Back on the east coast, Stassi has a job to do. Somehow Bravo entrusted her to be the liaison between this show and their new series, Beach House, so she must pretend that it’s totally organic for her and all of her friends to attend some clambake on the beach with the cast of a show I’ve already promised myself that I will not get sucked in by. (That said, watching anything resembling the news these days is like watching a f*cking horror show, so I am trying to make peace with the fact that I will inevitably watch every single episode of Beach House and then hate myself completely.) In any event, not one of those California girls knows what a clambake is and they are unable to decipher the mystery of it all just by looking at the compound word so Stassi Googles it and explains what they’re all in for and she is patently unamused when Scheana announces that she doesn’t eat clams. “Be you, just like a little less of it,” Stassi instructs Scheana and Scheana responds by cold-clocking Stassi across the face causing her teeth to fly out of her mouth and land in the pool because she also enjoys bloody things, just like her best friend, Stassi. Okay, fine – that didn’t happen. But it really should have.
There’s no shellfish of any kind at the NASCAR event, but there are semi-trucks Jax deems “sexy” and a driver who is willing to scrawl his autograph across the flatiron Sandoval brought with him to the race. I suppose I could yammer away right now about how bizarre it is that this guy is so into his flatiron, but I’m not going to do that for two reasons. One, I love and value my own flatiron more than I love and value most people. And two, who has the strength to make fun of Sandoval when Jax exists and walks around like a Neanderthal who flunked the beginning stages of evolution? The guy is repulsive. He speaks about his girlfriend’s body like it’s something he owns. He volunteers for her to flash strangers. And he seriously looks like every orifice of his body smells like sticky sulfur. Please, editors – take us back to Montauk! I’d much prefer to watch Stassi attempt to get laid by discussing the merits of a noose versus a butcher knife than watch Jax do f*cking anything.
Also: I’m going to fully skip over the part where Sandoval and Ariana tongue one another like they’re Lhasa Apsos who just swallowed some Molly in front of her brother because I like Ariana and I need to save my strength for whatever is coming next at this clambake.
And here we are on the beach with a brand new class of Bravolebrities. Most of them are very blonde and two of them are twins and all of them appear vaguely normal, but I’m sure that last part will change once the glare of the cameras infiltrate their souls. Stassi is impressed, though. The guys are cute and she says they’re dressed well and I think that just means her eyes have yet to fully process the shirt one of them is wearing that’s festooned with green and pink palm trees. Even more than the relative classiness of this event – what with its temporarily sober participants and the white lines covering the tables – the thing that’s befuddling our Vanderpumpers the most is that these New Yorkers actually have real jobs. They leave the beach and head back to the city each week to work hard and such a concept is perplexing to Scheana because besides working at SUR and getting married while wearing a microphone, she has never done anything. Who knew a clambake would turn into such a teachable moment?
It’s a harsh transition going from the magic-hour lighting of the beach to the dust of Sonoma and it’s made all the more ferociously terrible that we return to an RV that now has a clogged toilet. That toilet gets fixed on camera while Sandoval, Schwartz, and Jax sing a ditty about saving all the poop for later. It terrifies me that they’re harmonizing because you just know that they’ve sung this song before and I think we should all take this scene as a cautionary tale, one whose moral is that one must never allow Jax to ever use a bathroom you might need at some point.
Back on the beach and away from all things sewer-adjacent, some guy named Carl is rhapsodizing about the gorgeousness of Stassi’s eyes and that moment makes her feel a whole lot happier than when she’s asked if she’s single and has to reveal that she’s in the throes of a very recent breakup. Listen, I have some problems with Stassi because of how psychotic she sometimes acts in the name of cardio-friendship, but I feel for her here. Breakups suck – and they really suck when you know full well that the person you have to move on from is a truly good person whom you love very much. I get it. And I hope Stassi finds some happiness and I also hope that happiness will cause her to stop keeping a running tally about the behavior of those around her because you just know she’s been doing that sh*t since the sixth grade and she’s gotta be exhausted by now. I’m exhausted just watching it.
Katie is making it her mission to help her friend move on from her heartbreak and she suggests that Stassi make a move on one of the guys currently sucking a lobster out of its shell. Her choices are Carl, some guy who works with teeth, and Kyle, an entrepreneur who is blandly cute the way every entrepreneur is blandly cute at first sight. It’s not that Katie wants Stassi to sleep with anyone, but she does want her to get her confidence back by giving an over-the-pants handjob, something every guy I know loves.
And now it’s time for Lala to make her reappearance after flaking on Sonoma. She didn’t have time to give Ariana a real reason for standing her up, but she did find the time to unfollow her on Instagram. Now she is walking into SUR and she’s wearing all black and she’s there to talk to Lisa after she finishes referring to herself in the third person. See, Lala explains that she chose to turn off her phone and not speak to anyone because “that’s what Lala does when Lala doesn’t want to do something.” (For anyone interested, when Nell writes about such bullsh*t, Nell’s heart races so quickly that she can feel it exploding in her brain.) Now that Lala has gotten herself out of what she calls “shutdown mode,” she is there to explain to Lisa that it’s hurting her feelings that people she called fat are screaming that she’s a homewrecker across her place of employment. She also explains that the reason she tells so many lies is so nobody will ever know the actual true identity of the person she’s banging. I’d like to suggest that one way to keep your business to yourself is not to go on a reality show, but I suppose another way to go about it is to spread stories and body parts and then threaten to quit midseason in a manner you pretend is in any way profound, but Lisa manages to talk her out of quitting for the moment so, as Lala would probably say, “Lala is back to working at SUR until her man sends a private jet to pick her up!” Looks like we’re not quite finished with Lala, my friends.
Back in Montauk, the Vanderpumpers get their first glimpse at the beach house Bravo rented for the cast of their newest show, the house they are pretending they’re paying for themselves. It’s a great house – I’m a fan of any place that has a gazebo – and the gorgeousness of the surroundings almost cancel out the rampant douche factor of Kyle announcing to his buddy that they really need to make sure “the fun meter stays sky-high” before he gulps some sort of fruity liquid from a blender. I’m guessing that this moment right here fully illustrates the person Kyle has decided he should be while he’s slumming it on basic cable, but I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong before. He might very well turn out to be way more of an assh*le than he appears right now.
The pool party is in full swing and Stassi is wearing a swimsuit that appears to be made from a turtleneck. She’s pleased to hear that Kyle thinks she’s beautiful and she’s in the mood for a little bit of attention so she hops in the hot tub and the others clear out so she can get herself a piece of ass. Katie is all for this hookup. Kyle looks like he might have some money and, for once, she thinks it might serve Stassi well to ask herself, “What would Lala do in this situation?” Well, Katie, Lala would not be wearing a turtleneck – or a top of any kind – and the handjob would probably not occur over the guy’s clothing and she would likely scream out her own name when things start to get really good, so I’m going to hope for Stassi’s sake that she never ever takes this advice. I’m also going to hope that she gets out of that hot tub without allowing this guy to so much as see the outline of a nipple because he doesn’t remember her name after spending an entire evening with her and he compares her appearance to Steve Jobs and he announces that they have a ton in common since they’re both blonde.
Sometimes it really is just better to sleep alone. But nobody ask Lala if she agrees with me, okay? And maybe also don’t ask her if she is willing to finally admit that she is the cause of her own suffering because when someone lies to herself just as often as she lies to everyone else, you’ll never walk away with a real answer.
Nell Kalter teaches Film and Media at a school in New York. She is the author of the books THAT YEAR and STUDENT, both available on amazon.com in paperback and for your Kindle. Also be sure to check out her website at nellkalter.com. Her twitter is @nell_kalter.