Thank God for these ridiculous women after this week’s incredibly depressing visit to the OC. We count on this show for absurdity, misguided concepts of glamour, and the occasional lapse of judgment, Mr. Andy! Say what you will about this franchise; I love New York because these broads know how to bring it.
When we left them, Queen B was swanning about in today’s bikini and blasting Mo for her “mania” that was about to abort the Skinnygirl’s effort to casually demonstrate her culinary prowess (another SG cookbook must be forthcoming). Beth excoriates Mo for her sense of entitlement, her self-involvement, her excessive demands, her barked orders. Mo is astounded, and clearly alarmed; is this about that dress she stole from the Bethenny wardrobe? No, it’s not; it’s just about Mo being rude, bitch. SoMo concedes defeat and they sit down to eat a delicious lunch after all. Beth’s over it, because staying mad at Mo is like being mad at a five-year-old. (Having been mad at a five-year-old multiple times a day of late, I get the futility, but I think she’s letting Mo off easy.)
So: Mo. It’s all about Mo, and now she’s going to take the publishing world by storm with a forthcoming memoir about Her Life, and she wants help with a title. Beth immediately attacks; Mo needs an “arc”. She needs resolution and a happy ending to her Mario situation because otherwise she doesn’t have shit to show for herself. Holla is appalled; Mo didn’t ask Beth’s permission to write this book, and if she wants to write a crappy book, who is Beth to intervene? Mo explains that her arc is that she’s a work in progress, and Beth declares that there’s her title. “Work In Progress”? asks Holla. Wasn’t there another book once called “Work In Progress”? It doesn’t mattah, chomps Beth, mouth full of Skinnygirl salad product. It’s a good title, Queen B says so. Radzi feels that whether or not there’s another book by the same name, it doesn’t lend Mo a lot of credibility on life matters to still be a Work In Progress at 58 years old. *58* people! I don’t think Mo has been admitting to being 58 and she’s just been outed! And not an authority on Life at any age.
No, the Authority on Life here is Beth, and Beth only, and Holla resents it. She gets bitchy with Radzi about the way Beth sticks her bony butt into everyone’s business to the point of exclusion of all other butts, which of course Beth overhears so here she comes waddling back (she may weigh 97 pounds but with those duck feet, she waddles). Say it to my face, she hollas at Holla. Well, okay, Holla says: “I think you are a know-it-all.” Yes, says Beth! I know it ALL! And off she storms to the beach to fume with SoMo.
SoMo think Holla is just intimidated because she’s “territorial” about her friendships and feels Beth is invading on her monopolization of Radzi. Or: It could be – possibly – that Beth is an obnoxious know-it-all who isn’t the bag of chips she believes herself to be. Whatever the case, one thing Holla is good at is shaking things off, so she stomps down to the beach, the Skinnygirl tosses her over her shoulder, they pants each other, and everyone goes SUPing.
Best day ever, as it turns out.
Night falls, and they give themselves Pop of Color manicures while evaluating prototype packaging before going out to dinner, SoMo having been staved off from going on the prowl for a few hours. Out they roll to The
Cock CONCH Shack (excuse me! my word!) and although it looks like a bit of a dive, stray dogs and all, it’s just what Dr. Love ordered.
It’s a wild night of drinking, dancing, more drinking, dog petting, hand sanitizing, and man monopolizing as Mo spots
a potential lay her prey, the attractive, surprisingly age-appropriate club owner, and triangulates out Beth and Radzi who were trying to flirt.
The next day, Beth hits the road to New York bright and early, with a nice tan and pleasant memories in her bag. SoMo and Kristen are the first to rise hours later, bleary eyed and, in Mo’s case, in Mo Macrame. Kristen informs Mo that she was very rude the night before trying to steal Beth and Radzi’s man, although what exactly they planned to do with him (share?) isn’t entirely clear. Mo thinks all these bitches are unused to her prioritizing herself and not exclusively focusing on their needs. Also, she thinks the club owner should thank her for rescuing him from those sluts.
Apparently we’re off on a day trip to The Gansevoort, and SoMo are so excited to let it all hang out in public that they hop in Car #1 and leave the slow bitches to Uber. The Gansevoort is glamorous, luxurious, and apparently desperate for publicity because they have given the ‘Wives the penthouse, a full staff, a giant bottle of rose, and a large event tent out on the frigid beach. Let’s be honest, this doesn’t look that fabulous. Having picked the best room in which to leave their bags, SoMo race out to prance and preen on the beach before realizing the latecomers have sat down for lunch and racing back up.
The ‘Wives studiously ignore SoMo before So, inexplicably, throws Mo under the bus for cornering the poor club owner for two hours the night before to the point that he couldn’t leave his own restaurant. No game! Radzi tells Mo that she was “so rude”, which causes Mo to fling back that Radzi is “fucking some 28-year-old”, so there. The Kountess does not approve of Mo lashing out rather than taking responsibility for her obnoxious behavior and basically browbeats her into a grudging apology before taking So aside to apologize for snarking about her. She was just worried. They go sit on the beach a while and Kristen goes swimming.
Back at the house, apparently they are headed to Studio 54 for a hot night at the disco.
I’m totally intrigued by tonight’s fashion, especially So’s; I actually have that dress in navy and wore it to my uncle’s wedding. It’s an unexpectedly ladylike and strange choice for Lady Morgan, no?
Clearly all of us missed a lot, because after ordering what cannot be the night’s first round of dirty martinis, the night takes a sharp left into shitshow central. The Kountess, slurry and sassy, starts repeatedly drooling about how she’s been having “the best fucking time”, earning herself a rebuke from Mo, Arbiter of Grace, that she’s picking up all Holla’s bad fucking habits. Holla gets fucking offended and insists that fuck is a great word that her fucking ladylike mother had no problem with her using, often, so why should Mo fucking care? Lu pipes up that yeah, she wouldn’t want her daughter, the Klassy Victoria, last seen on the internet rolling a fatty, using the F word in Europe around the Kount. “I do believe the Kountess is more than tipsy,” weighs in So. “She’s literally fucked up!”
And then it’s ON, like the corn kernel stuck to Doritos’ lip, because she lets loose with a So Morgan shitstream about dey say dat search society Hong Kong London pwep school certain wevel gwaciousness daughtersh flim flam flamoozlewaddle frick frack fuck and it basically sounds like this:
WHOA, says Holla. What the fuck is this? No time to reflect, because Doritos crumples into a pile of crumbs, shrieking that someone is trying to humiliate her and trying to rip off her mike. O Jesus Christo El Hombre. All the while, So smiles serenely, more than happy to resign as Mayor of Assholia, Lesser Drunken District in favor of Doritos.
Next time: Everybody is kung fu fighting! Holla bounces Mo from the bathroom where she’s holding Doritos’ hair. Lu leaves a hairy naked man in her bed, and makes The Utterance we’ve waited all season for. “Be cool! Don’t be, like uncool.” I ❤️ NY!