You guys, I’m a little disappointed in last night’s episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey, even though it was fairly entertaining. I really wanted to see some part of the bar brawl that lead to the lawsuit that’s currently pending against Teresa, but Bravo pretended like it didn’t happen at all and just showed them eating hibachi instead.
I know that Bravo probably couldn’t show the footage because of the ongoing legal drama, but I was hopeful that they’d be as tasteless as ever and do it anyway. My hopes were dashed, so let’s talk about what actually did happen instead. Because, I mean, we have to talk about something.
We started back where we left off, in the aftermath of Kathy and Teresa’s beachside fight about nothing. Kathy looked like something awful had just happened right in front of her, Jacqueline and her husband lamented the state of the cast (and then took an inexplicable piggyback ride wherein Chris grabbed her boobs) and Juicy Joe searched everywhere for his glasses because they were totally like $200, dude. (Just wait until he hears about the $25,000 glasses on tonight’s episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. He’s gonna be so jealous!) Teresa, for her part, changed into a completely different stripper outfit and twirled for everyone to see, apparently forgetting that she had just gotten in a serious argument with her cousin.
The Manzo kids, thankfully, saw the hilarity in all of this and tried to track the Giudices by thinking like them, and in doing so, they figured out exactly where they were. Juicy was rubbing his face with his swim trunks, and when he saw them lurking around outside, he helped them spy on Teresa while she pooped. I wish I were making that up, or that it were a joke of some kind, but it happened. At this point, making jokes about the Giudices doesn’t even making any sense, because they’ll always top me with whatever they actually end up doing or saying.
With that in mind, this is a thing that also happened: Nonjuicy and Juicy finally (almost) did what we all thought they should do to settle their differences all along by unzipping their pants and threatening to whip it out and measure it. (Just do it, dudes. Not on camera, though. Please not on camera. Do it at home, measure it, find out whose is bigger and move the hell on.) Back at the hotel, Caroline continued to protest the stupidity happening around her by staying in bed to nurse an idiocy migraine. That’s sorta similar to a tension headache, right?
And then, suddenly, Nonjuicy popped out of a bathroom, completely naked, while trying to hump his wife (who didn’t seem to be a willing participant in any of this) and I went completely blind for a few moments. Even though his bits and pieces were blurred, the image was still like a spike to my unsuspecting and unprotected frontal lobe, and all I saw was a white light. I might have seen the face of Satan himself. It certainly wasn’t the face of God. That’s for sure.
Once Nonjuicy put his clothes on, the boys went out to the golf course so that Juicy could demonstrate to all of us that being so ‘roided up that you can’t put your arms down makes it really difficult to hit a golf ball effectively. The rest of his golf buddies weren’t any more skilled, which gave Juicy an opportunity to complain about the “poison” that was inside his body because Teresa hadn’t had sex with him that morning and that was some kind of crime against humanity. Their kids are going to need years of therapy, you guys. YEARS.
Meanwhile, the girls (plus Roommate Greg, natch) went to a traditional Dominican market and proceded to be the Ugly Americans that we all knew they were by snickering at the local foodstuffs and the relative poverty only a short distance from their shiny, fancy resort. You guys, there were, like, roosters. Just…roosters! Hanging out. And headless chickens for sale! (Wouldn’t it have been more traumatizing if they had still had their heads attached?) And speaking of heads, cow heads! And maybe a pig head. Lots of head issues, really. But that didn’t stop Teresa from buying some sauces and spices, with which she never did a damn thing. Teresa is just emotionally compelled to spend money when she leaves the house. It’s compulsive.
Everyone reconvened for dinner (hibachi, naturally, because hibachi is the first thing you think of when you think of Dominican food), and the Manzo clan had decided to hold a trivia contest to name the Punta Princess. Mostly I was distracted by how often they said “punta,” which sounds a lot like the Spanish word for “whore,” the irony of which I couldn’t resist. While I was busy giggling like a 12-year-old while they called each other Whore Princesses, the Housewives proved what we all probably assumed: none of them can name the vice president, even with time to think about their answer. Melissa eventually named the previous vice president, an answer for which she was praised.
The next thing we knew, it was time for Melissa to prepare for her first live performance, during which I spent the first few minutes trying to figure out if they had all come back from the DR yet or not. Did I get distracted by something shiny during their 15-second flight home? What happened? Anyway, they were back and the Manzo brothers were throwing a launch event for a brand of bottled water they’re promoting (Side note: is BLK water actually black inside the bottle? Why am I so unclear on everything tonight?), at which Melissa would have her premiere public performance.
Before we knew it, the party was set to start. While the likes of Ashley milled around outside, Melissa was backstage in her leather pants and chain-supported bra top, praying to Jesus and her daddy to prevent her from making an utter fool of herself in front of everyone. It seemed to me that if Jesus was really concerned with making sure Melissa didn’t make a fool of herself, he would have already prevented her from becoming a Real Housewives of New Jersey cast member with a second-rate single to push, but hey, that’s just my theory.
And actually, I’ve seen much more terrible things in my life. Sure, it wasn’t great, but it was a hell of a lot better from whatever it is that LuAnn keeps insisting on doing in public, and, I mean, have you heard Gretchen’s single? If you haven’t…don’t. Pretend I didn’t say that. No other Housewives song will ever be “Tardy for the Party,” but in the grand scheme of Housewifery, it could have been so, so much worse. Mostly because she lip-synced the entire thing, which gave her plenty of opportunity not to bomb while she danced around like Britney used to before she went nuts and shaved her head and hit that car with an umbrella.
In fact, the thing that upset me most about this entire show was the commercial that aired during this part of the episode for the surely awful Footloose remake that Hollywood insists on foisting upon us without our consent. Is it too late to shelve that entire project and pretend like they never shot it? Because that would be preferable to making me misidentify it as the original on late-night cable menus for the rest of my life. How disappointing is that going to be in 15 years? “Look, Footloose is on!! Do you remember that movie? Let’s watch it. Oh. Wait. That’s not Kevin Bacon. I don’t think this is the right one. Eww, it’s the remake. Whatever, let’s just go to bed.”
Anyway, back to the episode. It was basically over, except that we were forced to watch Teresa and Kathy “make amends,” a truce which will surely last all of a week, until the season finale comes about. Or at the most, two weeks until the reunion rolls into town to make them all fight over the same issues all over again. We’ve almost made it to the end of the season, you guys. We’ve can do this. Only one more week.
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