Buenas noches putitas!
What a weekend I’ve had. Sometimes I really do believe I’m living in the modern version of Day of the Locust, the fabulous 1975 film about desperate losers on the fringe of glittering A-list Hollyweird. My bungalow complex even resembles the apartment building in the movie, which, if you haven’t seen it, is a total must. Any film that ends with a bratty male 10-year-old Shirley Temple impersonator stomped to death by Donald Sutherland is alright in my book. It also features Mexi-Melt Pepe Serna and his adorable naked butt, beloved midget Billy Barty kissing the blood off a dying fighting cock, and Lovey Howell from Gilligan’s Island as a madam. David Lynch definitely cribbed huge chunks of this deeply disturbing epic for his own personal, mental and artistic use. It would make a spellbinding double-feature with Mulholland Drive, which I sometimes pretend I’m in while puttering around the bungalow and playing the soundtrack, dropping whatever I happen to be doing when it’s time to lip-synch to “I’ve Told Every Little Star” and “Llorando”.
Speaking of large-breasted sluts faking musical abilities, let’s plunge right into the ongoing saga of our fave Georgia peach-pits. We don’t even have time to slam Burlesque and ponder the rise of its writer/director Steve Antin, who went from being horridly miscast as horny hetero hunks in classics like The Goonies, The Accused and Last American Virgin to writing unwatchable 90′s shit indie films to trading sexual favors with studio execs to get his embarrassing Cher/Xtina epic greenlit despite the fact that elective surgery has given him the kind of face that Linda Hunt wins Oscars for. Sorry, we just don’t have time to get into it.
Kim‘s townhouse. Wiggy tells put-upon neckless assistant Sweetie to take the dog out to “tee-tee”. Kim simply can’t tear herself away from her glitzy new office and its hilariously upholstered desk chair. Topping her To-Do list, the dreaded call to superstar vocal coach Jan Smith, apparently the only person in the ATL willing to tell Kim how much her singing sucks. But Wiggy promised Kandi to at least pretend to give a rat’s rump about Kim’s so-called “passion”, her so-called “singing”. But first Kim needs the support of ex-GF Tracy Young, the superstar DJ with whom Kim scissored the night away to the vague interest of dozens.
Normally for lines like that you’d need to visit chunkyanalmilfs.com.
Kim explains that she met Tracy when the handsome gal remixed “Tardy for the Party”, which was fortunate since if that song had one flaw, it’s that it just wasn’t long enough. Kim tells us when they weren’t buried ears-deep in each other’s lady-business, they spent all their time listening to music together. Tracy clearly didn’t get enough, because she immediately invites Kim over to her new place, which is “big, for your big ass.” That’s the kind of feminine sensitivity you just can’t get from NFL players and married Turkish businessmen. Kim tells Tracy that last time Kim went for a voice lesson, Jan was “really hard” on her. A FLASHBACK shows us Evil Jan calling Kim “a beautiful house” with a cracked foundation. Fuck vocal coaching, this broad needs a radio advice show. She’s very intuitive.
So Kim’s “really really really” scared to see Jan again– Kim’s “in a really good place” and she doesn’t want nasty things like the truth seeping in. Would Tracy come down and escort her to the coaching session in case Jan’s a big meanie again? Tracy quickly acquiesces– she’d LOVE to be Kim’s knight in shining flannel! I can’t wait, mostly because of Tracy’s weird, Geri Jewell-esque voice, which sounds like she’s fried her brains trading a few too many “party favors” for Kristine W requests at those gay dance parties she’s always hanging out at. (Crack, Gasmii. She sounds like a crackhead.)
Blueprint 4 Hollywood. That’s what the sign on the door says, so it must be time for Top Divorcee Sheree to practice her actressing! Kristen, Sheree’s blonde, tight-faced drama teacher welcomes her by suggesting they find a “really well-written, well-run, well-funded play” to showcase Sheree’s talents. She’s too old for The Bad Seed and too tone-deaf for Wicked , so I’m not sure what’s left. How ’bout The Child-Support Man, by acclaimed local “playwrighter” Deron Cloud of the famed Soul Factory. Sheree loves the title because she’s been battling her ex-husband for CS for years. I love the high-larious website for The Soul Factory, which describes itself like this: The Soul Factory is the place that provides the New Millennium Generation with a church geared towards the needs and lifestyles of those who know that God exists and those who have not yet chosen to believe; providing them a creative ministry characterized by real relationships that are loving, forgiving and accepting; outfitting them with a heart of service, while empowering them to carry out their life’s purpose.
I’d put myself in the “not yet chosen to believe” column, in case you had any doubts. Where the Christ were we? Oh, yes. Sheree’s going to be in a play. At a combination church-slash-theatre that “brings the experience of Broadway to the ‘hood!” Well, they ARE both dark on Mondays. Apparently her reaction to a hotly sought-after role in The Child-Support Man was on the cool side for Kristen’s taste– she tells Sheree to act more excited, and since Her Ladyship is paying good money to be instructed in all things acting, she does. Kristen’s assistant explains that Sheree will be paid exactly zilch for this production, but we all have to start somewhere. Sheree’s none too happy to hear this, especially when she hears the play will run an entire two weeks. Kristen assures her that “big, big actors don’t get paid for theatre most of the time, AT ALL.”
“Will there be cue cards in case I disremember my lines?”
Well, Sheree is a little more special than that and two weeks of her time is VERY valuable, she says. And she prefers to spend it ignoring her kids or hagging around with Flawrence. So she’ll think about it and will of course need to read “the scrip”. Sheree indignantly tells us “I’m a grown-ass woman with some grown-ass bills”, so let’s skip the working-for-free shit and jump right to $5 million a picture. With the exception of RHOA, when has this woman ever been paid a dime to do ANYTHING?!! Hearing Sheree all delusional is like aromatherapy for my snark-nostrils. Don’t ever change, baby, and by all means keep confusing your acting teacher with your agent. Damn you, Kristen, for explaining there’s a difference, and that SHE has an “excellent agent” in town (because Atlanta‘s where all the great ones prefer to set up shop) who’d like to meet Sheree. Once more, a little bit pissier this time, Kristen prompts her star pupil to make some noise about this.
“You know what? Very little excites me,” Sheree tells her. That’s only fair considering how very little Sheree excites anyone. “Is something wrong with me?” Sheree asks rhetorically. Like us, Kristen obviously thinks she’s an arrogant twat, and says that “from an actor’s standpoint this is a REALLY big deal.” Oh, yes, it’s right up there with landing a modeling agent in Coyote Fang, Wyoming. Sheree asks for tips on what to expect in this meeting. Kristen says she’ll be given “scenes” to cold-read. Silly, Sheree does everything coldly. Sheree will perform in front the agents, “they’ll say thank you” (or fuck you, possibly) and then she’ll get the verdict in a day or two, by which time she’ll have doubtlessly moved on to her latest “passion”, pageant-commentating or chainsaw-sculpting or iguana-breeding.
Casa Cynthia. Peter amuses himself in the kitchen as his lovely widow-to-be takes a call from NeNe. Gramps crustily orders her to call NeNe back and she submissively complies. Peter says he feels as though he has to “make an appointment just to get a word in with your ass”. One of his pet peeves, Cyn tells us, is her talking on the phone. He is such a tool I am never buying his brand of rice again. Like a good co-dependent, Cynthia attributes his surliness to his being “stressed-out about the restaurant”. Plus, he’s like 87 years and you know how cranky senior citizens get.
So, Cyn, how many of Oprah’s “Top 5 Warning Signs Your Man May Be A Spousal Abuser” has Peter exhibited this week?
Peter poutily informs her that when he walks through the door, he expects her full attention and too bad if NeNe’s going through marital difficulties. In fact he strongly advises Cynthia to keep any “strong opinions” (i.e. “Leave dat man!”) to herself. I swear to Gawd I want to rip his saggy balls off. Cynthia tells us their restaurant is struggling to stay open during the recesssion, to which I say “Why the fuck are you spending ONE MILLION DOLLARS on a wedding to this abusive pendejo?!!”
Radio station. Kandi arrives at V-103 FM for an appearance with DJ’s Ryan Cameron & Shauna, who welcome their “chocolate sistah” to their show. Also on hand is Kandi’s manager Mike Mauldin, who starts plugging something called “Fast-Life Fridays” which is “Fast & Furious Meets The X Games, with a soundtrack.” If you’re still awake, Kandi explains that he’s talking about some nonsense where ordinary people race cars around a track “just like NASCAR.” Since I’d sooner felch Clamato out of Jackie Stallone‘s butthole than devote one solitary second to anything NASCAR, I’ll cut to the chase: Kandi’s going to be racing in her Mercedes and she wants to pit herself against Sheree in her by-now-repo’d Aston-Martin.
With all the inherent insanity of these Housewives, do they really have to resort to these dull stunts to hold our attention?! Can’t Kim just invite the gals to a drunken lesbian dinner party for her slit-slappin’ ex Tracy Young and let the fur fly? Surely the excruciatingly awkward interaction of our ladies, not to mention future trainwrecks Ariana and Brielle would be plenty of entertainment for two entire episodes. But don’t mind me– I’m a Recap Artist, not a cross-eyed reality programming exec/Reunion host.
Jan Smith Studios. Finally! It’s not as good as a nice weave-snatching over dessert, but me gusta la combinacion of No-Time-For-Bullshit Superstar Vocal Coach Jan plus Spacey Virginia-Beach-Surfer-Dude-In-A-Chick’s-Body Tracy plus Talent-Free Wiggy, which equals fun for all ages.
Put that away, Tracy! Kim’s trying to learn how to sing.
Kim and Tracy arrive at the studio, Tracy acting like a smitten teen lad as she flirts with Kim and comments on the red shoes they have in common. Except Kim’s are fancy ruby lady-slippers and Tracy’s sensible Birkenstock-types, possibly woven from hemp. Her brain is FRIED like The Colonel’s Original Recipe from a constant cocktail of whatever’s handy and all those overblown, overlong remixes a listener should only attempt while in the same buzzed-out state as their boyishly butch purveyor. Her name should really be spelled T-R-A-C-E-E-E-E…. MDMA GHB Special K.
Uh-oh, boys and girls-on-girls, fluff those wiglets and crack open the Veuve Clicquot, it’s time to face the Music Maven on her own A-list turf! “It’s not my favorite place– it makes me a nervous wreck,” Kim tells us, but she promised way-too-patient Kandi to actually behave like a professional and seek qualified help for her dud voice. Kim, sounding a wee bit baked herself, interviews that this scary encounter is “a whole lot easier” with her fave female at her side. Kim tells Jan they’ll be cutting “The Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing” in the next few days, and Miss Smith all but leaps from her chair to shove WIggy in the booth. Tracy can come, too– according to Kim, she’s “my biggest fan”. “I’m not a fan, I’m a friend,” Tracy drawls, clearly either A) presently a functioning alcoholic or B) at one time a head-trauma patient, and possibly both. Luckily Kim has a slutty authentic nurse’s uniform somewhere in that joke of a house of hers.
Kim’s throat hurts and she’s hoarse, she announces, just in case Jan was expecting her to suddenly channel Tisha Campbell Martin. They’d be lucky to get Pamela Sue Martin today. Kim reminds us how mean Jan was “3 years ago”, (actually 2, but who’s counting–not me! We’re only a third of the way in. Damn you, Flipit, for “borrowing” my last Vicoprofen– toothache my heart-shaped caboose, missy! Don’t worry, Gasmii: In Puerto Rico, I’m a licensed pleasure-craft operator which allows me to prescribe narcotics.) “We’re gonna go for the high one and see what happens,” Jan solemnly vocally coaches from the board.
“I’m gonna be honest, Kim. Ashley Tisdale’s queefs have a better tone than you do.”
How many different ways can we say Kim sucks? Flat, groany, robotic, tuneless, pitchless, hopeless. Tracy adoringly watches Kim the way my pomerian/poodle-mix Percy watches me try to make Indian food: oblivious to the flailing, desperate lack of ability but more than happy to sample the meat he’s sniffing. I’ve refrained from mentioning Percy before because he’s a very private dog. But trust me, Percy then and Tracy now have the same look in their eyes. And Percy’s never made me try golf. But Jan is patient and methodical and seems to have experience in Special Education and actually makes Kim sound incrementally better. Even Tracy recognizes what a good teacher she is. Jan instructs Kim to go home and practice– a lot.
NeNe’s tract mansion. NeNe answers the door to her BFF Diana, who I’m still not convinced doesn’t work for Bravo and is just conveniently inserted whenever NeNe doesn’t have a RH to talk to. NeNe’s really depressed– she hasn’t answered the phone or changed out of sweats or put on make-up for two days. She’s that upset about Gregg’s unapologetic trashing her on internet radio. How dare he say she squeezed him for $300K to make her career as a reality star and not even care how embarrassing that was for her?! Diana says she dropped by to get NeNe “out of the house”. Please don’t tell her you’re taking her to a stock car race. But of course that’s what she does.
NeNe says she called Cynthia recently but their conversation was abruptly terminated when Peter made Cyn get off the line. NeNe thought she and Peter were cool– “I can’t stand women who listen to their man like that!” It drives NeNe “insane”. Join the club! “Are you a puppet? Do you have your own brain?” NeNe just wants “to be happy” and “to be by my own damn self.”
Phaedra’s tract mansion. Barbarian Cream-scarfing New Mommy, True Southern Belle and Attorney-2-Da-Thugz Phaedra reminds Apollo and us why he hangs around with her repellent phroggy shit by giving him a watch– I think spending more than 100 bucks on one is stupid, so I can’t tell my Rolexes from my Omegas, but since she measures her self-worth with labels, it’s probably the real deal. And she also had a photo of him and baby Ayden Adonis framed with some poem about Daddies. I think this is the first non-asshole moment she’s had this entire season, so Mazel on that, Phae. But don’t worry, she hasn’t changed– in fact, she booked Bruce Vilanch-lookalike superstar photographess Spark St Jude to come over and legitimize the blessed event. Spark’s brought the tot a small lavender teddy bear and you know Phae’s thinking “Ever hear of a Tiffany rattle, honky?”
“Keep flexing those biceps Apollo. And Phaedra? Move about five feet to your left.”
Spark says this is all about featuring the baby. Phaedra thinks it’s mostly about the sexy bra she’s worn under a see-thru white top. Naked Ayden lets her know how he feels about this by splattering her with shit! Sadly, none of it gets on her shirt, just her hands. Phae announces how yucky she finds infant feces and that this is the closest encounter she’s had with it thus far in the baby’s 3-week life– Apollo’s the one who changes the diapers. That’s right, she doesn’t change diapers, at least not poopy ones. I’m really surprised that A) there’s no baby nurse/nanny in 24-hour attendance and B) she didn’t drop the kid right on the floor when he started to crap. And thanks to Spark from all of us for suggesting Apollo lose the shirt for “artistic shots”.
Recording studio. Kandi asks Kim if she’s given any thought to “what you want to do on the tour”. You know, “your show, your performance?” No, of course not. Kim doesn’t care enough to suggest hunky back-up dancers. Kandi explains that Kim needs “to put a show together”– the crowds will sing along to “Tardy”, but will need something special to entertain them during the new songs. Especially because Kandi’s the one on tour and Kim’s just the opening act. Kandi tells us she’s “a little worried about how [the audiences] will receive” Kim because it will affect how they respond to Kandi.
Kim interviews that she knows Kandi has “doubts” about her ability to open shows, but hilariously adds that after her amazing single lesson with Jan, “I’m gonna kill it in the studio.” First of all, no, you’re not, and second, what does that have to do with performing live?! Oh, Wiggy. They stick Kim in the booth and start recording and of course she sounds as awful as ever. As the standard dumb-Housewife library track booples onto the soundtrack, Kandi interviews that Kim’s been bragging about all the work she’s been putting in with Jan, “but I’m not really seein the growth.” Even Kim recoils when they play it back for her. “So fix it,” Kandi suggests. Oh, Kandi. Kim says she’s “struggling to breathe” and needs to see Kandi’s face while singing. Your ass is gonna see Kandi’s foot if you keep up the suckage, honey! How in the world is Kandi going to subject paying audiences to this?! Is Kim THAT much of a draw?! Clearly this “tour” is for Housewife nuts, not Kandi’s R&B fanbase. But whatever makes those Mercedes payments, right?
Just as Kim starts blaming the hot weather for her lack of talent, Jan enters, to Kandi’s extreme relief. Jan listens to the crummy take and says Kim is “oversinging” and “pushin too hard”. OK… like I said before, there’s only so many ways to tell Kim she blows. Jan tells Kim to stop making “Jim Carrey” faces and relax, which is the opposite of what she told her during the lesson, so no wonder the cow’s confused.
Taylor Ector Studios. Sheree tells us her drama coach “axed” for headshots, so that’s what she’s doing. Cynthia arrives to give her some posing tips, but Sheree reminds us “I’m not a model, I’m an actress.” LOL.
“And then I’ll star in Golddiggers of 2011, then Mahogany The Remake, then Go Axe Aisha, then Why Am I Not Divorced, then Dreamgirls 2: The Nightmare Begins…”
“People Store”. No, it’s not a historical marker for an antebellum slave market, it’s Sheree’s acting coach’s agency. I’m not a fan of cutesy agency names. One of my pals got her start in show business with an L.A. agent at “The House of Representatives“. Guess what? She sells faucets now. “I feel pretty confident with my acting skills,” Sheree tells us, but she is nervous about the meeting/audition so she brings Kristen along. The Gay Assistant hands them some sides, Kristen tries to help Sheree prepare, and Sheree gets testy and defensive. Phaedra pops up to interview that Sheree will have no trouble finding an Atlanta agent, but if she does, “entertainment attorney” Phae will rep her. That I would actually like to see.
Gay shows the women in to see a group including “Casting Consultant” Brian Bremer, the failed teen star of the 80′s horror flick Pumpkinhead, who at some point left Hollywood for Atlanta and has since racked up a bunch of minor credits in Tyler Perry‘s various TV and filmic abortions, and agency owner Rebecca Shrager, who, I’m guessing, was NOT a teen starlet. A classic Sheree Moment occurs when they ask if she has any experience and she says yes, she was in two plays, but can’t remember the name of the second one. Bwahahaha! It’s time to read the scene, in which Sheree will play Julie, a habitually late young mother who’s losing her job. In other words, this is the “Sheree is fired” thing from last week’s Next On. Oh, Miss Andy, you sneaky, sneaky bitch.
Sheree isn’t THAT bad, but instead of just reading the lines off the sheet, she tries to memorize each one and then act it to the girl reading with her, so she ends up adding an artificial pause before each one, which Brian points out, asking her to start again. Sheree interviews that this is not an accurate way to judge her thespian abilities. And no, she doesn’t use the word “thespian”. Come on. As a nearby beagle licks himself, Sheree finishes and is dismissed. No further questions. I’d say it doesn’t look promising, but A) this is Atlanta, B) it’s called The People Store and C) a beagle’s in on high-level decisions.
“I’m going to be a stah! Do you hear me?!? A STAH!!!!!“
Sheree rejoins Kristen, tells her it went okay and they leave for lunch. Sheree tells us that her self-confidence will help take her career to the next level. I’m just disappointed we’re not going to see her fired from The Child-Support Man anytime soon.
Race track. Kandi & Sheree arrive for this criminal waste of running time. Why the fuck would anyone subject their expensive car to this? This is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Luckily, Phaedra’s sitting at home itching to get back to work and away from that incontinent rugrat. Cynthia, Gramps and sister/assistant Malorie show up, quickly followed by the white Bentley, which discharges Kim, whiskey-voiced teen celibate Brielle, chubby tween Ariana, and Brielle’s exchange-student boyfriend. Oh, wait, no, that’s Tracy. Kim makes introductions as Kandi tells us how surprised she is to see Mr Young, since Kim’s “always” admonishing Kandi to keep quiet about her super-secret sapphic sweetheart.
Sheree starts quizzing twitchy space-cadet Tracy about “you and Kim”, which Kim sees from a short distance away and orders whipping-girl Sweetie to put an immediate stop to. Kim is deeply offended that people would DARE ask Tracy about her relationship with Kim. So why the hell bring her along? What did Kim expect the other Housewives to discuss with Tracy, Queen Latifah and Wanda Sykes? Sheree and Cynthia think Kim’s coy act is a joke. “I’m so over it!” Kim huffs to Kandi. Tracy “was great support for my song and let’s keep it movin!” Kandi interviews that she has no idea what’s really going on with the ex-lezzie lovebirds but she’s not going to ask because Kim will bite her head off.
“Ariana, you’re heavy! Get off of Zac Efron!”
NeNe and Diana arrive, to Cynthia’s surprise– she’s been a recluse since Gregg’s betrayal hit the streets. NeNe gives Gramps a cheery hello, but Cyn’s ancient betrothed snubs her. NeNe interviews that she’s always gotten along great with him and has no idea why he’s suddenly a grumpy old douche, but “I didn’t want to get Cynthia in trouble”, so she keeps quiet. For now. Kim is riding with Kandi and thinks NeNe should ride with Sheree, but when NeNe wisely demurs, Kim offers Tracy as a replacement. Why not, Sheree might need to change a tire. Kim keeps things discreet by ruffling Tracy’s hair and jiggling her tits in her face. “Good luck, Sheree love,” Kim Salahis at her pal’s opponent. Sheree wins because Kandi was told to stop at the cones, which were just in behind the actual finish line. I would so rather watch Phaedra wrestle a breast-pump right now.
SUV. Gramps and Cynthia drive home and discuss how much fun they didn’t have. Gramps personally would rather be rearranging the deck chairs on that Titanic of a supper club than putting up with NeNe and her sullen attitude. And here’s NeNe calling Cynthia and about to get Gramps’s hickory switch across her bodacious behind! First NeNe invites Grampa and Cyn out to eat with her and Diana. No, thanks, it’s getting late and Peter says every time he turns around Cyn & NeNe are jabbering away to each other. NeNe hears this and demands to know why Peter was so sold to her– does he have a problem with NeNe?
If Peter happens to have a NeNe peeve, “I don’t have no problem sayin I have a problem with you!” Peter snaps, eliciting a sassy “Oh, really?!” from our soon-to-be-divorced bon vivant. Cynthia interviews that she’s upset at Gramps for mixing it up with her troubled pal, but continues to sit beside his wrinkly sac, wringing her hands and saying as little as possible. I bet he smacks her around. I really do. Cynthia’s basically bullied into promising him her friendship with NeNe is over.
“Oh, Lord. I left the baby in a cab.”
Next week: Cynthia and NeNe are friends again and Cyn wants to put it in writing. Kim resists her show choreography. Dwight stirs up trouble between Cynthia & Phaedra.