I swallowed another turd, you guys. But when I make a mistake, I can admit it. Being able to say that you are wrong is a sign of maturity, unlike say, throwing a party on your daughter's 4th birthday FOR YOURSELF. It's official, Stretch has moved into Dun-yelle territory and just like that! We have another Beverly Hills villain. Camille- lonely no more!
Here we go with yet another crock of shit, and if this keeps up I'm going to have all the cookware I need by Thanksgiving. So yeah, there are three birthdays this week and they couldn't be more different. They all have varying degrees of stress attached to them, and the way the women handle their individual struggles paints some of them in a whole new light. A really pretty sparkly light, to be sure, a dazzling display like those really fabulous Barney's Christmas windows, only instead of wonderful shoes and Simon Doonen's latest foppish discovery, this one's selling poo on a platinum platter.
It starts out with Stretch informing us that Kennedy Armstrong is going to be four on her birthday. Phew! I thought she was going to turn four on MY birthday, or heaven forbid, Hitler's or something! Did you catch that? Good Lord, that woman speaks like a moron.
She wants this day to be ever so special so she is picking out a memorable gift for the wee widdle future therapy patient. Is she going to American Girl? Is she planning an all you can eat & play outing to Dave & Busters? How about a Barbie Dream House?
Or some really ugly jewelry
First there was Kimora and her Hello Kitty diamonds, now Barbie? What's next, diamond encrusted Pokemon cards, and who do we have to blame for this? A perfectly charmingly smarmy Beverly Hills couple named Layna and Alan Friedman. It's mostly super ugly and not exactly in the price range of little Ashley or Emily from Main Street U.S.A.
And that's for the PLAIN one.
Let's wallow in some tragedy for a moment. This lovely photo was taken when Stretch was still Taylor, a cute little strawberry blonde girl from Oklahoma.
Before she decided to get the Lauri Waring special-
I'm a squandering spendthrift, what does that mean?
Doesn't she look like her, right down to that awful feathered weave? It seems there's only one stylist in Southern California and he done cornered the market in Hypocritical Housewives. Talk about being lazy with the curling iron, sheesh.
Sometimes I think that I live on another planet from these women. That total of almost $6,000? About a thousand of it was for Stretch's present for herself! That's right. She bought herself a diamond Barbie necklace. On her way home, she's picking up her very own bedazzled and be-baubled box of tinker toys too, cuz you know, 4 year olds and their mommies can never have too many diamonds!
Fine joorey earning aside, I do not walk around weighted in emerald stick pins or sapphire baby shoe necklaces or whatever fad comes along. Can you honestly see that crap turn up on the Antiques Road show in a decade or so? Hell no, it'll be melted down for a drill bit long before then, or embedded in Liz Taylor's Charmin ( you know that's the truth).
I need some meat, and since Mauricio isn't around, let's have some of the real thing over at Lisa's! Filet mignon for everyone, juicy and heavenly and firm and delectable.
Sorry! I thought we were still talking about Mauricio.
It's almost Lisa's birthday this week as well, and her daughter Pandora is visiting from her box in Greece, looking none the worse for the wear, full of hope and cute boyfriend in tow.
And a shih-tsu hairdo.
What is with this family and their toy dog obsession. They need to get a Great dane or something, mix it up a little. Pick up poop bigger than Raisinettes. Oooo, gross. How would they know the difference? I sure hope they don't make a habit of eating off the floor. Tootsie Rolls will never look the same.
Her boyfriend's no Umansky but he'll do, for now. They joke about when the two lovebirds will be making it official and you can tell that Lisa is itching for some grandkids. Ken, not so much. I think he's shrinking in horror, not so much from the idea of his baby being taken away from him, but because of the epic piles of money he will have to part with.
Hey, I wonder if Ken IS getting laid on Lisa's birthday after all. It looks like it's French maid might.
And yet another butterfly clip. What is the deal with that? Maybe I'm wrong, it isn't Franch Tart Night, it's actually cheesy 80s hair band video skank night. And no, that's not a stretch. How do you think I earned my big neon enameled earrings? It wasn't by sticking to birthday and Christmas quickies, I can tell you that.
Not that I believe what she said about sex for one second. She's a card, a big bawdy British hambone who makes her gay houseboy wear pink all the time. Actually, I think she makes everyone around her stick to a certain color scheme, all airy and pale, hues from the violet end of the spectrum, whatever is most flattering. I'm surprised that she doesn't make then follow her around with candles while smearing vaseline on their glasses.
WOW. Lisa sure was pretty when she was younger. Here she is in a family portrait taken shortly after they adopted their little boy Max.
BPM, Before Pink Mansion.
Pandora is their biological child and Max was adopted. Their home is one of high achievers and great expectations, something that seems to weigh on Max a bit. It can't be easy to follow in the footsteps of a sister that was Valedictorian of her class at Pepperdine. Gee, what I wouldn't have given to go to college in Malibu.
Or get fed meat from under the table.
Oh wait. I do. Never mind.
They all sit around the table eating the delicious food that Lisa has prepared and she informs them that Max called. The first words out of Cedric's mouth are, "Did he ask you for money?" basically calling him a freeloader. Shut it, houseboy.
Unless you can show me some pay stubs, you're one too.
Don't THEY look like the couple here? Do straight guys roll their shirt sleeves up like that? Maybe if they're Solid Gold dancers, but not macho guys wooing wealthy daughters.
So, here's the story behind Max not being around. Unlike his sister, he got in with the wrong crowd and started skipping school and smoking pot. They had to ship him off to Idaho for his senior year (like you can't get drugs in Boise), and now he wants to come back to California and go to a music school on Hollywood Boulevard, GASP!
Hollywood is crawling with bad elements, crack whores and homosexual transients doing lines off of Judy Garland's star on the Walk of Fame! Say it isn't so! If Lisa thinks her shingles were bad when she sent him off to another state,
just wait til he's not a tight end anymore.
Ah, kids. You can't kill 'em and you can't give them shock treatments anymore without people looking at you funny. I kid! It has to be hard on Lisa. There's no pain like the pain of a parent, just ask mine.
You know what I like about Ad's parenting? She plays with her kids. She pulls them around in their big plastic wagons and then laughs at their go-cart hijinks.
No rhinoplasty for you, young man!
Weren't you thinking it? Both mommy and daddy had nose jobs, what king of GD de Bergerac nightmare are these kids going to wake up to in puberty? They will probably be able to make a decent living sniffing out drugs at LAX.
Let's see, she has 3 boys, twins aged 4 and a six year old. She says that her life changed drastically when she started squirting the little buggers out, and now she has to employ a part-time nanny and housekeeper. Part time? Um hmm. She can't cook for shit so she has a chef as well. Thank God, but it is kinda sad when neither you or your hubby can get it together to even get a hangaber properly grilled.
It's down ther with my sessmee bun and mater joose.
I had a little brother that used to say the same silly stuff. Our Aunt Evelyn was Aunt Elevator. Spaghetti was Buhsketti. Stairs were 'tuppies' (no idea) and breakfast was 'beckest.' We never corrected him in the hopes that he would grow up to be a moron, making the rest of us look good in comparison. Kids. I tell ya.
Ad says that Paul is stricter than she is and he loses his patience more easily. He goes off to shoot some hoops, leaving her to deal with little Christian's whining tantrum. She employs what all mommies employ when their hands are full, the 'thigh corral.'
Or in my family, knee the baby.
Wasn't that fun? It was? Good, because it's time to leave the Maloof-Nassir household and take a quick trip over to the Grammer Martyr Mansion. I hope y'all have a good gag reflex because here comes yet another turd for you to swallow.
Camille's self-immolation knows no bounds! I cringe when I think of all the ways I am inferior for complaining when I have a migraine and can't get shit done, while she endures the squirts while almost planning trips to Hawaii! God forgive me for my sins. Let me go whack my back with a whip made of old Club MTV videotapes while Mr. McSlore rubs the salt from the tears of four nannies into the wounds.
She's also living the green life, didja know? Saving the planet by flying first class and admiring a pile of fruit that she can't eat because 'it's so beautiful' or some such nonsense.
I don't know, Camille. To me it just looks MESSY.
I'm sorry but I just have really insanely high standards when it comes to clutter, but that's just me. What was that? You think that I'm implying that I'm better than you? Well, I never! I can't help it that I am the way I am. You'll just have to accept my perfection or else we simply cannot be friends.
There is something inherently perverse in the whole world of 'yes men & women' she lives among. She holds the purse strings and pays for people to go along with her delusional assertions about her life. The eye rolls got epic up in here when she kinda sorta didn't plan anything for the trip and then acted like she suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune to get there.
Yep, that's me. Saint Sebastian of the Runs.
I'm cool with her thinking that. As long as we get to club her and throw her in the sewer later. She and Mallard Mouth can sit down there all day and write scriptures with their own poo as far as I'm concerned.
It's a lot of work preparing to go somewhere to do nothing and be ineffectual. You have to pack your bikinis and call the house down there. OW! I think I just pulled a baby toe muscle thinking about it. You have to discuss stuff with managers and take the credit for asking the right questions from a piece of paper that your manager prepared for you. It's horrible! It's life sucking. It's like discovering that your valium is all gone, and right before you have to talk to the gardener about which flowers you want in the john, WITHOUT KELSEY THERE. How she isn't in the hospital, I'll never know.
Princess Pea brain doesn't even know what time she's leaving. That is surprising. I must have misheard. She HAS to know, right? What with all those important production meetings she has to schedule around her trip WITHOUT KELSEY. Sheesh, does he hold her hand while she cramps one out on the crapper, too?
Here's the topper- she says that all the Housewives are busy women, only she has that extra 30% more of doing nothing than any of the rest of them.
Bitch, please. The only extra 30% you got, you stuck in your face!
I will say this much. Thank goodness she and Kelsey have separate hot tubs. There's nothing worse than thinking you have gas and letting loose an unexpected floatie. How embarrassing.
It's time to flip the coin and visit with another sort of chicanery, that of the Stretch variety. This girl is all aspirations and unfulfilled childhood dreams. She has an almost Dr. Frankenstein-ian drive to achieve that which she thinks she should have, and woe to the person that gets in her way.
Little Kennedy is having a Mad Hatter themed party, whether she wants to or not. There will be cakes and dresses and all sorts of fantastical table trinkets to coincide with the actual inner landscape of her overgrown pre-teen of a mother. There will be fairies and fuzzlewumps and flowering tea pots!
I don't know. It's so hard. I'll take everything!
Are those toxic poppies for Kennedy, cuz I'm pretty sure she's gonna want to kill herself later.
This afternoon of apparitions will include 25 little tykes and 35 adults, just in case you were confused as to who this party really is for. Stretch has hired a designer, a party planner (to the STAHS) and has roped her personal assistant into the project. The usual Bravo tally board keeps rising and rising at levels that would rival William Randolf Hearst. His house, sadly, wasn't available so Stretch got Houdini's instead.
Why this grandiosity, why must this child's birthday have all the bells and whistles of a Ringling Brother's Three Ring Circus? Why, indeed. I'm sure that it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Kyle is having toddling Portia's birthday on the very same day.
Nope, I'm sure that she would have gone overboard even without that knowledge. It just provides the little extra spark of competition that will take the party from Love Boat to Titanic proportions.
The difference between the two is striking. Everything Kyle is planning is geared towards memories for the KIDS, not the adults. A bouncy castle, a choochoo train. Her planner Glenn is only costing 3 grand, as opposed to Stretch's 12.
And he doubles as the train conductor!
I want to go to Kyle's party. They're going to have a petting zoo!
I sure hope Mauricio looks good in that donkey suit I sent him.
What! I'll even help out. He can be the back and I will be the front. I'm good with kids. As long as they don't touch me or talk to me or look at me. Or breathe.
Okay, I changed my mind. I want to go to Stretch's party. Kyle's is going to be dry. That is torture. What was she thinking? You are having billions of crumb grabbing shin kickers running amok amongst adults and you aren't providing any booze? What are you, the Marquis de Sade?
Meanwhile, in the land of Champagne hisses and caviar queefs, Stretch has decided at the last minute that she wants Chandeliers, by golly!
For Russel to hang himself from later!
Awww, Camille decided to actually do something for a change. She's so creative.
She spelled out words with her poo!
C'mon now, you know it's white like the guano from bats or vultures. It petrifies in her tushy canal if she doesn't get her daily dose of ass kissing and Ex-Lax.
Hawaii, my friends, is her spiritual refuge, her chance to recharge after all the hustle and bustle of her staff in California. Don't you know how stressful it can be to hear children whining from their windows as you play a game of pantie optional pick-up with powerfully agile paddleball instructors?
She describes her home in it's gated community with it's seven bedrooms, and giggles in that show-off voice of hers, dripping indolent braggadocio. Here she is, emerging from the Pacific like a bronzed goddess of natural perfection-
I had to work so hard not having kids to get this body.
The only way that those tits are real is if she had the fat sucked out of her head and implanted in them.
Did you guys eat too much for lunch today? You did? Prepare to lose it because here's her house in Hawaii-
She and her friend Dierdre pull up a lounge chair in the shallow end of the pool to discuss Camille's do-gooding further. The poor wench is finally getting some sleep now that Kelsey is gone and not bugging her nightly for that bought and paid for ass of hers.
The nanny sits there nodding as we are regaled with tales of Cameel-Toe's ambitions being thwarted by children, and the sacrifice of keeping Kelsey sober for 12 LONG YEARS. God almighty, I bet he's drinking now. You would think that she would have some pride in her voice, or happiness that he is alive and not chugging Everclear with Charlie Sheen and a couple of hookers. She acts like she's disappointed that he didn't die or something.
I suffered and not-slaved and all I got was everything, boo hoo.
That Diedre person is earning her trip, isn't she? If she sees the irony of Saintly Camille's declarations of suffering for so little in return, while in reality she is surrounded by so much, she ain't letting on. She just nods her head in agreement, scared to death that someone might kick her out of paradise. "Oh yes, Camille. You gave up so much to be with Kelsey, so very, very much."
"God knows you can't be a high end call girl forever.."
What do you think she would plan for her daughter's birthday? I'm guessing she ships her off to Kelsey while she heads off to a synchronized swimming boot camp. You know, to be healthy for the kids.
At least Lisa has her head on straight. She's celebrating the 21st anniversary of her 29th birthday at her own restaurant, no yachts with $40,000 watches and no tableware made from moss and misplaced melancholy. Pandora gives her a sweet picture frame, the kind of thing that every mother that is engaged and present in their children's lives would enjoy.
Now, would someone give her some lipstick with color in it?
The nude lip has got to go. It doesn't make your lips look bigger, it makes them fade into your face. I'm not asking for full-on crimson, just start out slow with some rosy taupe or twig. I beg of you.
Pandora says that she has a much bigger present for dear old mum, and up walks Max. She gets all emotional and verklempt. If she's acting, she's doing a damn good job of it.
Mummy says I love you and everyone gets teary. Max looks like one of my iridescent brothers or one of Chemgal's Children of the Corn, all blonde and uber-pale. He's the sensitive one, the child that tears at the heart strings and keeps you up at night. The son that wears his heart on his sleeve and can't help but give Lord Byron a run for his money. The Poet. The Romantic.
He's also in town to tour the Music Institute down in the badlands of Hollywood, and gets out a guitar that he made from scratch.
See what you can do if you smoke enough pot?
It only takes like five years. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Everyone is suitably impressed by his mechanical marvel, but he doesn't want to bring it to the music school for fear of looking like he's showboating. Lisa tries to give him a pep talk as he looks wimpier by the minute. Sheesh, whose first words were "I can't?" That is just pathetic. I should talk, though. I think mine were, "I can't, I won't and you can't make me." That or "Where's the Schnapps, bitches?" Depends on who you ask.
Pandora seems tired. I think she spent a full day watching silly movies in bed with Cedric and Jason, giggling and doing each other's hair.
There's something about fairies
Instead of telling him, "Yes, you can," these people need to smack him and threaten to humiliate him on national TV. You know that's what Ken is thinking. All this pink and flowers and gay houseboys done turned his only son into a softy. What happened to the big football player, the strapping young lad, the child of ambition?
Not a bad gig if you can get it. I'm poking fun, of course. I'm sure he's not a mama's boy. I'm sure he'll cut those apron strings just as soon as he's allowed to use the scissors. By 40, at the latest, I'm sure.
Isn't that how old Camille is? She doesn't look it. She's picking up more ass kissers, this time in the form of a randy pot bellied letch. They get into the hot tub, with Camille making sure to flash her ass crack at the camera a few times. maybe she thinks this is another PSA.
Do you suffer from a grumbly tummy, cramps and unexpected gushes of butt bile? Why, you may have IFS.
Irritating Female Syndrome
We find out why this Dierdre character keeps kissing Camille's ass. It seems The Sainted One loaned her a house when Mr. Dierdre was unemployed. How kind of her. How wonderful to be able to buy friends, and give to others when you have so much. She's kinda picky when it comes to what she doles out, though.
Girl, you forgot to give her titties!
Next she tells us all that her generosity is due to having a "Jesus complex." No, that is not the name of the housing where she keeps her Latin lovers, it's how she explains her ferocious drive to convince you and I that she is neither vapid nor ungrateful.
Of course, she IS vapid and ungrateful. She sits by while others sweat and break their backs to accomplish something, all interlocked thumbs and forward thrusted breasts. She's the lusty drain on civilization, the drafty sitting room of life that has to have it's fire fed constantly. It's pretty and you like to hang out there, but damn it all, it sucks up all your attention just trying to keep it warm.
Several hundred miles to the northeast, a mother is actually spending time with her son. The day has arrived to visit the Music Institute and young Max is wearing a Joy Division t-shirt, declaring his love for misty eyed suicidal post punk.
Nobody tell Lisa.
They watch as a group of cliche hipsters play something or other, neither terribly interesting or inspiring but with just enough talent to lure in the prospects. Poor Lisa is not feeling it and the loud music disturbs her. She runs out before their song is even done, throwing a perfunctory "Thank you" over her shoulder.
I didn't see you run out at jay-Z!
That was at least as loud. Oh well, she had her beer plugs in.
They chit chat with the administrator and he assures them that they have a zero tolerance for drug usage and 24/7 security. No riffraff are allowed in the hallowed halls of this fine institution, so don't go worrying about your teen boy accidentally rubbing shoulders with corrupting harlots and hellions. No, he'll just be attending classes with them.
He plays his sad sack gee-tar like the Nervous Nelly he is, but I'll cut him some slack. He's obviously not used to being on camera and methinks he grew up a wee bit sheltered. He needs to be on his own for a while, and make his own mistakes. Lisa says as much when she confesses that her parents let HER go to drama school. She pretty much has to let him try.
He'll be fine. He seems pretty normal, actually. Unlike Kimmie. I think there is something wrong with her. Something's missing. She's moving into her new house today and is having trouble getting the stove to work. She's so scatterbrained that she doesn't even realize that her glasses are on the kitchen counter in front of her.
"Gee, they're not on my head or in my hand this time. Where are they?"
She and her daughters fret and fuss over the damn thing and one of them even asks if they should call 411. No, dear. It's called RTFM! Read The Fucking Manual. Durrrrrrrrrr.
Kyle is frazzled herself, getting this whole party together solo. I think I understand her a little bit, this assertion of hers that she has to be in control of everything. I am the same way when it comes to events on my own turf. I'll stress myself into a tizzy and if I let, say, my nephew wash the dishes after Thanksgiving dinner, I usually end up re-washing them. Sick, I know.
I have a feeling that she is the first to grab the baby when it fusses or pick up a mess that's been made, something she needs to ease up on. Make the kids pitch in, she has three that could help. Isn't that why you people have them in the first place, to do chores and fetch stuff?
She calls Kim who is supposed to be there helping to set up. Well, guess what? She flaked. She decided to move the same day. She babbles on and on to Kyle about how she has to do this and has to wait for that, until Kyle loses patience and hangs up on her.
Let's see. Today I'm full of excuses. How about you?
Meanwhile, Taylor's party is just getting started in all it's out of control glory. We meet her half brother Dwight. He is clearly gay and clearly devoted to his nightmare of a sister. Someone tell me something, who calls anyone a half-brother? Why would you say that right out of the gate? What difference does it make unless you are making one of those endless family trees on Geneology.com? I shouldn't nit pick. Stretch is just a bit flustered herself from painting trash cans.
Congratulations. it's prettier than you.
She finally gets her head out of her ass long enough to find her own daughter. "Kennedy, don't you love your party? It's all FOR YOU! Don't you love it? It's absolutely 100% not about Mommy or her inflated sense of self, I swear!"
"Look, I even got you your own spitoon!"
As if she isn't going to be throwing up into that wine stand later.
How much did this moribund mess cost?
It's a small price to pay for bad memories to last a lifetime.
Kennedy wants no part of it and Stretch doesn't seem bothered in the least. It's time for her photo shoot! Aw, how sweet, a mother/daughter porfolio to remember this day by, to pull off the shelf for years to come and wistfully reminisce about the days of yore when Mommy and Kennedy romped in a fairy wonderland of magical mystery and eternal maternal love.
Not so much
See, this is where you could knock me over with a feather because of how wrong I was about her. She's an egotistical nightmare of grasping spurious trickery, not some poor beleaguered wife of a cheater! Well, maybe she's all of those things, but all I know for sure is that she's gross on too many levels to count.
Ugh. Vignette time. it's pretty simple.
Here's the grand total for Portia's party-
Normally I would say that $12,000 is an insane amount to spend on a two year old but I've lost all perspective this week. What haven't I lost?
My lust for Mauricio!
I don't care if he is making funny faces at the animals and doesn't know what an alpaca is. I'm not really interested in his intellect, if you know what I mean. I'm still hoping that the ladies go to the Caribbean or some place tropical so I can get a good look at the meat on him. That recap will just be 60 pictures of him and me trying out different ways to describe my drool.
Adrienne isn't doing much of anything this episode, but she does show up to Kennedy's party looking like a hot pink mess.
But at least she isn't wearing a Laura Ashley tablecloth
If Stretch's taste in dresses is any indication, shoulder pads and peplumed jackets are next.
Things are finally in full swing and the tots find the booze.
That's right. Drink up, honey. Next year you'll be lucky to get a Happy Meal.
You know it, I know it, and it's inevitable. This bitch is fronting and eventually the entire country is going to know it too.
Lisa arrives and God love her, she sees right through this stunt party. I'm sure she was really happy to hear Stretch insult her in interviews as well. She said that Lisa would buy 20 pairs of shoes for the amount of money that Stretch spent on this farce, but Stretch is the better person because she'd rather spend it on her kid. Oh, boy. That is going to be one fun thing to bring up at the reunion. And by the way, Stretch. It isn't 20.
This bitch HAS money and lives in a mansion, not a suite at the Comfort Inn. She'll take your party and raise you class and dignity, not to mention kids that love her once they grow up. Your kid is going to pretend not to know you when you pick her up from school, lie and tell everyone that you have a rare form of lip goiter that also makes you loony as a tune.
Adrienne very diplomatically says that Stretch is used to entertaining lavishly although the party seemed a little too geared towards the adults. You think? Then Russell shows up and gets snapped at for asking when the food is being served. What a cunt! I'd be out of town on business too, my friend. keep fucking those whores.
maybe you'll get lucky and find a west coast Amy Fisher
With better aim, of course.
She is turning into Dun-yelle right before our eyes. She toasts HERSELF for having the little one, says 'Here's to Kennedy" when she's nowhere around and then adds something lame about them all being able to sire their own ignored saplings and then she drinks.
"Here's to Teddy. I mean Moynahan, I MEAN KENNEDY!"
That poor kid. What's her nickname going to be when she gets older, Ken, Kenny? That would work. She totally looks like she wants to die, especially when Mommy has some pathetic artsy folksy band sing a song about how great she is.
What's the likelihood of death by frosting.
Not all is lost, though. After the little girl's tepid response to her FIRST DIAMONDS, Daddy has his own special gift brought in and it's a doozy.
A non diamond encrusted puppy!
Stretch is PISSED. She told him not to get her one. I don't see what the big deal is. Let her learn to take care of it. Don't they have nannies and housekeepers to pick up the slack? They can afford a puppy training class, for sure! No, she's just pissed because the puppy outshone the diamonds, and her little girl isn't adhering to Mommy's idea of the perfect little princess, worshipping Mother Dear and hanging on her every word. Stupid narcissist. Where does Bravo find these people?
Do a 180 and you will be exactly where the Umansky's are. Kennedy gets a non-heartfelt song sung to her by someone that doesn't know her,
Portia gets Happy Birthday sung to her in Spanish by daddy
Stretch gets to live out her dream of a Mad Hatter photo shoot, sans child,
Portia is going to cherish this picture forever.
The party thrown by Kyle was so much nicer, even if Kimmie arrived late and didn't help. Lisa made an appearance and I'm sure she's glad she did. Unfortunately, it made her yearn for more babies and unless she gets Camille's surrogate's number, I don't see it happening.
But let's not end on a sad note. Kyle calls Cameel-Toe on her lies next week and, well,
There's always Mauricio!
Love and Kisses,