No matter how much you hate Camille, you have to admit that she's doing a bang-up job of making the show increasingly about her, at the expense of the other ladies. What a cruel person she is! I was shocked at her demeanor when she was baiting Kyle. It makes me ask myself, "how would I react in a similar situation?" Other than instigating a pretty serious slappy fight, the kind my sister and I used to have, I'd probably laugh in her face.
Nah, I'd get mad like Kyle did. Then I'd put eye drops in her water.
What? You would too, don't lie!
There's always a plethora of characters on these shows that need some schooling, and that includes Cedric. Cedric the Freeloader, boy oh boy, has that guy got it made. He works for Lisa supposedly, but it's HER that makes his bangers and mash and kippers and sprats in the morning, and sweetens his tea!
You get all this without banging anybody? I ain't buying it.
It takes the guy a while to awaken, unlike Lisa who is raring to go. She's a morning person, like me. Other than both of us being bawdy broads, that's where the similarities end. I don't have a mansion or Marie Antoinette's wardrobe.
Nor do I have J-Lo's booty.
Damn, that girl has an amazing ass! Oh, I'm sorry. That was coarse and rude of me. I meant to say, that lady has an amazing ass. All those workouts with the Freeloading Fairy are paying off.
You know what? If I were rich and all it took for me to have a nice butt was to have my own Cedric, I'd do it. But something tells me that it isn't all life-debilitating lunges and stairmaster torture sessions. She was born with it. AND she has tits. She has EVERYTHING. Good God, she must've be a freaking grub in her past life.
Lisa describes Cedric as, well, like June Cleaver. He wants to get married, have kids and be a housewife. Hmm, so he wants a sugar daddy, plans on having a surrogate carry some babies, and then envisions a life full of pink shirted workouts and endless self grooming on someone else's dime? Sounds like we have another Camille on our hands. I bet his butt doesn't leak, though. Even after deflowering that green tushy, if you know what I mean.
They head out to her Villa Blanca SUV for a drive to the flower wholesaler to get stuff for the restaurant. I'm sorry if this comes off gay-ist, but is picking out flowers even work for a friend of Dorothy? That's like me embarrassing myself in public. It's a talent you're born with, and about as much of a stretch as Camille humping wallpaper or Kimmie sighing over old head shots.
They buy their pretty tuberoses and dahlias and head back to spiffy up the restaurant with a delightful floral display. It tickles Lisa's fancy to spruce up the place, she just loves it! She's so giddy she barely knows what she's saying.
"Bend over, Cedric. I miss Camille."
Yes, she made a 'bend over' joke. And what did Cedric the Useless say to that? "Do you find me irrisistible this morning?" Dude, you are NOT Jean Paul Belmondo. You aren't even Pepe le Pew. Lisa, call me. Heck, call Tori Spelling. Even she knows. You could do SO much better. I hate to harp on this but every single gay I know is more interesting than this guy, even the ones in the closet.
And none of them wear wife beaters to work.
And I don't even totally buy that he's gay. I bet he swings in whichever direction the wind blows, as long as it smells like newly printed Benjamins and Bentley scented bottoms. He latched onto our Lisa because she loves to mother people. He's a leech. I sincerely hope that she put him on this show so that he could get noticed by a Geffen or a Tom Ford, and move his ass the Hell out of her guest room.
They work the flowers and Lisa says that she's teaching him this stuff so that she can leave him in charge when need be, and the result is spectacular.
And it only cost five pairs of shoes!
Camille's pond is so pretty. It has picturesque waterlillies and grasses, and a row boat just waiting at the water's edge for any of those romantic moments that might flare up between her and Frasier, not to be confused with those other flare-ups. On second thought, there's no way he gets in there with her.
It probably leaks from the bow AND the stern.
Do colostomy bags make good flotation devices? Ick. I'd rather drown.
In case you were wondering why Nick the Tennis Pro couldn't make it to Hawaii, it was because he was at home with his wife and new baby. Well, that explains it all right. Who wants to change two diapers at once? That's a bit much to ask, even for the most experienced scatologist.
They chit chat about the Vegas trip and the impression he left on the guys. I noticed that he didn't ask about the girls. Well, he does know her. He knows she doesn't give a flying turd caboose what any of the women think. Guys aren't stupid, even if they are the visual equivalent a Hanes t-shirt model or a reject from The Bachelor. I hate that show. All the guys seem insincere to me, like they're acting, or hiding something.
"Here's a rose. Will you be my beard?"
Camille loves to shock. In Vegas she basically dared them to talk about her by flaunting her friend-love for Nick in their faces.
"Oh, Nick. I love you. If I blind you with my tits, will you pretend I have a soul?"
She brings up her tiff with Kyle, describing what Ms. Umansky said as demeaning and an insult to unemployed spoiled bitches everywhere. Poor thing. If she was so worried about being in Kelsey's shadow, why doesn't she let it go instead of bringing it up every time she's on screen? I'll tell you why. She has no intention of letting any of us forget that she's married to THE BEST ACTOR IN THE WORLD. None. Besides, if she did that, you know, actually talked about something, we might realize that she has no substance, like we did in her little production meeting. It's a smokescreen to keep our minds off of her lack of one, and the fact that her face is aging faster than an Italian widow. She looks almost masculine sometimes.
Boy, that Troy Aikman sure has some pretty lashes.
She's starting to look like his older sister or something. It's the droopy area around her mouth, stretched out from years of inserting large cylindrical objects. She should stick to what I imagine one-on-one lessons from Troy would be like- orchestrating passing routes with finesse, and rubbing your knuckles against the beefy ball sack of strapping young centers as you wait for the perfect time to yell, "hut, hut, hut...SLUT!"
I will bet you a lifetime supply of Poise pads that she sees herself in HD and yanks those nasal-labial folds back behind her ear flaps before you can say, "Who forgot to pick up the Angel Soft again?!?" If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. Bitch, stay out of the sun and stop taking your social cues from lucifer and maybe your chin would stop sinking into your cashmere crew neck sweaters.
Nick doesn't like her anyway. He's just there for the obligatory promo in Cameel's blog and the ensuing rush of horny middle aged women in need of an improved cross court drop shot, and by that I mean accidentally landing on his cock. So clumsy!
Back in Beverly Hills, the be-jowel-ed one's nemesis is off to pick up Stretch so she can spend more of Russy's moolah. Kyle 'married to my future bangle subsidizer' Umansky is doing her good deed by playing along and pretending Stretch isn't a fembot sent to earth by Dr. Evil to kill the dreams of nerdy men with fat wallets.
And, wow! The Comfort Inn sure upgraded their doors since the last time I stayed there!
How anyone spends more than five minutes with this hag and doesn't leave without a fistful of weave and bruised knuckles is beyond me. She is so nasty she even has the nerve to try and make having an adorable puppy seem like indentured servitude. She is so repulsive, and it brings out such a basic primeval meanness in myself that there are very few words to describe how I really feel.
Bitch, you ugly.
Meanwhile, Kennedy's still loving life.
Casey Anthony, will you be my mommy?
The only child on this planet who ever hated being on camera more was Chastity Bono. Remember those awkward moments at the end of 'Sonny & Cher' where they would drag out the poor kid and make her say something while wearing inappropriate belly tops or little girl dresses stolen from the cover art of 'Audrey Rose?' The Armstrongs better sack away some money for a fact finding trip to Thailand. It doesn't hurt to be prepared.
And what is with all the empty vessel metaphors that Bravo is throwing at me? First we had the rowboat, and now this?
Bitch, get yourself a Cedric!
I was going to say something about Kyle pushing it over and breaking it by accident but then I realized that it's probably a plastic one from Home Depot, not some hand casted billion dollar urn from Restoration Hardware. It would probably bounce.
The two leave to go dress shopping for the trip to New York, dog-less, I might add. Gee, who's watching Snowball the life draining Maltese from Hell? Bitch put the little stinker in a crate, I bet, where he spends half his time anyway, locked in and whining to a helpless suicidal four year old.
Cruella de Filler and Kyle find themselves in the boutique owned by Kyle's stylist. Her name is Nony and she looks like the pink haired niece of Harry Caray. I think that if the old Cubs announcer were still alive he could sum up this franchise pretty well, don't you?
"Booze, Broads and Bullshit. If you've got all that, what else do you need?"
Kyle jokingly suggests that Stretch wear hot pants, Stretch makes a comment about starting to not trust her and then holds up an old Moschino looking dress with hand prints all over it.
"I don't know. Should I wear something so cheap and tacky?"
Gee, that's a good question, Stretch. Let's ask a professional.
"It could be, it might be. It is! A home run!"
Kimmie the Shut-In and Ad are also out shopping on this fine spring day. I regret to inform you that their salesgirls aren't as frisky or animated as Nony.
"Hey. I'm Sydney. This is Michelle. We'll be your acquiescent apathetic passive agressive salesgirls today."
Did you read those cutesy attempts at humorous digs at their customers? The notes that say, "Be nice, then leave," and "mean people suck?" Is there anything more annoying than spending your hard earned money at a boutique that treats you like an inconvenience? It's the mid-westerner in me, this I know. Still, when I go shopping I like the experience to be a pleasant one. I don't think it's too much to ask for the fine salespeople at yard sales and Goodwill to be attentive and not rude.
These sunshine state lassies are used to wearing color. It's a real drag to schlep your ass to the East Coast and be expected to wear black every damn day like all those sedate and somber New Yorkers. Ad isn't having it! She must put her foot down!
And go with dusky onyx instead
What size are those pants- quadruple 0? I couldn't fit those over my head, let alone over both legs! Please tell me that she's Snooki-sized so I don't feel so bad. She has Snooki taste, that's for sure. Now I know who to blame for Kimmie's cougar dress. Ad saw her in it and made her buy it because it was perfect for her. Not right, Ad. NOT RIGHT. Could Kimmie give off a more desperate vibe? She's almost a perfect recipe for the lonely middle aged woman.
Just add Giorgio perfume, alcohol and Benjamin Braddock.
I found it especially hilarious that Ad told her to get that dress after Kim explained that she could relate to her because she's "all about family." Okay, sure. A leopard print totally screams that you are a family gal. Maybe. If your family is full of Kardashians or Giudices or Hiltons.....never mind. Shut my mouth, it's perfect!
Besides, as much as I joke, Ad hasn't given me any reason to believe that she isn't all about her family. I haven't seen her do anything but take care of others. She could pull her facial skin so far back that a hat would render her deaf, and I'd still like her. Even if it got so bad that a mohawk was her only hairstyle option, I still couldn't shit on her. Here's why.
She isn't Camille!
Kidding. Sorta.
She gets a phone call while she's shopping and it isn't good news. Her uncle, her mother's brother, has died. She goes a little catatonic. Her face is in shock, and you can see the grief struggling to break out of it's frozen shell. Still, you can also see the wheels turning and her mind going into caretaker mode. Her first thoughts are of her mother, and all I can think is that it sucks balls that she had to get the news while on camera. I feel terrible for her,
but when your grief shows up as a dent in your temple, it's time to rethink the botox.
I feel a different kind of sadness for Kyle. She's still at Nony's shopping with that Blair Witch stick figure that passes for a human being. I hate to see how Stretch's size double zero figure makes Kyle self conscious about her 2/4. She tells us that a size four is HUGE by Beverly Hills standards.
Yeah, but fitting into Karen Carpenter's clothes doesn't make you pretty, now does it?
I really wish that genetic researchers would stop trying to cross groupers with humans. There comes a time when it's best to cut your losses.
Good news!
I now know what it's like to get felt up by Mauricio!
And where he aims the money shot
I think that Kyle's boobs are real too, unlike a certain poo filled fibber over in Malibu. Last week they resembled nothing more than brown lunch bags filled to smoothness with chocolate pudding. We are spared those visuals this week, so I had to give you a pleasant reminder. Ain't I nice?
IBAssy is off the wagon again. She sure drinks a lot for someone who never drinks. I hope she wore two pairs of depends to dinner tonight and got those patio cushions Scotch guarded.
Bollinger and bile are a bitch to get out of cotton canvas.
Cameel is having a nice outdoor meal celebrating everyone's upcoming trip to The Big Apple. You heard right. She's taking all these people, plus the nannies and her proctologist, even Nick's wife Tricia. THAT should be a laugh riot.I'd rather take a meth-less Carnival cruise with Randy and Evi Quaid. Heck, throw in no power for three days too. I'd still have more fun.
Ad calls and tells her that she can't go because like most of us, she has more fun things to do, like bury her uncle. Cameel's fusses and coos over her grief, leading me to believe that this is her go-to friend, other than that suck-up Dierdre or D.D. or whatever her name is, and why not? Ad's the least threatening.
"You can't come? That's okay. There's still plenty of people for me to feel superior to."
As they sat down, she made improper flirty comments about Nick, jokingly in front of his wife, of course, all while snidely commenting to the camera, "If they only knew." The vibe at the table at this point reminds me of the feeling you get when you read an Agatha Christie book and suddenly realise exactly who is about to be murdered.
You can wield the poison...
..and you think up the ludicrous plot line.
The exotic location is already provided! Instead of the Nile or a snowed-in passenger train, we get Manhattan and a tiny penthouse bathroom. We get poo smears and a deadly dirty sanchez in lieu of a waxed moustache. Or we can send her to a hostel in Slovakia. I'm cool with either. Plus, these people have suffered enough by being around Camille. Let someone else pick up the slack. Someone with a leather apron and a healthy blood lust.
Someday. MY blood lust will just have to wait until then because the assembled party discusses how weird things have been lately, and how Mercury is retrograde which I guess is a really bad thing for assholes Virgos. Cam is a Virgo? Kill me now because so am I. There are variables though, right? She must have her Venus in a really crabby Cancer and her Uranus in Crapricorn. Let's not forget that there are two sides of every coin. For example, Tamra is a Virgo, and so is Jeana.
I have absolutely no idea what sign Lisa was born under, but I'm sure it's a fabulous rosy one. Did you know that her nickname is 'Pinky?' No? Well, here's her ass again. Oh, my. It's pretty fly, for a white girl.
I covet big butts and I cannot lie!
She's hauling her hiney over to Kyle's for a meeting with a hypnotist. We're going to see first hand how the power of suggestion can grab hold of a gal and take one of her attention grabbing behaviours and make it go away! Or erase her fear of flying, I guess.
They joke around and the doorbell rings. Kyle flies out to the foyer to answer it and Lisa pretends not to know the guy, saying that he's probably a salesman, some guy selling vacuum cleaners, or Amway, or encyclopedias. Well, if it's lots of books with big words in them, he's at the wrong house.
He must be looking for Paris!
Poor Miss Hilton. She's the butt of so many jokes, almost as many as a Lohan. Oh, fuck that. She gets to see Mauricio at Thanksgiving and Christmas and the 4th of July. She can go to hell.
Lisa tries to talk to the guy before he gets down to business, joking that she wants Kyle to quack like a duck when the seatbelt announcement comes on the plane's PA system, but Kyle wisely doesn't let her. Shoot. I wish I had known about this ahead of time. I would have Mr. Hypnotist guy hold up a nice 8x10 of yours truly, making way for the new Mrs. Umansky.
At the count of three you will vacate the premises and take those brats with you.
After they're all nice and sleepy, he tells them to raise their hands, and that it represents bad feelings or fears or negative habits or how losers with no real marketable skills manage to make money off of bored wealthy women. I'm sure it accomplished something, but I know what I would have said.
"Who here thinks Twunty should boink Mauricio?"
I know how we can rid Kyle of her fear of flying!
Just make her smack herself in the face a few times.
Ta-dah! Out like a light. Or she could do what everyone else does, take drugs and down a couple of Jager bombs. It's not rocket science, folks.
Neither is a flight from L.A. to NYC. Something tells me that Camille managed to make it seem like it was. I can just hear it now. "Oh, no! KELSEY NOT BEING HERE is so exhausting! Almost as tough as not planning the trip or not carrying any luggage!"
They get met at the apartment door by Kelsey's assistant, Xochitl. That's an unusual name. I looked it up. It means 'flower-like' in Aztec. Wait a minute! Camille is a flower! I wonder what it means in Aztec? I'll have to guess since I couldn't find it in an English to Aztec translator.
I'm gonna go with 'she who poos.'
All ten thousand of her entourage enter the place at once and before you can say, "oops, I dropped a dookie down my pants," Camille proceed to prance around the apartment, complimenting herself on her extraordinary taste in decor. What, no trip to the bathroom? Nope, she's too busy 'ooo-ing' and 'ahh-ing' over the floor to ceiling windows that she loves so much. What a coincidence!
cuz I'd like to throw her out of one!
"I know this sounds obnoxious, BUT." Yeah, Cameel, if those words come out of your mouth, the forecast is foul with a 100% chance of detestable. You see, the apartment is too small FOR THEM at 3,500 square feet. She doesn't know how she will bear to spend an entire year in such a confined space. She's used to roaming the hills of Malibu with the other predatory creatures, free and unfettered.
Kelsey comes home. Ah, yes, Kelsey. He hugs his children warmly, I'll give him that.
And he plays with them too.
Wow, Daddy! You actually TOUCH us and stuff!
He's clearly exhausted but makes time for the kids. I have no idea if he is acting or if he's doing it because the cameras are there, but he seems genuine. Cameel watches this from a distance, looking like a stranger in her own home. She lamely tries to join in and I wonder, how can a human being not be present and in the moment around her kids? I joke about hating the rugrats but the truth is that I love to play with them in small doses. I think it would be perfectly lovely to visit them in a zoo, for example. That could be fun, but why even have them if you don't want to know them? Get a cat, for chrissakes, or in Cameel's case a Mr. Hankey doll.
When he first walked in the door, Cameel hugged him and said how his new sideburns were going to make sex like doing it with a new person. Nice. Did she even say, "I love you?" She sure did with Nick in Vegas. No wonder Kelsey looks so sad.
I bet you didn't know she leaked when you met her, huh, pal?
He sounds really sad when he describes how he's been with her for thirteen years and knows her in a way that others don't. Really. You can't be referring to the biblical sense because I saw those pictures and so did half of the planet with a wireless network. Poor guy. He's says it hasn't been easy. marriage isn't a fairy tale, you know.
But you can still live happily ever after!
He doesn't look sad now! I bet Cameel is on her tenth down-low paddle surfing pro by the time you read this, so don't feel bad for her either. Stupid celebrities. Who cares anyway?
Not me. I'm too busy trying to figure out how an arm as long and skinny as Stretch's stays attached to it's owner. I bet if you remove her clothes, you'll find a patchwork of skin sewn on and giant kilt pins connecting atrophied cartilage.
Tim Burton movies, here I come!
All the ladies are convening at the airport and for some reason we have to watch them all check in. It's a big old yawn except for the fact that Lisa knows Richard Branson. This explains all the promo shots of Virgin Atlantic, and the reason we're watching all the bland employees with the big ass logo behind them. Spare us, Bravo. I'm still flying Southwest. If you fly me out to hide Cameel's stool softener, I might reconsider. Or to see Kelsey, THE GREATEST ACK-TOR IN THE WORLD in lady's underwear, as Lisa puts it. I bet his titties are real.
Cameel's mommy lives all the way across the country in Jersey. Gee, why is that? Wouldn't she want to be nearer to her precious doting daughter? How can she stand being separated from her golden child by an entire continent?
I'm thinking pretty easily.
Camille managed to fit in five minutes with her at a nail salon. Mama Maureen looks thrilled. I don't think I've seen a more awkward mother- daughter scene in my life. It made teen mom Farrah and her psycho mother look like something out of Little Women.
My Cameel hate is becoming so relentless that I am reading things into the smallest details. For instance, when Cameel tells the nail tech that she's painting her claws so much faster than the girl she sees in California, I sat here and assumed that she told the gal to hurry so she wouldn't have to spend any more time with her Mom than necessary. For my part, I hope the poor lady was out of there in under ten minutes. Her daughter's self absorption knows no bounds.
Maureen has cancer. She has a gene mutation that gave her breast or ovarian cancer, and she passed it on to Cameel. That's the good news. The bad news is that while Mom is going through chemo and recovery, her daughter sits there and complains about the POSSIBILTY of having it, not to mention how tiring her life is walking from tarmac to limo, to elevator, to bed. She can thank her 'blondetourage' for sparing her certain death by picking up the slack.
If it weren't for them, I'd be kinda maybe almost sick or something.
Do you buy her claim that she and her mother are close? If that's a sign of a warm relationship, then I'm Michelle Duggar. Anyone want a uterus the size of the Hindenberg? I'm taking bids.
Positive energy, people. Maureen says that you should always surround yourself with positive people, good energy and all that Stuart Smalley bullshit. It works for her, and we have a live Cameel as proof. Is it working for the other ladies back in LAX? Uh, not so much.
Kyle asks why Cameel isn't with them at the airport and when Stretch tells her that she's already in New York, Kim thinks it's because of Kyle. For a family gal, the idea that Camille might be spending time with her husband seems to have escaped her.
Husband? You mean baby batter dispenser, right?
That's okay. Here's one of my favorite things about these housewife shows.
Shoe porn!
If I were a thief, those are the stores I'd hit. When I think of the pairs I have put in the trash or loaned out and never seen again, I want to cry! Roger Vivier cantilevered heels that Bunny found for me. Dozens of them from the 70s were discovered languishing in a warehouse. And then there's my patent leather Charles Jourdan wedges. I get a pang every time I recall throwing them out instead of getting the rip in the heel fixed. Yes, I have a problem. I am working the steps and have acknowledged my helplessness.
The fact that Cameel isn't around allows the women to discuss the Kyle 'YOU ARE NOTHING WITHOUT KELSEY' misunderstanding. I don't know about you, but I don't have a problem with it, even though we all know she didn't say it. Let Camille believe it. Maybe it'll ignite that Hay-zeus Complex of hers and she'll loan a decent house to a needy Latino ass kisser from East L.A.
Kyle tries to explain to Lisa that she meant nothing of the sort, in that defensive/aggressive manner of hers and I notice out of the corner of my eye that Strecth and Kimmie are bonding over their love of giant purses.
"I had one just like it. This is where the formaldehyde vials go, and here's where I keep my extra cash, just in case Bratz dolls get into the diamond biz."
Kyle seems to be stressing this situation, mostly because Mauricio! does business with the Grammers. I wouldn't worry too much, my dear. I'm sure that Kelsey'll still get his real estate through him. He's got some houses to buy and sell, after all. LOLOLOLOL! Divorce, such a lark, and a real economy booster, just ask any family lawyer. They don't pay for their Beemers with those DUI retainers, trust me.
Lisa seems exasperated by the situation. I agree. This is a woman that creates fun, she doesn't need drama to slow her down. Here, here! Sort it out, Madame Umansky! This is a vacation. Lisa wants to be entertained!
And she isn't talking about your shitty British accent.
If only she could shut Kimmie up. Her limited social experience is screwing up any hope for this to end in a good way, not to take away Cameel's inherent evil, of course. But all Kim knows is that she had a friend when she was famous who felt insecure because of all the attention she wasn't getting when Kim was around. Therefore, Cameel is insecure because Kelsey is famous. No, Cameel is insecure because her bowel movements have more personality than she does, and everybody knows it.
Kyle picks up on the insecurity explanation, and takes it one further by saying that Cameel is a clear case of projecting her insecurities onto others. True, all true.
Just be glad it isn't poo.
Let me know when these poop jokes get old, so I can do twice as many, and if you are asking yourself if I got hit in my smart mouth a lot as a child, the answer would be yes.
Our vignette this week involves Kyle entering the cockpit in an effort to curb her aviophobia. She notices right away that the steering wheel is missing, having been replaced by a joystick.
Those, she's not afraid of.
Ah, Mauricio. I'd like to tour his cockpit. I'd like to push on his joy stick. I could perform a spectacular take-off and bring her in for a perfect landing. Just ask God, I mean Mr. McSlore. He's my co-pilot.
I have no idea what he talks about with his friends when I'm not around. He may bring up the fact that his credit card goes missing right around this time of year, and the even more curious fact that we seem to get a heck of a lot of jewelry catalogues for two people that don't have the names Harry or Winston. Or, he could talk about how he misses me, like Ken does.
The men are all having dinner in their wives absence, Ad having gone to her uncle's funeral, I assume. Ken asks if they miss their wives and Mauricio pipes up with, "But it's only been a couple hours!"
That's all I need, baby. That's all I need.
Ken says he feels like his right arm has been cut off since he's been married 29 years, longer than all the other guys combined. Russell wants to know the secret to their wedded bliss and Ken tells him never to go to bed angry.
or avoid sleeping with psychopaths in the first place
Russell immediately says that he won't do that anymore. That's it, done! No more getting under the covers as he stews over the thousands his wife just spent on Gucci t-shirts and tea parties in outer space. God, I am way too sober right now.
Mauricio!
I know that I'm never going to have him. I'm not delusional. I'll settle for a guided tour of one of his million dollar houses or the contents of his nose hair trimmer. A used Q-tip? An old razor? I'm not picky.
Say what you want about his theory that it's better to be happy than be right when it comes to your spouse, but this dinner conclusively proves the other thing he says. Women's conversations are way juicier and more interesting. Clearly, he's a girl's guy, AND sweet, AND smart since he knows that women truly do make life worth living. Look at his profile. He's practically a God. At the very least he should be on the side of a coin.
And inside of my groin.
Okay, I'll shut up. Horny ladies on the far side of forty aren't as fascinating as they were in the days of Gloria Swanson or Mae West. They aren't as fascinating as men at any age, at least according to Paul. He wants to get Mauricio out more, perhaps drag him into club hopping with super macho extra fun plastic surgeons like himself.
And then we'll go play at my wife's casino! oh.
We all know that he adores his wife, and we all know that he's no more or less selfish than your average guy's guy. No matter, I'd rather hang out with the ladies in the limo. Until Kyle tries out her Noo Yawk accent. Woman, get another acting gig already! Call Scorsese or get your agent to line up a small part in the next Merchant Ivory bodice ripping weep-a-thon. Clearly, you need to emote. Get it out already.
She IS a drama queen. She squeaks and squeals and milks the melodrama out of every possible situation. Look at her reaction to a Champagne cork being popped by Stretch-
I'm sorry! I thought Taylor's face exploded again!
They all toast to friendship, and in Kyle's case, mending one. The girls laugh so we're all good, right? Don't be silly! Girls may be more fun in some ways but they can be even more infuriating. Some get jealous and devious in direct proportion to the way some guys get horny and hungry for chicken wings and beer. These are the so-called mean girls that Camille says that she stays away from, even though she sees one in the mirror every single day.
But first, the hotel. it's amazing. It has aquariums and expensive burnished wood. I'm sure that Cameel raked it in back in the day when she brought her tricks here. Things are looking good too when she and Kyle are the first to hug upon entering the lobby. Cameel takes them up to her suite and gives them all t-shirts from Kelsey's play. Wow, what a nice gesture! I bet they cost a shitload of nothing!
Kyle wastes no time in taking her aside to clear the air. They go off to a private room where Cameel rushes to hide her Fleet bottles and tells Nick to stop sneezing under the bed. She shouldn't have bothered since Kyle is single minded in her pursuit of detente.
She tries to pierce that hollow armor of Cameel's, tries to make her understand that she would never insult her or imply that she was nothing without Kelsey. What kind of person does that? What kind of person indeed. How about the person you are talking to at this very moment, Kyle? How about the person that stubbornly insists that the voices inside of her head came out of your mouth.
"I heard you say it, Kyle. I distinctly heard you say 'thrbbb frrrbb pfft.'"
"Camille! You farted!"
Lisa and Kim eavesdrop as Stretch tells them to let her know if they need a referee.
"Lisa, I'm scared. That scarecrow from the airport followed us here and keeps talking to me."
"Bitch, get real. I'm the Wicked Tits of the West."
This bit isn't a shocker. Kyle called her several times to discuss the matter but Cameel never responded. Why is that? Was she busy with colonics? Was there a porn star reunion in Nick's pants? No? What was it then? I'm dying to know. She never got the calls? You don't say! Well, someone should get fired for this heinous oversight!
"Um, I never answer the phone. Do you expect me to do 40% more of nothing than you bitches? Do you want me to die, Kyle? Is that it?!"
Regardless of whether she got those messages or not, she could have called Kyle and she didn't. That pretty much makes her the bitch of the situation, so she goes to Plan B- she's shy! She's so painfully shy that she rubbed her cootch on a mascot on Sacramento hardwood! Her debilitating retiring nature made her pose naked and do porn! She freezes so badly in social situations that she could barely muster the courage to discuss her breasts with men she only vaguely knew in Vegas! Gosh, I feel really bad now.
Kyle tells her not to be insecure, nobody's out to get her, even if she does feel like an outsider. She tells her that everyone loves her and Cameel agrees to let it go, even as she protests her insecurity. Once again, everything's fine, right?
Nothing to look at here, folks.
It's time for the gals to freshen up before meeting in the lobby for dinner. God knows that even I feel dirty after that load of crap. The only one that doesn't leave is Stretch. She wants to hang out with Cam, text Ad to see how she's doing and then tell her every damn thing that Kyle said about her from LAX to LaGuardia.
"Oh, look. A text from Ad. She said that Kyle said on the playground last week that you have poopy pants!"
The editors show Stretch looking all, "can you believe it?' and Camille reacting with, "I'ma cut a bitch!" but no dialogue. What a crock of shit! Bravo, quit with this fuckery! You were there, what did she say?
20 minutes later they meet in the lobby with Cameel bitching about Kyle calling her insecure. What was Stretch doing while this was happening?
Do dee doo de doo, don't mind me..it's not like I told her Kyle said she was an insecure loser or anything.
Lisa calls it right out of the gate, asking her what happened between the truce a few minutes ago and this renewed anger at dinner. Oh, it wasn't Stretch being a bitch, no, Camille just had time to think about it some more and decided she WAS insecure about being called insecure. Yeah. I was thinking it too. Camille's a moron.
with really weird forehead wrinkles.
What the..? Why do her surprise lines start just below her hairline? Did she start to get gassy during the botox injections and the doctor was all, 'fuck it, I can't finish. Get her out of here.'
Maybe she's insecure about her wrinkles? Either way, she tells Kyle that it was a dig. Yeah, well, you're ugly and at least Kyle doesn't smell like the waste bin at an old folks home. Kyle actually said that the only way what she said could be interpreted as a dig would be if Camevil was paranoid about it in the first place, which she is. then Kyle just looks shocked.
"Camille, are you wearing Eau de Toilet again?"
Okay. I will admit that it's going to be hard to top the amount of poo jokes I made this week. But, come on! When that bitch starts acting like she's having a blast baiting Kyle's anger and laughing at her clear distress and frustration, I just can't help myself. I will not stop until people are throwing caca in bags and lighting it on fire on every red carpet she gets invited to for being married to THE GREATEST ACK-TOR IN THE WORLD.
She keeps insisting that Kyle said shit that she didn't with intentions that she may or may not have had, completely proving that fact that she is insecure and worse than nothing without her husband. She's a cipher of boobs and body parts. Nobody's home. This vehicle is being driven by lunatics that have taken over the asylum. I can't say that I blame Kyle for her rage, or for her calling her a fucking liar.
I win! I didn't throw up when you farted.
Yeah, Kyle lost her cool and then Cameel claimed that she won because she remained in control. I'm sorry, who treats emotional confrontations like a competition? Who claims victory when your so-called opponent calls you a fucking liar to your face? I say Kyle wins for saying everything that most of us were thinking.Well, almost everything.
Congrats! You win a lifetime of loneliness and people who pretend to like you!
Poor Kimmie looks shell-shocked. That's alright. She'll come to her sister's defense next week, and get threatened with violence by a woman who wouldn't stand a chance against one of the Olsen twins.
Keep smirking, crumb bum. I hear Russell's trading you in for TWO twenty year olds.
Love and Kisses,
Twunty McSlore
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