She says good night to her son and then hangs up, only to text Jim some more as Slurry sits there stupified, mumbling “I thought this was a no cell phone zone.”
“Where do they grow the shrooms around here?”
Crackie and Tamra are exchanging wtf looks and Gretchen sips her Champagne, completely unfazed. I swear that nothing bugs her.
She probably doesn’t even get PMS. Bitch.
It’s commercial break time and our weekly vignette serves to prove that none of us is crazy, The Pawn Preacher really is a huge prick. Why else would they show him trying to put together a pink Big Wheel and failing miserably at it?
They catch him berating the nanny for not reading the instructions and even tries to get his son in on the nanny hate. What a colossal cheesedick. Especially since he didn’t read the manual either, Cock! I hope your kids grow up into nice healthy well adjusted monsters and pull a Menendez on your ass. I volunteer to write the Vanity Fair article since Dominic Dunne done died and went to heaven.
People Like Us don’t read the fucking manual.
Back at the five star dinner from hell, I’m wondering where Brianna is and then Crackie says that she’ll be arriving later that night. She can’t get here fast enough.
Alexis tries to force feed Crackie an olive from Gretchen’s martini like she was one of her drooling kids or something. I cannot believe this. She’s more crass that Tamra. What the?
She finally eats it, loving every second of the attention until Gretchen tells her that her boobies look like they want to come out and play again. Hahahahaha! I was surprised that she didn’t go ballistic over that little reminder of her swinging ways with other women’s husbands last season. She really is making an effort.
Let’s all pray it doesn’t last.
It’s Slurry’s turn to contribute to the conversation and she recounts her eviction. The other ladies are in shock. At least I think they are. That botox again.
Crackie does exactly what you would expect her to do. She tallks behind Slurry’s back, saying that the stoner doesn’t get it, that she should know what you owe and who you owe. Duh. Gretchen jumps on the bandwagon and interviews that Slurry has her head in the sand. Double duh.
Crackie tells her not to blame Frank, blame Miss Andy, and then tells her to start living within her means, as they sit around eating lobster and pate. Except for Tamra. She gets lettuce, big fatty. She makes a joke about it and I hope someone sticks a tack on her seat when she gets up to go to the bathroom. I want to see her deflate with a nice, slow long hissssss. I’m sure that eventually they’ll notice she’s gone, only to find two silicone balls and a pair of eyebrows lying on her chair. The rest will just blend in with the upholstery.
Alexis wants a mini bite of Gretchen’s amazing pan seared goose liver. Just a widdle itsy bitsy tiny pin prick of pate. She spits it into her napkin before it even touches her palate, all dramatic like and I can’t say I’m surprised. All this girl ever digests is lobster, tequila and Champagne. Her body naturally rejects everything else as a foreign intrusion, like white blood cells in Fantastic Voyage, only less realistically.
There are no calories if you don’t swallow.
Do you think she does that with Jim too? Sorry, that was gross. I know.
Crackie starts dry heaving and says that she has a weak stomach. Me too. I also get ill when exposed to female douchebaggery. I will actually vomit though, especially when I look at Mallard Mouth’s husband. This pate spitting is small potatoes compared to that.
Crackie interviews that Alexis is classless trash and wants to know why she’s even there. She says this after making barf noises at the table for attention.
I’m sorry, CLASSY barf noises.
I can answer her question, though. Mallard Mouth is there because you drove Jeana and all her drama away by playing Mean Girls with Tamra. In the meantime, Alexis spent every waking moment shoving her kids into the arms of nannies and devouring housewife minutiae so that Miss Andy would cast her in this dying leg of the franchise. She drinks Bethenny’s skinny Margaritas, for God’s sake, and remembers how much you love blue cheese stuffed olives. Homegirl probably queefed out her vaginal rejuvenation stitches in utter joy when she got the Bravo callback.
They aren’t done spreading their particular brand of O.C. class all over San Fran yet so they head over to a bar called The Bubble Lounge. Brianna is there waiting for them and it’s hugs and concern all around. Crackie interviews that it was nice to see all the women showing love and care for her daughter, even if they all do hate her guts. Hello Crackie, next to you, she’s a saint.
I’m pretty sure that God is dusting off a gold chair for her in heaven as you speak, right next to Donn’s.
More Champagne is popped, they raise their glasses to dear Bri, and Alexis tells her that God will take care of her. He told her Himself while she was in the bathroom praying for bigger titty balls.
Gretchen starts bawling over Brianna’s potential cancer. It’s bringing up all the old memories of losing Jeff and having to date Slade instead. Geez, I’d be crying too. Crackie starts crying into her hands, and in about ten seconds everyone is either boo hoo-ing or consoling someone.
Isn’t this fun?!?
I didn’t see Tamra anywhere during all this. My brain is a bit fuzzy. Where was she- spreading her hotness all over drunk businessmen at the bar? Sticking pins into her Gretchen doll, or on her knees under the table looking for her eyebrows? Your guess is as good as mine.
The next day they all dry their tears and go shopping in their best stripper heels. Thank God for limos or else there would be some seriously bad corns brought back to Southern California and nobody wants that, not even Simon.
But what if they’re really HOT corns?
We learn that Crackie is allergic to wool which is positively shocking since she has some very nice mutton chop jowls, and that the shop doesn’t carry a certain dress in tamra’s size- 8 elf.
Slurry tries on a leather jacket that costs $1,185, and she buys it since she just got a cuff check in the mail. You heard right, she bought a jacket for retail with money that should go towards a bankruptcy lawyer, at the very least.
I think they need to build electric fences around expensive boutiques for people like her. Make her wear a collar that zaps her when she gets within five feet of anything more expensive than Chicos.
On second thought, make it a dollar store.
Bitch, please. Frank is going to love this. He should be divorcing YOUR ass. I don’t care if shopping is your “sport.” I could give a flying fuck if you’re depressed and this is how you make it all better. You are fifty and you live with your mother. No amount of over priced calfskin is going to make that go away.
My God, I want to lock her up and throw away the key.
Yesterday I was talking to a friend of mine about someone who we both know that smoked pot every day since he was a teen. He recently quit and do you know what the doctor said? When you do drugs every single day like that you are stuck on the emotional level that you had when you first started. So basically, she’s walking around like a fourteen year old in a middle aged woman’s body. That is just sad.
Whatever, she doesn’t care. If she ignores stuff, it’ll go away. Right? Besides, it’s time for another booze soaked meal of lobster salad and Fuzzy Navels.
They head over to a place called the Waterbar that has spectacular views of the Golden Gate Bridge. Crackie is passing her new phone around, even asking Brianna to make it brighter somehow. Alexis is offended because Crackie gave her so much grief for the phone calls she took at the table the night before.
But they’re WORK calls.
She tells Crackie that she understands that she’s a hard working, successful businesswoman and she doesn’t have a problem with that. She DOES have a problem with a few other things, though, and she’d like to talk about that but we have to wait for next week.
When Gretchen stars in her very own Mary Poppins themed Playboy spread.
Motherfuckers! Don’t you cliff-hang me. I’m sick and I need to see Crackie stomp Mallard Mouth into spray tanned sanctimonious dust. It’s the only thing that will make me better, the doctor said so. Waaaaaah!
Love and Kisses,