Que Pasa Gasmii???!
Crisp, chilly-nighted autumn has come to Hollywood and there’s nothing I enjoy more than slipping into my cashmere Diane von Furstenberg Snuggie, pouring myself a flute of cava and kicking back in front of the 55-inch plasma for a two-hour Dateline about a mousy mustachioed Tennessee wife who was so traumatized by anal sex and forced porn-watching that she shot her preacher husband in the back, packed the kids up in the minivan and drove to the beach as he lie dying in boxer shorts on the bedroom carpet. But that’s not what TVgasm‘s paying me for, are they?
Recording studio. Kandi tells her assembled audio team– producer Focus, and engineers Selasi and Blue– that she wants to “develop” “an openly gay male artist”, apparently since her openly female drag queen “artist” Kim has done so well with “Tardy for the Party”. Kandi’s hetero posse clenches its collective anus at the idea, looking supremely uncomfortable, and then Lawrence totters through the door on stripper clogs and I am seriously wonder if someone spiked my diet Red Bull with blotter acid. Who knew Sheree’s Hair Gay was an aspiring musical superstar?!?!?? Expert weave queen, master sycophant and cunning cross-dresser, yes… but singer? WTF!?
If the str8 dudes recognize Lawrence from DL craigslist hook-ups, they keep it to themselves. Kandi orders her new pillow-biting protege to show off his vocal prowess, and Lawrence busts out with an obligingly public domain Whitney Houston song choice, “The Star-Spangled Banner”. Kandi tells us that Flawrence is an ex-classmate of hers from performing arts high school, and she sees him as the “RuPaul of the next generation”. Still smarting from the ungrateful treatment she received from La Zolciak’s lazy ass, Kandi wants to know if Flawrence is “willing to put in the work”. Flaw confesses that he has some “real grown-lady bills to pay”, but he’s committed to cutting down the going-down from his down-time to achieve LGBTR&B excellence. And what with everything Sheree touches turning to steaming piles lately, Flaw should have plenty of time to blossom from a transvestite caterpillar into a beautiful iTunes dance chart butterfly!
“See, Kim, it’s like Showgirls. He’s Elizabeth Berkley, you’re Gina Gershon.”
Kandi explains she plans to launch a Kandi-Koated Entertainment Empire with or without shiftless, hairless wig-spokesmodel/disco diva Kim, who is NOT signed to Kandi’s label. Is Flaw willing to go all the way and make his association with Kandi legal, unlike any same-sex marriage he may want here in oh-so-progressive Georgia. Kandi’s been whipping up a bangin’ homo-empowering club ditty seemingly titled “Closet Freak”, which may or may not be in association with epically bankrupt ex-RH Lisa Wu Hartwell‘s clothing line of the same name. If not, expect Attorney-to-Da-Thugz Phaedra to issue an immediate “cease to resist” to block the name. Maybe Kandi can recruit Apollo (Mr Phaedra) and Dwight to form a pop supergroup known as Destiny’s Child Molester. (This is The South, Kandi– know your audience!)
“Alls I know is that in Showgirls, the sweet, talented black girl everyone liked got the shit raped outta her. So you better come up with a song I can sing, bitch.”
Kandi says the song will be relatable to everyone keeping themselves in some sort of closet, including mistresses. So you’re working with Kim again, Flaw cracks, just as Wiggy flounces in, ostensibly to try to get Kandi to turn some shit into high-end truffles with the oh-so-clever, Kimmel-koined koncept, “The Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing”. Kim sits there and pouts as Kandi explains what she has in mind for Flaw. “I think that Lawrence is going to only be able to reach a certain audience,” interviews the woman who recently writhed in a giant martini glass in front of 10,000 hopped-up homos at Palm Springs‘ notorious White Party (aka The Fruit & Drug Administration). It’s a classic case of the douche-nozzle calling the glory-hole queer. “Good luck in Kansas!” Kim tells us/Flaw. Whatever, Fuzz-Bumper of Dorothy.
Flawrence assures them he has lots of sexy moves under his pashmina and Kandi agrees that her new openly gay male star has the talent and “work ethic” to become a success. Unlike some people. Flaw grabs his purse and sashays out, to Kim’s great relief. Focus asks Kim if she’s ready to make a new record. Kandi tells Kim they’ve been “working out something new for you”. Kandi tells them to hit it, then sings along (well) to a pumping new track: “The ring didn’t mean a thing to you/I see you’re out there still doing your thing/So keep the ring and run free”. “That’s high,” Kim grouses, whining that it’ll be “rough” for her to sing it. Kim interviews that “‘Tardy for the Party’ was instantly perfect, but ‘The Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing’– I don’t love it. I need another hit.” You also need about 10,000 hours of vocal lessons and a dollop of gratitude, slut.
“You know what? Lawrence may have ‘a voice’, but you can’t go out and just buy titties like mine. Oh, wait…”
I’m not sure if this is a reaction to Kandi’s new cultivation of Flawrence, sophomore-slump jitters, or genuine boredom over the song, but Kim’s the one who stuck Kandi with that tired title/concept. And who the hell else is going to put up with the talentless sow? Kandi tells us that ‘Tardy’ “was a really easy song to sing, but this time around I wanted to challenge her a little bit, so she’s gonna have to put in WORK for this song.” In the studio, Kandi seems rightfully annoyed at Kim’s pissy response to Kandi’s work on “The Ring”. “This scares me,” Kim pouts. Yes, getting exposed as a total lazy cheap fraud is terrifying. Just ask Selma Blair. (No, I don’t have any specifics… I just can’t stand her.)
NeNe’s tract mansion. Speaking of po’ pitiful good-fo’-nuthin’s, let’s check in with NeNe’s wastrel son Brice, who recently begged to move back home for 90 days to get his shit together. NeNe finds the ex-teen relaxing at the pool table on Day 30 of the 90. NeNe tells him to pull his damn pants up, then berates him for bumming around jobless asking her for money every day. Of course he “too coo’” to work at Cold Stone or Best Buy or any of those soulless chain giants at which young people are constantly giving us bad service. He sulkily asks NeNe if she knows any “club owners” who can perpetuate his chosen field of club “promotion”, with all the free hooch, weed, pills and skanks that this career entails. Perhaps to Brice’s surprise, NeNe says yes, she DOES know a club owner, Cynthia’s elderly fiance Peter. Maybe that’s why NeNe let Peter drunkenly accuse her of ruining her marriage by sexually freezing out Gregg (Mr NeNe) without kicking his ass at the Mother’s Day party last week.
NeNe says she wants Brice “to be 25 and successful and I’m gonna ride him like a cowboy until he gets it.” Expect plenty of saddle-sores then. NeNe tells him she’ll “hook you up with Peter, then I’m done. Get it together.”
“Down on my knees/I wanna take you there/In the midnight hour/I can feel your power…”
Park. Cynthia takes her daughter Noelle to the park for a supervised visit with the girl’s father, actor Leon Robinson, also known as just plain Leon. You might remember him as Sexy Black Jesus/St. Martin in the Madonna video “Like A Prayer”, or for his brilliant portrayal of condemned killer Jefferson Keane in the first season of Oz, which means Cynthia might want to keep him far, far away from incarcer-philiac Phaedra. Leon lives in NYC but comes down to see Noelle “3-4 times a month”. Cyn tells us that she and Leon “were engaged” and “created this amazing love-child together.” Then she tells hottie-pants she and Grampa Peter have picked a date to get married but there’s no ring or official proposal yet, ostensibly because Cynthia is so nupto-phobic.
Leon says Cyn “is good at walkin away from things” and he doesn’t want her to ruin it with Peter by doing just that. Has she told Peter how much she wants the wedding to happen? Not so much. The wedding seems to be a result of Peter turning 78 50 and laying down an ultimatum. “This is the one part that should be romantic,” Leon purrs in a deep sexy voice that could easily make one forget one’s nearby hula-hooping daughter and various public decency laws and go to town right there on a park bench. Cynthia admits that it may seem “weird” to be getting romantic advice from one’s ex-fiance, but “Leon was the first– I mean the only man in my life I considered to be my soulmate.” Interesting. Ish. I mean, I’m liking Cyn more and more but this whole “Will she make Gramps an honest man?” storyline is not cutting it.
Recording studio. Kim’s in the booth with Kandi to lay down some vocals. Right off, Kim is complaining that she wants “curtains” separating her embarrassing self from the prying eyes of the audio crew. Since the ONLY thing she has going for her is a certain blonde porn queen look, I don’t quite understand this. Kim also thinks the song’s key is too high: “You’re killin me with that… I’m not sure of my range… and I have a lisp.” And I’m a really fuckin’ terrible singer. Help me! Kandi calls for another take and Kim is horrendous. Producer Focus wears an expression like “I knew she was gonna suck, but come on now!” The combination of Kim’s disinterest in the song and her off-key, clueless voice gave me immediate flashbacks to the brilliant Season One episode when Dallas Austin sent Kim to actual superstar vocal coach Jan Smith who came right out and told Princess Mistress “You don’t know what you’re doin.”
“Bitch just crashed the Auto-Tune!”
So imagine my delight when, after suggesting Kim “live with” Kandi’s scratch-track and practice singing along to it in the car like Brooke Breedwell before the 1995 Universal Mini-Miss Grand Supreme pageant, Kandi tells Kim: “To be honest, you do have an ear problem, a pitch problem. You need to go back to Jan and get some vocal lessons.” YESSSSSSS! Kim looks majorly pissed and tells us last time “it wasn’t a very productive experience.” Cue a FLASHBACK with Kimmy getting her ass handed to her by tough cookie Miss Smith. Kim hilariously insists to Kandi “I sang at my brother’s graduation, I sang in 8th grade, I can sing along with anything! But for some reason, nothing was good enough for Jan.” I know, it’s ridiculous, right, Gasmii? That Kim made it to 8th grade, I mean. Kim loftily proclaims via interview “I do have a good ear for music. But as an artist, I just can’t do a song unless I love it.” That she really, truly thinks of herself as “an artist” is awesome. Kandi urges her “to be consistent”. And she doesn’t mean consistently shitty, so there’s going to be problems.
“Hear that? It’s rats in the ceiling trying to gnaw their own ears off.”
Law office. Phaedra welcomes client Latavia Roberson, ex-Destiny’s Child member. Phae tells us as a top attorney, she doesn’t “wait for my clients to come to me with their problems”, she likes being “proactive”. Maybe she’s going to suggest Lawhozit sue Beyonce for promising her and Kelly Rowland and those other bitches the world then leaving them in the dust like so many discarded Supremes. Latentacle’s got a sexy deep voice that sounds like she went straight from the nipple to whiskey and Marlboro Reds. Phae considers her “a little sister”. Then do what my big sis did for me and tell her that scarlet bob is totally 4 years ago. “When mah clients make money, AHHH make money,” Phaedra tells us, in case we thought for a second she was motivated by something other than greed, vanity or social status.
Phae tells Latourniquet she sees her “doing a one-woman show”, a vision Latrippin has also shared. “Your story is amazing,” Phae gushes. “The heartbreak, the rise, the fall and the comeback. All we gotta do now is put everything into motion.” Induce labor, if you will. I can see it now: “Phaedra Parks presents Destiny’s Abandoned Child. No flash photography. All ticket sales are final.” Phae asks Latrina to “tell me who you are, who you know yourself to be!” Here’s the short answer: Girl gets hired by multi-platinum, diction-challenged, Grammy-winning vocal group. Girl forgets which other girl’s daddy runs things. Girl mouths off. Girl gets fired. Girl hits the bottle. (I knew there was whiskey involved!) Girl gets DUI and goes to jail.
“If I wrap it in spaghetti and toss on a few meatballs, maybe my mama would just eat the damn thing.”
Latomcollins gets misty and Phaedra thoughtfully forks over some Kleenex, imagining the fat Lifetime paycheck when she sells this as a TV movie. Phae pronounces Latipsy a “dye-mun in da ruff– you jus’ need ta be polished, baby!” And somewhere in this lily pad of an office is just the right chamois for the job! “We need to get together and write this one-woman show,” Phae says, recommending they meet every other day. That way Phae can squeeze in getting that bothersome uterine parasite removed. Did you know Phaedra was also a top dramatist? Neither did I. Just becuz you act like a cunt, don’t mean you got The Vagina Monologues inside of you. “If it’s the last thing I do, I will see you at the top. I got the Midas touch, so let me touch you,” Phae modestly promises Latequiza. I know she’s a top Southern attorney and all, but if Phae tries to tangle with Beyonce’s lawyers, it MAY be the last thing she ever does.
Cinco Mexican Cantina. Over queso, guac and tequila, Kim and NeNe discuss Gregg, who’s been pretending his marital problems “don’t exist”. Just like it is with Kim and Big Poppa! Except for the married part, of course. NeNe interviews that “me and Kim can’t have a serious conversation”, since Kim responds to everything NeNe says with a litany of complaints about her keeper Pig Boppa. Kim quickly turns the chat toward what’s REALLY important, her upsetting visit to the studio with Kandi earlier. She says Kandi’s take on “The Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing” is not what Kim “envisioned”. For one thing, Kim didn’t imagine actually having to sing those words. Like a singer. She asks if NeNe will listen to the scratch-track and give her “honest opinion”. NeNe tells us she doesn’t have to hear the song to have an opinion. And it’s that Kim is a selfish, delusional cow.
They go to the Range Rover and pop on the track. NeNe listens to it for five seconds and says she “definitely” doesn’t like it. Who knew that enviously bashing Kandi was just the tonic NeNe needed to ease the pain of a broken marriage! NeNe says that Kandi misinterpreted the message of the title (which she so didn’t) and “that beat just isn’t working.” Should it be a dance track, Kim asks her. No, it should be a lush, agonized ballad a la Susan Boyle. Of course it should be a dance track– your audience is a bunch of gay men on an Extasy/GHB/Viagra cocktail! AND YOU CAN’T FUCKING SING. And I know boozing is a way of life in the South, but is one really allowed to take one’s beverages out to the parking lot to enjoy in one’s vehicle?! NeNe assures Kim that Kandi can handle rejection and encourages Wiggy to just tell Kandi how she feels. Surprisingly, NeNe doesn’t ask to be allowed to watch this.
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Storage units. Kim, daffy assistant Sweetie, and daughters chubby tween Ariana and 46-year-old teen sexpot Brielle check out what Kim’s been paying $800 per month to store, since it’s costing Pig Boppa a cool $10K every year. Kim estimates she has “a couple hundred grand” in couches, picture frames, mirrors, “gold vases”, “Versace china” and other glitz packed away and says she wants to have a garage sale: “I’m not givin this sh*t away for free!” No, you’re not. That’s how you afforded all those bordello contents in the first place. Kim starts trying to tag various items with neon Post-It‘s, but keeps running into things she definitely can’t part with. It’s an all-new Bravo series: Whore-ders.
Casa Cynthia. Cyn is trying to be a good little wife, cooking in the kitchen, when Grampa Peter hobbles in to show her how it’s done. Cynthia reminds him that he wants to be married by his 83rd 50th birthday. “I don’t wanna look like the old dude gettin married,” Peter remarks. I think that ship sailed sometime before the Clinton Administration. Cyn laughingly tells him so. Peter, obviously lacking the acting chops of a Leon, stiffly recites the lines fed to him by the field producers: How does she feel about everyone’s concerns that she won’t go through with the wedding? “I don’t wanna fall IN love and fall outta love.” Cynthia, no Meryl Streep herself, lukewarmly assures him that she’ll never meet “another Peter Thomas”– “you’re an original.” “Dat’s what I wanted to hear,” Peter robotically retorts. Cynthia says she needs to be sure Peter trusts her and the relationship. Yes, he does. And he’ll be surprising her with an obscenely pricey ring anytime now. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. When does the garage sale start?! Oh, good. Now.
Parking lot. Kim’s 70′s porn star dad Joe is on hand to help out along with Sweetie and the girls– Brielle’s been pimped into waving a hand-lettered sign advising motorists of the “Designer Label” bargains to be had. “I never thought we’d be working on the streets,” Ariana gurgles. No, I’m sure Kim’s been grooming them for the more lucrative call-girl racket. Kim’s “never had a yard sale in my life, but my dad’s a good negotiator”. Moving men arrange the contents of a semi on the asphalt as Kim stands by with a Chardonnay Big Gulp overseeing. “Lookit the bed– O. M. G., right?! Magic was made in that.” Brielle recoils as we hope someone took a gallon of Murphy Oil Soap and a chisel to that thing.
“Maww-awwm! Grampa just threw my virginity in with the Oriental rug!”
Customers arrive and Joe starts low-balling the prices, irking Kim, who tells him her shoes weren’t purchased at Target and “those couches were 10K apiece”. Funny, they were only 8K in the storage unit scene. Classic whore-ding behavior. Where’s that dizzy blonde shrink and the tough-love extreme-cleaning guy when we need them? Instead we have NeNe & Cynthia, who should be good for a couple wisecracks each. NeNe’s in the market for a bed for when her 80-year-old aunt comes to visit. Kim wants 4K “for the set”, which she claims is worth 20K. “Jesus! That is a huge number!” NeNe squawks, then interviews that Kim “was trippin to me… those prices were bananas!” A dumpy old lady wanders by, grumbling “This is a yard sale. It’s supposed to be a deal!” Joe assures the old bag that if she knew the retail, she’d see what a deal this was. Unfortunately, this is a parking lot in suburban Georgia, not Butterfield’s.
Joe tells Kim to give NeNe the bedroom set for 1800, which pleases NeNe. Kim relents: “It’s only because you’re my damn friend!” Apparently annoyed at being forced into actually selling things, Kim starts snapping at people and tells Brielle no lunch breaks, you’re working! Phaedra waddles up. I’d love to see her water break, forcing her to give birth on NeNe’s new bargain bed. “Who has an estate sale in the parking lot of a burger joint?” Phae sniffs via interview. Cynthia discovers Kim hasn’t bothered to clean out one of her dressers, which contains a yearbook! And there’s Kim, all frizzy-haired and brace-faced and awkward and unfuckable, even though she’s probably well over 12. The cameras delicately avoid showing us the year on the cover, so don’t go getting ideas.
The Housewives cool off in the burger joint and bring the yearbook with them. “Y’all didn’t have many black people at this school, didja?” Phae observes, leafing through it. Oh, thank God, she found one named Santana. But Bravo didn’t bother to clear him, so we’ll have to Phaedra’s word that he’s cute. Kim asks what Phae is naming her baby. No idea. I like the ring of “National Parks” but since Phae is so enamored with the South, she’ll probably call him Rhett Butler Parks, Scott Stapp Parks or Roscoe P Coltrane Parks. And NO, she’s not going to be doing “natural” childbirth. Quite the opposite, since she’s apparently having it removed as soon as she can find an OB/GYN who’ll take cash.
“Most Likely to Suck Seed”
“I cannot be screaming like a wolf and poopin on no tables,” Phae adorably remarks, to NeNe, and America’s, disgust. Phaedra says they’re going to “induce” “next week”, on Wednesday, preferably. Maybe that’s Latavia’s AA night. Kim smells a rat, and they’re nowhere near her yard sale, so it’s not because one got into her dresser drawer and died there. “Nothing with Phaedra makes sense,” Kim tells us. “I’m a licensed practical nurse [who believes that license is up to date?] and I got my degree at UConn. [Or Yukon Career College in Alaska.] And if Phaedra thinks for one second that she’s gonna try to fool me about poppin this baby out, she’s crazy.” SUH-NAPPP!
Phaedra tells them the baby is “right at 8 pounds” which, “at 7 months pregnant”, Kim openly finds odd. NeNe also openly rolls her eyes and shakes her head, then interviews “If she got pregnant before she got married, so what?!” NeNe tells Phaedra “I cannot believe any doctor in the state of Georgia would induce somebody at 7 months.” Phae says her husband came “three months early” and he weighed 9 pounds. How much of that was penis? I’m a Recap Artist, not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure it’s medically impossible for a six-month human fetus to weigh 9 pounds. “Stop saying that out loud!” NeNe interview/squawks. “So people can hear how crazy you really are!”
Phaedra tells us she was irritated about the due-date “grilling”, “but I understand no one has a job except for me, so… they have to do something to fill up their spare time.” Nice deflection. Phaedra lumbers off and NeNe, Kim & Cynthia compare notes and decide Phae is totally full of shit and may be lying because someone else fathered her little deduction. Kim wonders via interview if Phaedra & Apollo conceived it during a conjugal-visit trailer-rockin’ session. Either way it’s pretty bizarre and shows how incredibly narcissistic Phae is believing these mothers (and the Bravo audience) will just accept whatever story comes out of her froggy Southern face.
“Fo’ rill, y’all… It’s called a ‘VERY Late-Term Abortion’ and it is purfickly legal. Hand to God.”
Sheree’s tract mansion. In a freshly fluffed wig, Kim drops by to visit Her Ladyship with a Salahi-douche-chill “Hi, love!” at the front door. After declaring her Starbucks “tastes like shit”, Kim gets an earful about Sheree’s latest ex-BF, “who’s SUPPOSED to be a doctor of psychology”. Kim asks if he makes money. “I don’t think so,” is the troubled reply. Sheree then reveals that “Dr” Tiy-E Muhammad stays at “the Holiday Inn“, which horrifies Kim.
Parking lot. And the last scene was just filler, since we’re back at the yard sale, where Brielle is bitching that “some of these people need our clothes DESPERATELY.” Go suck down some ice-cream, skankette. Kandi arrives (“Hi, love!” Kim Salahi’s at her. Shudder.) just as Kim’s dad tells her they’ve made $10,350 so far. Kim is not impressed. And her mood doesn’t improve when Kandi asks if she’s been practicing with the vocal track. Kim tries to lead with something positive but can’t complete the sentence “I like the…” (Um… Fame and money?) So she says she DOESN’T like “the intro”. Maybe it’s because it sounds bad “in my car”. Maybe “it’s a mess in my car.” No, that didn’t come out right. She doesn’t mean it’s “a mess”, it’s just that “the beginning part of the song…” Kandi mercifully jumps in to request clarification. What does Kim mean by “the beginning”? I’m sure she’s wondering if Kim is talking about the instrumental or the vocals. Kim’s answer? “The first part of the song.” I want to see that degree from “UConn”.
Kim finally spits it out: “I don’t like the new song. I don’t like the beat.” It needs “oomph” and “a catchier beat”. Kim explains that when she played “Tardy for the Party” for people, they consistently flipped for it. Kandi says this song isn’t ready to be played “for everybody”. Kim says she’s talking about “Tardy”‘s “hook”. Kandi says she’s not excited about putting tons of work into a track Kim doesn’t like. “I wanna love it. I just don’t feel like it’s catchy enough.” Kandi interviews that Kim is entitled to her own opinion but Kandi has a Grammy. HA. Kandi says Kim has gone from being a music industry newbie to “Clive Davis” in, like, five minutes. Kim says she could be wrong and “America might love the song”. I hope they do, when Kandi sings it on her own album or gives it to a real artist to record.
“How ’bout a new song? ‘Diva Bitch Found Dead In A Ditch’?”
Kandi says not to be “harsh”, but since the floor’s open for gripes, Kandi feels Kim doesn’t “take this sh*t seriously.” Oh, yes, she did, Gasmii! “Kim has no idea how much I normally get paid for stuff like this,” Kandi tells us, “so to have to listen to her complain about a song that’s not even finished yet? I’m about to lose it on her ass!” Please, honey, feel free. Kandi’s idea of tough love? Telling Kim, again, to get voice lessons. I’m a Recap Artist, not Naonka from Survivor, but this is hardly a beat-down, people. Kim dismisses this to us, saying “I don’t know why Kandi’s getting so upset. [She] knows we can make a hit, we’ve already done it. However, I know my fans expect a certain sound from me, but this track isn’t it.” However and but mean the same thing, dumb-ass. And your fans expect nothing other than “vocals” more sweetened than Phaedra’s snatch after a Spreckels factory tour. I think some cheaty looping was employed for the last line of the scene, because we’re on Kim as Kandi says ” You need to take this seriously and get it together. If not, I’m not doin the track.”
It really is supremely galling of Kim to judge Kandi’s work like this. But Kandi kind of has to put up with it, because not only is it fabulous juice for this show (and very Valley of the Dolls), it could be wildly lucrative for Kandi, and she’s already put up with so much of Kim’s shit that it’d be a shame to not stick it out when actual compensation seems to be within reach. But I’m a Recap Artist, not Benny Medina.
NeNe’s tract mansion. We start with slacker Brice filling his face with greasy junk food as NeNe, younger, cuter son Brentt, 11, at her side, asks personal chef Shane what he’s going to cook for them. “Pan-seared sea bass with asparagus,” Shane replies. “I’ll have what they havin,” Brice grunts from the table. Brentt points out that Brice doesn’t eat asparagus. “I don’t even know what that is,” Brice confirms. Madre de dios, Gasmii! Why not push this kid’s face in dough and whip up some Stupid Cookies, chef. “You know how much you just embarrassed yourself?” Brentt marvels in disgust. Just a bit more than whichever RHOA post-production staffer spelled “embarrassed” wrong in the subtitle, which we need because Brice talks like his mouth is full of marbles. Made of marijuana.
And WTF is up with the glamour-length nails?!?
Brice poutily declares he “don’t want nunna dat” and continues to gobble french fries as NeNe wonders where she went wrong. She tells her loxy firstborn she’s glad “your hair’s lookin better” and that he “shaved”, since future potential ex-employers Peter and Cynthia are coming over for dinner. “Bricen needs to figure out what to do with his life, like, yesterday,” NeNe interviews. Cut to Cyn and Peter driving through the tract mansioned streets on the way to NeNe’s. Peter says he’s glad they live in the city. No shit! Despite my fond memories of spending summers on Long Island with my Tio Flaco, Tia Olivia and all my primos locos (my career as a teen model began on a day-trip to NYC where I got discovered in Washington Square Park), I generally find suburbia a living fucking hell.
Peter, who doesn’t like to be the only guy-guy in a crowd of gals and gays, hopes Gregg will be home. Cynthia, desperately searching for some indication that marriage isn’t a colossal mistake for all involved, says she hopes NeNe and Gregg can “work it out”. NeNe, who has slipped into a lime-green caftan, is happy to see them, especially since they brought a bottle of blush Moet, which, as we’ve seen, goes great with plastic-surgeon-prescribed painkillers. Gregg slinks in, followed by Brice in a fresh red Polo shirt. NeNe makes the intro’s and Peter says he knows Brice would like to open his own club. Grampa says that as a college student, he worked shitty jobs like McDonald’s and making doughnuts at 3 AM. Not what Brice wants to hear.
NeNe serves cocktails and Cynthia tells her “Gregg looks good tonight… You may need to rethink that thang, gurl!” When exactly did she stop hankering for hotties like Leon and develop a lust for the elderly? Just curious. NeNe laughs that Gregg got dressed up tonight but tomorrow “he’ll be back in his robe.” LOL. Gregg doesn’t find this funny, however, quickly and testily accusing NeNe of “throwin shade”! “Don’t even start!” NeNe snaps back at him. She gets up in his face and they bicker about the robe comment. Cynthia interviews that it’s “awkward hanging out with a couple…in limbo”. Gregg seems like he’s already drunk as he asks NeNe what planet she’s on. “Don’t play me, seriously,” NeNe warns. “This is not the time.” Oh, come on. The cameras are here. It’s time, honey!
“You think I’m afraid to beat you in fronta company?”
Grampa Peter commendably ignores the spat and engages Brice in an aspirational discussion using sports metaphors. Brice wants to “own the stadium”. “So everything you doin now got to STOP,” Peter declares. NeNe steps in, prompting Gregg to groan “Awww, Jesus!” LOL. NeNe, obviously not talking about Brice’s career path, tells everyone how important communication is. And “I’m an expert communicator,” she adds. Gregg responds by telling her “Communication is not talking.” It’s letting the other person “retort” and get their “point across.” Gregg says “Me? I really don’t wanna talk to nobody.” Except Dwight, when you need cash. “Don’t ask me about it, I don’t wanna share it with you, because I don’t like to talk.” He and NeNe are clearly a match made in heaven.
Gramps should probably stick with the nightclub topic, but NeNe sort of forced them all into Relationship Group Therapy, so Pete challenges Gregg: “You think dat’s the answer though, yo?” Gregg doesn’t get a chance to reply, and he hates to talk anyway, as we’ve just been reminded, when NeNe wags a finger in his face and yells “You know you’re not a good communicator, right?! SAY IT!!!” He says nothing, so she starts tapping his nose and answering for him: “No. I am not. A good com-mun-i-cator!” Now NeNe sounds drunk. She ridiculously demands Gregg give “advice” to Gramps and Cynthia. Gregg to NeNe: Get off me.
“You tryin to be with me?” NeNe asks Gregg, as everyone cringes and Brentt hides in his room clenching a stuffed leopard. (How fuckin’ hilarious is The Cleveland Show, by the way? The cartoon on Fox. Not that hag-fest with Valerie Bertinelli and Betty White.) Gregg has had enough and leaves “to shoot pool”. Peter and Brentt follow him downstairs. Cynthia interviews that she could tell from being in the house that things with Gregg and NeNe “were in a really bad place.” NeNe pours half a gallon of vodka into the cocktail shaker as Cynthia perkily insists that “Gregg still loves you.” NeNe tipsily scoffs that a person can’t live a lifetime free of communication. But Cyn can tell by “the way he looks at you” that Gregg doesn’t want to lose NeNe.
The sex may be infrequent, but damn is it hot.
NeNe says the problem is “too huge” and she’s getting a divorce. She momentarily loses track of her booze goblet, but locates it then leads Cyn away to “show you where Gregg lives now.” They go downstairs, past the pool table room, where Brice is conspicuously absent, into a den. NeNe says this has become Gregg’s apartment. NeNe warns Cynthia that without communication, she and Gramps are doomed. “What if he cheats?” NeNe suddenly blurts out. Cynthia interviews her shock at this bombshell. “But it does explain a lot,” she tells us. NeNe: It’s devastating, don’t you think? Especially if it was with Dwight. I’m just saying. $10K and all… “Iss just wrong,” NeNe slurs.
Next week: Phaedra considers circumcision (for the baby, unfortunately, not herself). Sheree dances for charity. Cynthia has cold feet.