Last night's episode of SoCal misery involved, as always, fashion. It involved, as always, drinking in big echoing restaurants. And it involved, like never before!, butt bleeding. Yup.

Before we get to the butt-bleed, let's talk about everything that came before it. That's just how you have to talk about butt-bleed.

Gretchen and Slade are still doing their stupid hula-hoop routine with each other. I don't know why I call it that, a hula-hoop routine, but that's what it feels like. They just keep doing the same motion over and over and over again, expecting us to care so deeply about the big Will They Or Won't They Get Married thing. You know what, guys? If I had all the fucks in the world, just a huge vault full of fucks, sometimes I swim around in the fucks like Scrooge McDuck, Scrooge McFuck they call me, I basically have more fucks than anyone has ever dreamed of, I honestly could not give one fuck about whether you get married. I couldn't spare a single fuck. "Nope, just can't give a fuck about that. It can't be done." I seriously could not give less of a fuck if you idiots get married at this point. You've dragged it out too long, you've lost me, I'm done. Go sit in a ditch for all I care. Actually, please, do. Please do go sit in a ditch and hush up your mouths because there are grownups talking.

Hahahaha, no there aren't. There are no grownups talking. We're still talking about Housewives, after all. But yeah, Gretchen and Slade had some stupid conversation about whether they can get married, because Gretchen doesn't really want to marry into all of Slade's financial bullshit. He's so broke it's not even funny and he has child support to pay and Gretchen says "Though I love him, I'm just not sure I want to be paying for his child." Which I don't know. I'm of two minds on that. I totally understand not wanting to have to pay for some random kid. But if she loves Slade so dearly, that kid probably shouldn't be random? I mean, is that kid random, the child of the man you really want to marry? That doesn't sound like a terribly deep relationship then! "I love him so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with him." "That's great. What's his son like?" "Who? Oh, right, yeah, I dunno. Expensive." The truest love.

And here is a whole section of the recap that the publishing software just, for some reason, completely deleted and is gone forever and I'm really really mad but what can you do. I promise you there were funny jokes about Micah and Peggy and about how she looks like a crab and there was stuff about Vegas and Peggy's gross photo book and Micah's general ninnery. I also called their daughters lots of stupid city names like Detroit and Grozny and Bucharest and Brazzaville. And then I talked some about the Las Vegas dinner where everyone made fun of Alexis and how Micah said he ran seven companies and I made a joke about how Micah isn't aware that Micah Inc., Micah Enterprises, and the East Micah Trading Company (among others) aren't actually real companies. I wish I could just rewrite it but I don't have the energy. I'm sorry. My jokes about Peggy getting run over by an ambulance and breaking her face and having to get a new face at CheapFaces of Newport Beach are just going to have to remain eternal mysteries. The point was essentially that Peggy and Micah are silly and Peggy is a seven-year-old for declaring, on camera, that Tamra and Fake Eddie are her new best friends. Anyway.

Then there was a whole thing about Vicki being sad and crying and talking about how Donn never touches her. And, I don't know, whatever, it's just what it is, that whole story. I feel bad for Vicki. I also don't feel bad for Vicki. That's all there is to say about that. Well, there was more to say, but, again, it got deleted.

This was all happening while Alexis was planning a pre-release luncheon for her dress line, Alexis Couture (she's still confused about what that word means). She decided to have the event at a fancy French restaurant called Pascal and went to meet with Pascal to discuss the menu. He was totally just an actor pretending to be French, because all he knew were food words. All he could say was like brioche, vichyssoise, and foie gras. Totally fake. It worked on Alexis, though. She got very scared by all of these French words and said "I love French food, but I was thinking for more like American French food." "Like croissant sandwiches!" some sad weirdo lady sitting next to her chimed in. Yes, like croissant sandwiches. And French fries and French toast and maybe a pie made of cigarettes and wine. Y'know, French things. The fake chef sighed and agreed. He suggested quail and Alexis frowned. Nope. No quail. Not at Alexi's big event. Not at her classy, fabulous party where the guests will be served heaping bowls of French's mustard and nothing else. There's no quail in the Bellino room, end of story.

The day of the party arrived and the cardboard cutouts of Alexis in the dresses were placed by the entrance (those existed because Alexis wouldn't be modeling the dresses herself, but I guess it was important that she still be seen in the dresses? I don't know, don't try to reason with her) and Alexis was very excited but nervous. Eventually all the girls shuffled in and Alexis was excited for a drama-free party. She sat Gretchen and Tamra at two different tables and she was sure everything would go well. She sent her little gay Dylan (a "pocket gay," Tamra called him, complaining about this new fad of carting around a gay, and hey, I actually agree with Tamra on something) up to the middle of the room and he began the Sue Ellen from Don't Tell Mom-esque fashion show.

"This dress is called 'Sex and the City'," he said, pointing to a dress that no one in New York would ever wear. "And this one is called 'A Walk in the Park'," referring to a long maxi dress that Gretchen, loudly and rudely if not aptly, declared way too formal for a walk in the park. Oh shit. This thing was already a mess. Alexis had encouraged everyone to write honest, constructive criticism on little cards she'd handed out, but the paper was too glossy so the pens couldn't write on it, so even the critical part of her fashion party was a bust. Aw nuts.

"This here is 'The Felcher'," Dylan was murmuring when a phone rang and it was Tamra's and it was a phone call from Vicki. Oh, yeah, Vicki wasn't at the party and everyone, well Alexis and Gretchen, were being all pissy about that. So Tamra's phone rang and it turns out that Vicki was at the hospital because... her butt was bleeding. Yikes. Yup. Butt bleeding. Bleeding from the butt. Not something to take lightly! (And it was real!) Tamra was all freaking out and this made Alexis mad because no one was paying attention to her dresses. ("This here is called 'The Cock Gypsy'," Dylan said about a small piece of satin that fell about an inch above the ladyparts.) So Gretchen got all into it and was like "Don't you think it's ironic that this happens the day of Alexis's fashion show?" Tamra blinked at her and said "She's bleeding from her ass, Gretchen." Gretchen smirked. "I just think it's ironic." Ironic is to Gretchen as couture is to Alexis.

Lynne was at Tamra's table and tried to comfort her by saying "Hey it's a party and here's your champagne. Where's your champagne? It's right here. Now put it in your mouth. Worry when you have to worry, but for now, hey, it's a party, right? Champagne. Here have some of that. Want a cuff? That'll be $150. [Those cost that much, btw.] Who doesn't love a cuff? Cheer up, Tamra. Here I'll drink your champagne for you. Ever seen a dog say hello to you? I have, twice. Ever killed a clown? It's the best, you should try it. Hi, I'm Lynne. Do you remember me? I don't remember me. Where am I? What're these dresses? Am I asleep in the Nordstrom's again?" Tamra was, surprisingly, not terribly comforted by Lynn's words of wisdom. She left the room to talk to Vicki's assistant, in the middle of the fashion show. ("This sassy number is called 'The Art Butt'...") Alexis put her head in her hands and sighed. This fashion party was a total freaking disaster. Just a complete mess. You try to have nice things and Vicki goes and blood-poops all over it.

OK guys. I'm sorry. But this is where we're ending. I'm really upset about losing a huge chunk of this, but what can you do. Talk amongst yourselves and we'll get back on the saddle for next week's finale. Thank sweet god for that. Finale. What a wonderful word.