On last night's beautiful grease fire, our wives were throwing parties while throwing themselves into the unknown future. Marriages, meatballs, and Marysol. That's the Miami way.
OK, so two of those things are related. Our beloved bee sting victim Marysol finally, finally got married to her thirteen-year-old Swiss exchange student boyfriend Phillipe, in no more fitting place than the top of some blasted mountain, while Marysol was wrapped in a Slanket Deluxe. Yes, they finally pulled the trigger on this latest horrible gun shot, standing in the snow, Marysol saying "Ohhh, it's cold," in the middle of the service. And I'm sorry, I'm not Emily Post or Nostradamus or whoever, but if you're stopping mid-vow to chitter about the weather, well... that marriage is a keeper! No, no. Clearly it's not. It's the opposite of a keeper. It's a trapper? (Rememmmber?) It's just a sad quickie divorce waiting to happen, essentially. I mean Marysol's toad-woman mother wasn't even there to give them her toad-people's ceremonial wedding tongue licking! You can't have a sanctified toad-human wedding without that. Sigh. We're all made of sighs about this sad thing.
Next we move to Alexia, the Cuban princess who loves nothing more than an attractive young man. But enough about her son! (Hi jail, it's Richard. I'm back.) But yes, Alexia and her husband were doing some sort of modeling shoot for whatever business they have, I think it's a male escort service for the blind, and they were shooting a sexy calendar or something, so Alexia brought in a model friend of hers who she knows from somewhere, that her husband hates because he's so beautiful, and she yelled "Pose! Pose!" And then she totally squealed all about this model for like the next half hour. She was all "This is a perk of my job, getting to know celebrities." Hm? What's that? Who celebrities? This low-rent Miami-based model celebrity? No celebrity. No, no. I mean, folks, I look like Yeardley Smith with a beard, so I'm not one to comment on a young man's looks, but this guy... I mean, I wouldn't kick him out of my dream bed where I'll never sleep, but he's no Daniel Craig. Haha, no kidding, Daniel Craig is a monster. He's no Jesse McCartney! Too far? OK, whatever. Alls I'm saying is the guy's handsome, but there's a reason he's a 30-something-year-old model who's still based in Miami. Some dazzingly handsome celebrity he is not, Alexia. But if she wants to pretend he is while she gets her pearls in a pickle about it, fine. It's Miami, not the real world. Let everyone have their sad sour fantasy in Miami. Update: Commenters are telling me that this guy is some sort of telenovela star. So he is a celebrity to some. Mostly your abuela.
Speaking of, the old woman who's on this show, not Marysol's mother but the dead snow witch or whatever that Lea thing is, went to a verrryyyyy important affair. You see, for years now Lea has been doing motivational speaking, seeing as how she's a really successful person who has so much emotional damage that it's seeping out of her pores and sometimes she has to pull over to the side of some horrid bog-ridden Everglades road and pull her turtleneck up and scream and scream and scream and put cigarettes out on her inner-thigh. That's the spectacular emotional shape that Lea's in, so she's a perfect person to motivationally speak to young girls about how to do their thing. Lea claimed she's been doing this forever, this motivational speaking business, but... I don't know. I don't know, man! I'm beginning to suspect someone might have lied on this show once. Because from the looks of her speech to a bunch of girls who were about to leave foster care and embark on their adventure into the real world, a very real and scary position that many teens are in right now, Lea didn't seem that polished. No, in fact, she seemed to have never done this before. At one point she was like "OK, let's see if some of you can make yourself count for something." Hahahaha. Gooood motivational speaking technique, you ancient genius. Terrific work. "You're all worthless pieces of garbage to me, but let's see if my words can't at least make some of you worthy of being alive. I mean, if it were up to me you'd all be put on a train and sent to the gas showers, but it's not up to me, so apparently you're gonna have to live in the world that I own by virtue of being a stupid old white lady. So let's see if I can't ennoble one of your worthless existences just a little." Ace work, Lea. Seriously ace. She then proceeded to say nonsense platitudes that the girls repeated with no hint of enthusiasm, and Lea smiled that tight worried crease of hers and you could tell that she knew it wasn't going well, but what can you do at that point? A seasoned professional motivational speaker like Lea knows that the only thing to do in that case is say "Ohhhh girls, I'd love to chat, but we're on a schedule!" and point to your watch and then run away so you don't have to actually speak to any of the coloreds or scary-whites. So that's what she did! She pretended she had to leave because of some strict preordained schedule, and the girls all sat there like "Why was this idiot 80-year-old just flapping her worthless gums at us for ten minutes?" And, like so many questions in their difficult lives, no one had an answer for them.
Anyway. Cristy the horrid was participating in some sort of fashion show that she'd begged to be in but pretended like she was asked, so she was strutting around in hideous tiny outfits, bragging. That's Cristy in her natural element, baby! Cristy was waiting for Alexia to show up, but secretly hoping she'd be kneed with a crowbar Jeff Gillooly style so Cristy could have all the attention, and then, sure enough! Alexia was in a car accident and couldn't make it to the show. So Cristy was the only Housewife who walked the sad afternoon catwalk that no one in the entire world cared about. A victory for Cristy! For horrible, horrible Cristy. She The Secret'd that shit for herself. She put a drawing of a dead or injured Alexia on her wall and she willed that shit into existence every day. Everyone clap for Cristy, because that's what she wants. Nobody Loves Cristy, a new sitcom starting this fall on CBS. And by CBS I mean Cristy's Basement Sadness, when she sits in the basement with her Box of Dreams (just old headshots from the '80s) and does monologues from made-for-TV movies that she thinks she should have been cast in. Cristy's great, guys!
OK, enough being mean about terrible detestable Cristy. Let's talk about... all of them! Larsa organized some sort of weird cooking class that she wanted everyone to participate in. OK, whatever. These Housewives are always doing these weird fake activities so they have something to do. It was very embarrassing for everyone because Domenick Lombardozzi's older, uglier brother was doing the cooking tutorial, and he was just this big sweaty heap of a man who had no business doing anything but standing vaguely by a nightclub door looking menacing. And yet there he was, telling the girls about "We're gonna make an eggplant stack. Basically what this is, is eggplant, stacked." Slow down, Emeril! I can't keep up with my cooking notes. OK. Egg... plant.... shack? Was it eggplant shack? "No, no, I know this is very complicated. Eggplant stack. It's eggplant, stacked." Sta...cked. OK. I think I've got it. Phew! Thank god I'm taking these lessons! Food is hard!
But yeah, he was a total buffoon that nobody liked (Cristy, I just met your future husssband!!) and at one point Adriana spoke to him in Italian — he was supposed to be an Italian cooking expert — and he got alllll flustered and defensive because he doesn't actually speak Italian. "What? What? Huh? What'd she say? Huh? What? What'd she say? Huh? I'm Italian American. Huh? What? What'd she say?" and Adriana smirked and said "I was talking about your balls. They are bigger than a Cuban's." Which.... I don't know. There has been such an inordinately large amount of penis and ball euphemisms on the Housewives franchise and I'm just so tired of it. These women seriously need to stop talking about male genitalia, or any genitalia frankly, because they have trash mouths and some of us don't want the private parts we hold so sexily dear to be tainted (haaa!! taint!) by their terrible trash words. Stop it, everyone. Stop it right now. You're gross. Deal with it.
Yes, so the Italian chef was horribly embarrassed, which was sad but necessary, and then the ladies pretend-made food and sat down to eat it. This was a terrible meal eaten by terrible people, made terribler by the fact that Adriana, smarting over a weird phone call from her ex, decided to bring up the whole Cristy charity event fiasco. Nooo Adriana! You remember what I'm talking about, right? How Cristy showed up to one of Lea's charity events — can I just say that Cristy, CRISTY, showing up to any sort of event hosted by Lea, LEA, is like Satan showing up to Cthulu's orgy party and being like "Who wanna fuck?" It's gross and horrifying, is what I'm saying, because they're both devil monsters — and didn't pay for one her guests and Lea was upset or something. Well, yeah, whatever, it's nonsense, but Adriana chose to bring up said nonsense at the fake Italian lumpch and everyone was like "Gullllllp" and then Adriana ran away, because I guess all she wanted to do was start shit and then not finish shit, which left Lea and Cristy to flap it out, and there is no light or noise or feeling worse than watching those two demons move their mouths at each other. Cristy, oddly, was pretty cool, calm, and collected about the whole thing, while Lea just old lady embarrassed herself by saying "In my day, in the 1880s, a young woman used to... oop... uhh... gnuff... I've pooped myself. From oldness." No one cared, it was dumb.
I feel like Adriana was just trying to start shit for no reason. And while she did, literally, start shit, by which I mean Lea pooping her medical bloomers, she didn't really start some season-defining clustermess that would guarantee these heinous hose beasts a second season. I'm sorry to be hard on this show, but seriously. What is this? I'm just a human man, just Robin Bartlett with a beard. Bravo, you can't ask me to watch this every week. I will die. I will absolutely — What? What's that? Next week is the finale? Ohhh! Oh my! And what's it about? Oh, still the same stupid fight and... and... hm? Oh. Alexia's son, the model one. Oh. Hm. That's... Hm. Interesting. I'll be sure to...
Hello warden, my old friend.