It’s sometimes so hard to say that you’re sorry, especially if you think that you’re right all the time. I used to be horrible at it, just really immature with the apologies. Eventually I learned to either do it immediately, making it less painful like the proverbial quick pulling off of the Band-Aid, or do it in such a way that I could admit my mistake and compliment the other person at the same time.Now it’s Crackie’s turn. Crackhead done messed up and she knows it. She picked a fair weather friend over someone who has known and loved her through thick and thin, and how do you say sowwy in the O.C.?
With frozen Margaritas, of course!
I’d be halfway to accepting it once I got over the brain freeze, and Mama Jeana is no different.
Yay, the voice of reason is back! I am so happy and surprised to see her that I totally squeeze-pinched the puppy and she let out a yelp. I apologised right away, in case you were wondering, while cooing to her that her coat looks especially shiny today.
I love Mama Jeana. She reminds me of all the wonderful Virgo friends I have had over the years. Yep, I’m one too. I know that some people think that astrology is such total hogwash but then why do the personalities almost always fit? Do we adapt to what Linda Goodman says we should be or is there a grain of truth in it? I have no idea and I’m embarrassed to admit that I read my horoscope pretty often in the paper. If it’s something good, I beleive it. If it’s bad, I don’t. Either way, two minutes later I’ve completely forgotten it.
I guess that the point I’m trying to make is that our Jeana is a rock. She is the earth motherly type. She may judge you but she’ll make sure to hug and kiss you and compliment your new top while she’s doing it. You know, the whole “So & So’s great, I love her. Too bad she can’t hold her liquor around maried men. And her boob job? So wonky, bless her heart.” You know the type, steel fist in a velvet glove feeding you caramels.
And who can resist the Gunvalson Grotto?
I would love to be sitting there right now, even if I had to listen to Crackie all afternoon.
Anyway, that’s where she and Crackie settle thmselves on patio chairs for their little chat. You see, Crackie is feeling sorry for herself. Everyone was so mean to her in San Francisco that she had to sit herself down and re-evaluate who her true friends are. When all was said and done, being a mean girl may have been fun for a while but it’s not as fun when it gets turned against you.
She says that she appreciates Jeana more now because she always knows where she stands with her. Yep, right between contempt and being a source of funny stories to share with Frankie. With love, of course.
After asking Jeana to pray for Briana, she gets right into what happened in San Fran. She says that Gretchen was cool but Alexis was awful and she was offended by three things that Crackie did. Who counts these things, she asks and Jeana laughs. Ah yes, just like old times.
Jeana’s eyes pop when Crackie tells her about Alexis agreeing to “bring it on.” As if you could EVER win an argument with Crackie. Hell would freeze over and take Tamra’s hotness right with it.
Speaking of Tamra, where was Tamra during all this Crackie bashing, Jeana wants to know. She sided with Alexis? She didn’t have your back?
Who here was surprised when Jeana interviewed that Crackie deserved it? I know, she said it behind her back but it’s true. She did deserve it. Now she knows how it feels to be ostracised by people you thought were your friends. It’s all their fault, of course but at least Crackie had the sense to make an effort to get back in Jeana’s good graces. They’ve had their differences but it’s nothing compared to “those bitches,” as Crackie so eloquently put it.
Let’s go hang out with one of ‘those bitches’ now. Alexis is taking her mother Penny to see a plastic surgeon about getting a brow lift. At least I think it’s Alexis. Old Mallard Mouth is looking pretty damn drag queenie today. It could be a Logo cross-over and Sonique is filling in for her while she’s off getting massaged or squinting at the big words in her bible, like BLASPHEMY.
Her tuck game’s pretty good, though.
Mommy Mallard lives in Colorado and she does have an outdoorsy rugged look about her. She’s got that whole inbred Clampett pioneer grandma look that was so popular two centuries ago. Alexis says that when she comes to visit it’s like having a breath of fresh air. Hey, she said that about going to church!
You rank above Jim!
Can you imagine what the air around that guy would be like? Fresh isn’t the first word that comes to mind. More like stale garlic and odor eaters wrapped up in some smug cigar smoke. Ew. I’d rather eat that hundred year old hotdog they found in Coney Island than get withing five feet of that guy. Blech.
They waltz into the examination room where Alexis goes on and on about her boob size. “After I had my twins, I needed new twins!” Teehee, I did it in honor of jesus! I had them put a little WWJD next to the serial number and everything!
What Would Jesus Destroy
God, she’s repulsive. She walks like a duck when she wears flats too, did you notice? How perfect is that?!?
‘If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, it must be a swan!’ As Jimbo would say.
Her mom needs more than a browlift. She needs the Montag Special. The poor woman. She is the antithesis of everything that her daughter has paid to look like. She’s ‘just regular folks’ to Alexis’s ‘high maintenance joke.’
The doctor examines Mama Mallard’s face and the tally of suggested surgeries keeps rising, Duck Lips’ excitement levels rising right along with it. She keeps licking her lips and smiling, opening her eyes and then squinting her nose in delight. I swear, she is getting actual physical pleasure from the whole situation. Did you see her squirming in her seat? I was worried that she might jizz her pants and find herself stuck to her chair.
They sure are fitting a lot of work into Plain Penny’s $13,000 budget. She’s going to come out of surgery looking like she got Chris Brown’d. Alexis even talks her into coming back in six months for skin resurfacing and eyebrow tattooing. Who is she, Michael Jackson? Clue me in, is it normal to get features tattooed on your face, and does Tamra know about this procedure? She could finally retire that overworked eyebrow pencil of hers.
Not to mention that overworked bottle of bitch wine.
Is that all these women drink? Whoever produces that brand of wine needs to give these hoes a lifetime supply with all the free advertising it’s getting. It’s been showing up in every single episode, sometimes twice!
Tamra is visiting Slurry in her new digs at granny Marilou’s. She shouldn’t have bothered with the wine because Slurry is already snockered. She is more slurry than ever so I have to assume that Lucy has given up on keeping the Curtain women away from booze and pills. Poor little weiner dog. Don’t drown yourself in nana’s pool before talking to someone about it, little stinker. Go chew on some of those stoner cuffs.
It might make you feel better.
I want to drop a house on Tamra’s head for her latest attempt at being clever- bringing Slurry protein bars cuz she likes to work out so much. Bitch wine and protein bars? Is this supposed to prove that you know Slurry so well because if you truly did, you would be lighting up a doobie for her right now.
I swear, if one of my girlfriends showed up on my doorstep with protein bars, by the time I got through with her she’d be having a real nice, intimate conversation with my walkway. She might as well be bringing me a sign that says, ‘Get fat! this time’s on me!’
I prefer to do my butt expansion with chocolates and anything bacon or buttered, thank you very much. If you bring me that, I’ll probably give you some of my fine joorey.
They sit down on Marilou’s sectional and Slurry says, “Nice pad, huh?” and informs Tamra Sue that the girls are off with Frank frolicking in the his resort/spa’s pool. Tamra’s head starts spinning and she settles more comfortably into her seat for some fresh husband bashing.
She pulls Slurry out of her tranquilized haze long enough to get her to say that she’s mad in that petulant little stoner way of hers, and that she’s not going to let Frank pull her down with him.
“Does he cheat,” Tamra asks. Where did that come from? Girl, you is NOSY.
Slurry tells her Hell no, he’s a germaphobe, he’d never cheat. If that’s true, I sure hope he didn’t pack any of his old psychedelic Bob Marley posters for his stay in that hotel room. He’s one blacklight away from sleeping on his balcony. It’s probably like a CSI crime scene in there.
Slurry says that she doesn’t know what she is going to do or even what any of her options are at this point. She should have thought of that before she spent an entire month’s rent on a stupid leather jacket. Do you guys really think that she took it back? Do you think that she wanted to look like she was spending money, even though she wasn’t? I don’t know what’s real and what’s fake anymore.
Tamra starts in about Slurry being strong for everybody and gets all teary as she says that she can see that hard shell being chipped away to reveal a broken heart underneath. What is she talking about? Slurry is acting like she wouldn’t be phased if the Easter Bunny walked in the room and begged for her hand in marriage, and what are those, Tamra? Real tears?
Oh, right. You were talking about YOURSELF.
PUH-lease. Like she would cry real tears for her new bestie, Slurry. Ha! I’d beleive you if you told me that she cried when Gretchen, the younger hotter girl came on the show, but cry for old stoner? Not by the hair of her chinny chin chin.
Moving on because it’s that time of year again- Tamra’s birthday. Here’s where the whole earth mother Virgo thing doesn’t hold up so well. See, TamTam is a Virgo too, only she’s a loudmouthed harpy that can’t bear not being the center of attention, not for a minute. Maybe she got dropped on her head in the trailer or got bit by a rabid possum when she was a baby back in Shantytown. I mean, Hell, I share a birthday with Ed Gein but you don’t see me using lips as a window shade pull or chowing down on people cassarole, now do you?
Sorry about that. I must be hallucinating from the cabin fever. When is this winter going to end?
Fabulously gay Ricky is there keeping tabs on her for Simon and the only other housewives who made it are Tammy Knickerbocker and Slurry.
Look what she brought, that ubiquitous bottle of Bitch.
This is a far cry from the hoopla that surrounded her past birthdays, especially the one on the yacht. She’ll just have to make do with getting trashed in the middle of the day again instead. She tells the table about not seeing eye to eye on her walk/talk with Crackie and then calls her up right at the table. Crackie doesn’t answer.
“Unless this is Tamra Blarney, in that case go fuck yourself.”
Crackie did send her assistant with a present and he tells Tamra that Crackie couldn’t make it because she had a one o’clock meeting. Cue the shot of Crackie interviewing that she was working in the middle of the day and for once it doesn’t bother me. Why should she have to jump through hoops and rearrange her schedule for a ‘friend’ that put her in an untenable position with her husband?
This is what happens when you act impulsively all the time and speak before you think. People get mad and stop trusting you, can you beleive it?
Tamra is stewing and steaming over Crackie not making the effort to trek over to a restaurant that is only five minutes from her office, but she’s surrounded by sycophants and booze so don’t feel too sorry for her. Let her toast to “hoes and ‘mos” and sprinkle her ‘Virgin Again’ candy pills all over the table like the Klassy Lady she is.
She better hope that Miss Andy gives her a spin-off because I really don’t see Crackie letting her back into her Mean Girl’s clique. Speaking of Mean Girls, do you think that’s where she got the idea for the protein bars she gave her new favorite housewife? If so, that makes it even worse. Talk about bad taste.
From bad taste to bad skin, let’s head on over to Gretchen’s where she’s getting her teeny eyebrows trimmed by her makeup lady friend/business partner. That’s another thing that I don’t get. Why do these women whittle their brows down to nothing, only to pencil them back in? Seems like a complete waste of time to me, kind of like this whole Gretchen Christine Beaute line.
Maybe you should think about skincare first.
They are prepping for the big Women’s Expo where I am just positive that they are going to hit it out of the park, aren’t you? As they go over the concept behind the booth, makeup gal Ron Ann slips up and says “How I came up with the idea,” and then quickly backtracks and says “we.” It’s okay, makeup lady. Nobody is under the impression that beautiful dummy came up with this on her own.
By the way, I just realized that Gretchen and I have one more thing in common, other than being blonde and blue eyed and having dated tools.
We’re both toiletry hags!
It’s true, I confess. Take the amount of Victoria’s Secret Garden stuff she has on top of her etagere and double it. You still won’t approach the amount of lotion and potions I have stashed around my house. I even foist the stuff in Mr. McSlore. He has sweet pea hand lotion in the car and mango mandarin in his desk drawer.
I am relentless. If you are my friend or relative chances are close to perfect that you’ve gotten either a giant Bath and Body gift basket from me, or something insanely scrumptious from L’Occitane. It’s so bad that I don’t even know what I naturally smell like anymore, unless Aveda carries something similar. And don’t tell Mr. McSlore about the shelf in the back bedroom. It’s where I stash my ‘buy three, get two free,’ splurges.
Did you know that Victoria’s Secret and Bath & Body are both headquartered in Ohio? I do. I have their number on speed dial and I’m pretty sure they have a wing named after me at this point.
If Gretchen had a line of bath products I’d probably try it. Not Crackie. She interviews again that Gretchen is going to fail. That’s not very supportive, now is it? She’s right, though. Gretchen should go back to school or work her butt off selling real estate, take advantage of knowing Jeana and get that license back.
No such worries for Mallard Mouth, who has slipped on her favorite platform flippers to take Plain Mama Penny out to eat. Looking at the two of them, it’s hard to imagine one being related to the other. It’s so city mouse/country mouse it’s mind boggling. Do they switch babies in Missouri hospitals frequently? That might explain it.
Alexis talks about growing up in the country and we’re treated to pictures of her when she was plain herself, wearing gingham nighties and posing for cheesy model shots in High School. She looks totally normal, if a little too made up.
Alas, the simple life wasn’t for her, or maybe botox is frowned upon (doubly bad!) in her hometown because she yearned to be a California girl, tied forever to the sun, sea and purse strings of her hideous wealthy husband. I’m sorry to tell you this, Alexis. There are plenty of really cute wealthy men out there. You didn’t have to marry the first ogre with a bulging pocketbook that came along. Yah coulda aimed a little higher.
Mama Penny reminds her that when she was young she didn’t like to walk to school because her hair might smell like air. Huh? Hasn’t she smelled sheets that have been left out to dry in the sun? It’s heaven. Bottle that, L’Occitane.
What a mental midget. She says that she doesn’t like camping and hates the earth. She backtracks and says that she doesn’t, but her original statement isn’t far from the truth. I just don’t understand how you can live in a place as gorgeous as California and not like “the earth.” This is worse than that one time Tamra gave little Sophie Richter hell for getting sand in her Fritos. Like my mom used to say, it ain’t gonna kill you, not unless you get more sand than food.
She then asks her mom what she was like as a kid and we find out that she liked to hit her head against the wall a lot to see if it hurt.
Well, that explains the brains and all that surgery.
Say no more, Plain Penny. We get it. Your daughter is a superficial freak, obsessed with her appearance and morbidly attracted to plastic surgery. Remind you of anyone?
Here’s your future, fool.
She gives her mom a compliment for having such a smooth forehead without botox and almost says her age out loud. Penny gives her a harsh look and all of a sudden I see the resemblance. She blames her eating disorder on Mama Penny because the old (58 is old?!) lady confessed to only eating toast that day. Then Mallard nibbles guiltily on some bread, turning her head to the side as if she were checking to see if she was being watched. Sick.
She’s one bad ‘jiggly thigh’ comment from hiding jars of puke in her closet.
She’s not done yet, oh no. She wants to make sure that we know her philosophy on plastic surgery. All that restylane, botox, fake boobies and veneers she’s sporting? It makes her a better person because she loves herself more which in turn allows her to treat other’s better.
Plus, all you foolish un-augmented little Gasmii out there, you need to learn to love the surgeon’s office the way that she does because ALL women need to maintain and preserve their beauty, you practically OWE your man that.
I have one thing to say.
NOT AT THE EXPENSE OF YOUR BRAINS AND SELF RESPECT.
What chance do the Future Gold Digging Twins have of growing up to be anything other than another shallow conspicous consumer mainlining lipgloss? Somebody call CPS. I am seriously starting to believe that having those two nannies around is a good thing. Maybe some common sense and decent morals will rub off from their exposure to them.
One more thing before we head into surgery. I realised while watching their inane conversation that I have an irrational fear of bores. If I were sitting at that table I would have been digging a fork into my palm in order to keep myself from falling into my salad bowl and snoring through the inevitable lobster entree and pickybutt instructions to the server.
Yes, that’s right. I call people that are unreasonably anal ‘pickybutts.’ I have no idea where it came from, so I’m going to blame it on Jeana, along with all the DRAMA.
It’s surgery day and what is the topic of conversation in the anteroom where mother and daughter await the doctor’s call? Food, dummy. Yummy delicious food, the likes of which will never pass Mallard’s preposterously plumped lips.
Instead of flipping through the latest UsWeekly, she’s thumbing through Gourmet magazine and the menu her mother will be choosing from when she recovers from the surgery that her daughter talked her into. That’s right, old Duck Lips was the one who came up with the idea to get her mom surged. She calls her ‘plain’ too. She’s going to LOVE that, almost as much as she’s going to love Miss Andy for putting her age up on every TV with cable, plus the internet.
At least she didn’t call her ‘ugly.’ This is so heinous. I have to wonder if Alexis is so happy about her mother’s surgery for her mother’s sake or for her own. Something tells me that it’s for her own damn self. She cannot stand having an unglamourous, borderline ugly mom. Oh well, she did agree to it and she’s a grown woman. I hope that her recovery isn’t too hard.
The good news is, you’re going to be a better person! Mallard Mouth said so!
I hesitate to even mention what Duck Lips said next. It was something like, “I don’t know what she does all day but it sure ain’t hair and makeup.” Stop. It. Wait, it gets better.
She pulls out the oldest line in the world, something that always seems to be said by people that spend the most time on their appearance- “Beauty comes from within.” I’m not lying. She actually had the nerve to utter those words, like the good boobielicious nun we all know and gack over every week. I wish that Crackie would rip her a new one at the reunion but sadly, it was taped before this aired.
I wish they wouldn’t do that. It’s annoying.
Alexis leaves to run some errands and Plain Penny sits down to get her face Sharpied by the doctor. He put a mark on her furrow lines where he is going to be removing the muscle. What? Won’t it leave a dent?
I’m no doctor, but Miss Penny looks like she needs Nexxus Humectress more than she needs her facial muscles ripped out.
They put her to sleep, or what the anaesthesiologist refers to as “going to Tahiti.”
I don’t like being put under. I’m a talker, I say embarrassing things that I don’t remember afterwards, but manage to get overheard by some douchebag doctor’s assistant who repeats them to everybody. I’m almost as afraid of that as I am of being bored to death.
Or hearing the word ‘like’ over and over again, like Moon Unit, like does, like constantly, like while eating, like sliders that look, like super delish! She and Raquel are sitting down to talk about the events of the past few days and it’s nice to see two girls with a normal teenage appetite for a change.
Ah, yes. I remember having a metabolism. Reagan was president and Guns & Roses was going to save rock n roll.
Raquel says that this ordeal has brought her and her sister closer together, and they rehash how scared they were when they got the eviction notice. they also joke about how Frank and Slurry need a ‘parent whisperer’ before they end up divorced.
Moon Unit brings up moving tp L.A. again and Raquel says the smartest thing I’ve ever heard out of either one of them- she questions whether her parents are really right for each other. I wholeheartedly agree. ONE of them needs to be sober and sensible.
It’s no big mystery why your world falls apart if you’re both getting high every day and spending more on leather jackets than I spend on clothing in any given year. We spend more on our gas bill, but that’s about it. But then again, here in the Midwest we don’t have the luxury of not caring about how our home is heated or cooled. I can’t live in someone’s poolhouse if I don’t pay the bills, though Miss Andy is more than welcome to put me up in any spa/resort of his choosing.
Back at the Crackhouse, it’s time to find out Briana’s test results. I’m not terribly nervous about it and I would not be surprised if Crackie wasn’t joking when she says that she’s been calling up the doctor impersonating her daughter.
Briana does the honors and the doctor tells her that she’s cancer free. Yay! Let’s all thank God for answered prayers! The Pawn Preacher’s wife must have laid hands on her in San Fran.
It’s so cute how Briana says that going through this cancer scare is going to make her a better nurse because she’ll be more empathetic.
See this Alexis. THIS is what you call becoming a better person, surgery free too! How’d that happen?
Speaking of the Patron Saint of Veneers, she’s off to pick up her mother and take her to the recovery center. The poor woman. She’s no longer offended by having a plain Jane for a mom, she’s grossed out by her battered and bruised face.
This cunt needs to disappear. If she wasn’t vile enough for you yet, maybe this will put her over the top: she wants to make it very clear that although she spends her entire time in her mother’s room furiously texting, this is not to be confused with “Lexie Time.” That is reserved for workouts and massages. THIS is a sacrifice, even though her mom is drugged up off her ass and fast asleep. I wish that I was making this shit up. I really do.
I can’t wait to find out how incoherent she is when spoken to point blank at the reunion. She’s going to need an earpiece so that Jimbo can feed her lines, or she could fake losing her voice.
Maybe she can botox her vocal chords.
That night, Frank has invited Slurry out to dinner at some swanky restaurant with fire pits and fancy waiters. How is he affording this? He’s getting creepier and creepier too. Did you notice him staring at Slurry’s ass on the way to the table?
They sit down and he says that he wants to get her drunk. Then he tells her that her hair looks nice. Slurry says that she had to do it herself because she needs to save money, she can’t even afford to get her spray tans right now. How sad!
I’ll help. I’m pretty sure I have some extra Jergens self tanning cream lying around somewhere.
He starts in with the bullshit about how she’s an angel and he deserves whatever she dishes out at him. God, I can’t believe that I was defending this guy a couple weeks ago. He says that he just made a couple of errors, no big deal because he’s optimistic and he will TRY not to let it happen again.
He can barely look her in the eye but he sure is good at spewing cliches all over the table. Stuff like- I’m not going to promise that there won’t be problems, “We don’t quit.” I love you too much, we can handle anything and “meet me halfway.”
She’s a fool and she falls for it, telling him that it’s his last chance. Fine. YOU deserve what you get too, then.
The day of the Women’s Expo arrives and the facility looks a lot like the same place that the girls went to when Laurie told Jo about going out with Slade a few seasons back. Gosh, when was that, 2006? It seems like such a long time ago.
The booth is up, resembling a cross between Spencer Gifts and a Barbie beauty parlor brought up to human scale. Slade Slimey’s there stinking up the place and guaranteeing failure. So, go Gretchen!
It looks as though the only people there are other people manning other booths. It’s like going to a club to see an obscure Black Metal music fest- the only people there are people in other bands.
Gretchen’s motto is “Go big or go home,” but this turnout is awful. She says that the boat show that was held that year was down to 2,000 attendees from 12,000 the year before. She also understands that the economy sucks right now and people can’t afford a whole lot of expensive cosmetics.
The fugly booth business is booming though.
One girl walks up and they are all over the poor thing. They do her makeup and she buys a couple of eyeshadows. They get all excited over one pathetic sale to a girl who probably knows Miss Andy and wanted to see if Slade was as big a douche in person as he is on TV.
Only 30,000 more trainwreck watchers to go and you’re in business!
Wow. That was pathetic. Almost as awful as Tamra and Simon’s birthday dinner. He really does suck as a human being, doesn’t he? It isn’t just Tamra, making stuff up to get attention.
He raises his beer glass to toast her 39th birthday like it’s so horrible to be turning 42. I’m 45 so I guess I should be slitting my wrists in my lavendar scented bath tonight, shouldn’t I? Erg.
He tries to pay her a compliment by saying that she looks like she’s 22. It falls flat, like most of their evening. They show some clips from birthdays past, the diamond Rolex, the big party and the tennis bracelet. Now they’re just two unhappy schlubs pretending to celebrate another milestone when they’d probably rather be doing anything else.
I feel like I’m finally watching them genuinely be themselves for a change, warts and all. It’s ugly as Hell. Simon is a prick. He’s also changed his tune about having a perfect marriage. Instead, he now claims that you should be happy if your relationship is decent 50% of the time and unhappy less that 49. How annoying. He changes his tune whenever it suits him.
Tamra says that she wants him to get drunk so he’ll be nice. How sad is that? And he’s too much of a jerk to say, “Okay baby. It’s your birthday, I’ll get drunk and we’ll have fun together.” Nope, he has to argue that it’s not that he isn’t nice, he’s just reserved.
She says that she’s not so reserved and he says that that’s why he married her, with the caveat that her brashness is only kosher when he says it is. You know, when it doesn’t embarrass him or compromise his integrity. She should throw her wine in his face for that comment and give Ricky a call. He’s WAY more fun. Too bad he likes cock instead of liver spotted lady bits.
Simon interviews that he married a Lucille Ball kind of wife and says that he ‘lets’ her get away with lots of things. He’s looking more and more like the Pawn Preacher, no?
He tells Tamra that she’s consumed by her looks but she shouldn’t be because he thinks that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Be happy, you have the Blarney seal of approval.
What would that actually look like, a judgemental smirk?
She says that he may think she’s nice to look at but he sure doesn’t like her mouth, then something about how she used to say that she was a “truck driver with tits.” Pretty accurate if you ask me. He’s all pissed about her lack of class and needs to lighten up a bit.
Dude, you married a crass exhibitionist because it excited you to be with someone that free and easy, not uptight and boring like your sorry ass. Why should she have to jump through hoops like a circus animal when you want to be entertained and then do a 180 and use the Queen’s english when you deem it appropriate?
You’re a crashing bore who can’t golf. Go polish your best wingtips and shill your booze to the big boys who at least keep their wives in diamonds in exchange for their acquiescence. What are you offering her? Other than public humiliation, that is.
Tamra asks the waiter if he could bring Simon a shot of happiness and I’m hoping that he brings him a nice warm glass of his own pathetic tequila. No, it would have been funnier if Tamra asked for some Don Julio only to be told that they don’t carry it. Ha ha, loser.
Don’t you think it’s funny how his tequila brand is never mentioned? They’re up shit creek with their finances and yet no one is letting him get a little free publicity. The producers must hate his guts. Bummer. Maybe it’s because of little gems like this- “If I was controlling my wife imagine how much worse she would be if I didn’t.”
The inevitable Crackie conversation begins and Simon says that he would apologise to her but he won’t because he doesn’t want her assuming that she’s right. FUCK YOU. I am willing to bet that he wouldn’t be such a prick about the whole situation if it were say, Ricky that was on the other end of the conflict. He refuses to admit defeat to a woman. it’s as simple as that.
Tamra says that Crackie has a good side to her but it’s too late to try and convince Simon that Crackie is anything other than the devil. Comparing her to Hitler pretty much cements the hatred, dontcha think? Now I’m starting to hope that Donn does kick his ass. If he doesn’t, we all know that Crackie can take him. I’ll hold her purse.
For some reason that I can’t figure out, I guess it was already paid for by Bravo, they decide to go for a romantic gondola ride. I’ve never done that and I would love to. Me and Mr. McSlore, some wine and the sound of lapping water and warm summer breezes.
I would KILL for that right now.
Instead, I just want to kill Simon. It’s funny. For once it isn’t Tamra that’s making him look bad. He’s accomplishing that all by himself. She says that she wants to make out, they kiss and she wants to know why he never uses his tongue anymore. She licks his face in one big swoop and he’s all freaked out.
Why can’t he just shut his pie hole and start French kissing her? But nooooo, he kills the moment, absolutely murders it by saying that after fifteen years with her anyone else would be gone. His friends tell him that they’re amazed by his patience and tell him all the time.
A dickhead says what?
No wonder there is more talk of divorce next week. They are TOXIC, I tell you, and I’m sure that Crackie will back me up. Join me for the big end of summer party and the return of The Curious Case of Laurie Waring Peterson’s Quizically Frozen Face. Woo Hoo!!!!
Love and Kisses,