Speaking of angry bitches, Gretch is swinging by some rundown stable to visit Lauri Waring Peterson, of all people. No, they aren’t friends, and yes it’s still weird that Lauri gave Shady Slade the boots before Gretch came along. It’s also weird that only Lauri’s chin moves when she talks. I don’t even think she blinks. Anyway, Gretch is here to confer with her not-friend about Vic, of course, who she can’t stand because she’s such a hypocrite. Lauri seizes the opportunity to let slip that she’s known ALLLLLLL about Vic’s “cheating issues” for 12 long years of uninterrupted dalliances with men and women alike. Oh yes, she knows “where all the bones are buried”. She also knows that Donn2 is not Vic’s first playmate with dental issues. This makes Gretch even madder, so Lauri turns it up to 11 with the news that her friendship with Vic died after Vic spread defamatory information about George’s family after George’s former mother-in-law called and told her a bunch of lies. Gretch, Officer Truthsome, is not going to rest idle with this information. She is going to confront Vic, and it won’t be pretty.
So now everyone is packing for the trip. Heather is packing all black to go with her black upholstered bed frame and sheets, and isn’t too sure about the strippers even though Dr. Terry has given her his own Magic Terry show before, and she laughed. Lydia has Mr. Lydia advising and he thinks just one pair of shoes will do but she’s worried what will happen when she loses one of the pair in the gutter of Puerto Vallarta. It seems Lydia has never been to a bachelorette party, which does not surprise me. She also doesn’t want to see strippers because between Mr. Lydia, Thing 1 and Thing 2, and a male dog, she sees enough penii. She tells Mr. Lydia that she thinks she’s going to come back a woman after this trip, and he cringes in alarm as Neil Diamond starts to croon. Gretch, as you might expect, is packing multiple suitcases full of sex toys and cheezy junk. Such a big dork that Gretch. Tammy’s all in on it because as she tells Gretch, she wants naked wasted, baby. And if the surprise is they are going somewhere cold she’s staying in the room, so there.
At the airport, Gretch is worried TSA is going to be alarmed by the excessive amount of penile-related paraphernalia she has in her suitcases and phone her in as someone illegally importing crap from China to Mexico via the OC. But she needn’t worry, because Vic’s got a bag full of penis-themed shit too, plus a Miss America-style sash. Tammy shows up, they hand her the bikini, and WOO HOO we’re going to Puerto Vallarta! Puerto Vallarta, like Lake Havasu and Costa Rica, Mexico, is “Vic’s playground”. I wonder if Vic has gotten a sticker for the back of Donn2’s Toyota Corolla that says “Vic’s Playground” with the male, balding and overweight version of mudflap girl silhouettes.
So: they land in Mexico, load up into a combo limo/pickup truck, and Vic can’t wait to get to her playground. She is going to get ripped and WOO HOO and drag them all to a dive bar with donkeys. And do you know what they do with donkeys in Mexico? I found out what they do with donkeys in Mexico from a friend who shared the wrong, but equally frightening, definition of “donkey punch” with me on a girl trip of our own last year, the same day Whitney Houston died, in fact. “I’ll do a lot of things but I won’t do a donkey,” announces Tammy, who has clearly been talking to some of the same people. Anyway, someone pulls out a pair of rainbow penis lollipops and things are getting nasty. Lydia is apoplectic; aren’t these “middle-aged women” supposed to be pillars of the community? Respected? Classy? Lydia, I think you are in the wrong car, and I know you are on the wrong television show. Vic says that when you are in Mexico you are to have fun and “act like an idiot”. She will not disappoint.
The ladies arrive at the hotel and have a spare hour to reapply the spackle and load the girls into a selection of high-low dresses, apparently the boob-medallion tunic of Season 8, and head out to the fancy art gallery where Heather has them having dinner. Vic’s so not psyched because all she wants to do is drink all weekend and this is not a woo hoo kind of place. Tammy doesn’t recognize anything on the menu and they don’t even have chips and salsa. Things are super boring so Lydia starts a quickfire game of questions for Tammy. Eddie has nice abs, likes both boxers and briefs, and any sexual position. Who wants to know this stuff? Not me. Not you either, I bet.
Tammy can’t eat what she ordered and Gretch is scared of Mexican shrimp. Heather is all fancypants offended by their boorish behavior, and this is before Vic starts whining about her need to whoop and her want to skip the next day’s tour. “SO DON’T GO,” sneers Gretch, fangs bared. I expect Vic to react with the Kelly Bensimon gummy bear grimace of horror, but instead we get something of a blank stare which is such an FU to Gretch. You can feel her blood start to boil, much like my dad used to experience when he stood near the microwave. “What’s next?” asks Tammy. “A yeast infection?” Oh you’ll be wishing what’s coming can be treated with Monistat, girl.
Dinner ends and while Gretch and Heather are in the bathroom, Vic sneaks Tammy and Puberty Lydia off to the donkey dive bar where she’s going to do ALLLLLL the things Lauri says she does with men, women, and asses. They trot along the cobblestones and Lydia buys them all matching light-up Minnie Mouse headbands before smashing her cell phone into a million teeny pieces. Oops! Which means the texts Gretch and Heather are furiously firing off as they seethe in the back of the limotruck are fizzing off into the ether. Heather cannot believe she left her kids for the weekend for this. Gretch can’t believe she hasn’t yet told anyone all the krap she heard from Lauri, so it’s time to spill. She wants to “unleash the wrath of furry.” I really, really want to see what happens when the wrath of Furry is unleashed, but we’ll have to wait for next week.
Coming up: Gretch takes on Puberty Lydia, of all people, before releasing the hounds on Vic. And there are some fat, crazy male strippers in Mexico, I tell you. Adios, gatos del gatito!
Written by:
Elizabeth Spilotro
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