Finally, after months of hectoring, Stassi Schroeder, a onetime reality-television villain, has finished her arc and netted herself a quality man with bad tattoos and a healthy dollop of chest hair. She is now a hero. Or is she?
The engagement goes down at the Hollywood Forever cemetery, well known for its movie nights, under the auspice of shopping for mausoleums together. Stassi wore a pair of Daisy Dukes and a black and white polka-dot pussy-bow blouse, even though Katie told her to wear her “ghost outfit,” which is apparently an outfit that a person likes so much, that is what they will be wearing when they come back as a ghost. I have never heard of this before, but I sort of enjoy the concept. I will not, however, give Katie Maloney, a lethal stinging jellyfish, credit for any idea that I sort of enjoy.
Beau directs them to a bench where there is something resembling an antique-hotel front-desk bell lying on the ground. Stassi thinks that maybe it is a bell that someone can ring in case they have been buried alive, which isn’t a bad guess, because that is the origin for the phrase “dead ringer.” But no, it is a ring, a family heirloom that Beau inherited from his father, and Stassi accepts his proposal in a blur of feigned surprise and laughs because, honestly, she has been manifesting this moment for weeks now.
God, why do straight people make such a big deal out of their first wedding engagement? They immediately post about it on Instagram, and we then see the reaction of all the SUR employees — people that don’t even know the couple — to the news. We also see Stassi call Katie and Lala, who are together waiting to hear the news, and Stassi says to Katie, “This is why you were so mean to me about this,” to which Katie replies, “I am always mean.” Finally! We get it! An admission! Katie, the meanest person on television, finally cops to being mean. This is what I want engraved not just on her headstone but also on mine: “Here lies Brian James Moylan. ‘I am always mean.’ —Katie Maloney-Schwartz, poisonous sea anemone.”
Stassi would like to be the protagonist of this, the “best day of her life,” but she is perhaps the antagonist, and that is because of the way she and the rest of the group treat Kristen, a ventriloquist dummy that can only frown. There is a party at Lisa Vanderpump’s house for Stassi’s friends/co-workers and family immediately following the engagement at the cemetery. Kristen is not invited. Kristen sees the news on Instagram and says, “Where there is an engagement there is an engagement party, and I already know that I’m not invited.” Seriously? Is this how you straight people do it? I don’t really know anyone who has gotten engaged, because all of my friends are sluts, but the party happens immediately? And why do you all need so many parties to affirm your relationships? Brittany is still in such a “I have a man” party mood that you can practically smell the jealousy that Stassi got a better engagement party than she did.
Anyway, from Lisa Vanderpump’s magazine perfume sample of a house, Lala calls Kristen to check in, but really to put her thumb on the bruise. Lala explains that they were going to invite Kristen (there is even a ghost chair at dinner that Ariana is haunted by) but that the fight she got in the night before made it impossible. Kristen says, “Oh, when I asked Beau if we were still friends?” Lala makes out like this is a childish question. However, it’s not really. Both Stassi and Katie told her that they don’t want to be friends with her anymore. Is it too wild to then ask if Stassi’s man is her friend, too? So, Katie and Stassi treat Kristen badly, which makes her ask this question, which is then used as justification to treat her badly some more. The Regina George logic of this is somewhat staggering.
That doesn’t mean we can let Kristen off the hook, though. The next day, Jax and Brittany arrive at her bungalow so that Jax can mow her lawn (he claims to be a yardwork aficionado) while Brittany will sit inside and let her stew in her own miserable juices for the camera. Kristen says she spent most of the last night in emotional distress because she wasn’t invited to the party. It got so bad that she sent the dogs away with her ex?boyfriend Carter. (That is not a punctuation error.)
“They’re my emotional-support animals, and they make me feel better, but I don’t want them to be around because I think I should be playing with them when I’m in my bed crying,” she says. This doesn’t make any sense. If they’re her emotional-support animals, then why aren’t they there when she needs emotional support the most? Also, why would she get emotional-support animals and then feel guilty when she needs their support or has to, like, take care of them? These seem like emotional-burden animals to me?
Neither Kristen, Stassi, nor Beau are invited to the Tom Tom versus SUR baseball game, which is probably for the best. As Tom Schwartz’s wife, Katie has been drafted to play in the game. She says, “It’s not that I never played — it’s that I hate this game, and I don’t like when the ball comes at my face.” Hard agree, Katie. God, I hate when I have to agree with her!
I also agree with DJ James Kennedy coming up to talk to her about his sobriety. He apologizes for all the mean things he’s said about her (most of which were about her size) and says that happened when he was a different person who was drunk, and he’s been sober for a month now and trying to change. Now, James might be trying to make amends, but that step should be much further out than he is now. Secondly, Katie says, “I’ve heard this apology before,” and I don’t blame her. We’ve seen all of this behavior from James, only for him to relapse. I think Katie does the right thing. She forgives him but holds out some skepticism that he has actually changed. His lip service won’t do much, but his actions will, and Katie, though meaner than a rabid dog in an alleyway, is willing to let his actions speak louder than his ego, which blares at (white) Kanye West levels most of the time.
I don’t mind the softball game so much. Yes, it’s entirely manufactured for the show, but at least it seems like Lisa didn’t meddle so much as just let everyone be themselves in the construct of the game. That’s fine. That is classic reality-television production right there. And everyone is themselves. It’s no surprise that both Tom Sandoval and Jax take the game far too seriously and use it as a way to measure their manliness. Same goes for Brett and Max.
There are two surprises. Scheana, apparently, was a softball player throughout high school and has quite an impressive arm, even with those acrylic talons she’s always sporting. Charli is also a rather good player, and she tells us the reason she is so competitive is because she grew up without a dad, then says, “I’m just fucking with you!” I think this Charli could be a good character — they just need to give her something good to work with. We also learn that she recently had pasta (as opposed to “pasta”) for the first time, at Olive Garden, and, honestly, if you’re going to have pasta for the first time, where else would you go?
Raquel, all of the melons in an Edible Arrangement, would like us to believe that she’s a good competitor because she was in the pageant circuit. However, she gets to the plate, scores a decent hit, and then grand-jetés her way to first base like a human version of Dexter’s sister Dee Dee from Dexter’s Laboratory. Regardless, her hit helps SUR win the game 3-2, which means the Toms have to go straight from the field, in their baseball uniforms, to clean the bathrooms at SUR.
They entered, armed with disinfectant and toothbrushes, and put one of those little yellow “Floor Is Slippery” tepees up in front of the entrance so no one would interrupt their scouring. Tom Sandoval immediately bent over a toilet in one of the stalls of the men’s room. Schwartz looked at him, his pert buttock sticking up in the air in his incredibly flattering baseball pants. This was always a favorite of his, the tight pants, the bulge from a protective cup, the high striped socks clinging to triangular calves. Schwartz struggled with the pants and pulled them down so that Sandoval’s cheeks were grinning up at him, framed by the dimples of a jockstrap.
“Stop it,” Sandoval said, swatting his hand away. “I’m trying to get this clean.”
“Sorry, but I think we’re going to have to get it dirty first.”
Without standing up, Sandoval looked behind him and saw Schwartz standing over him, his hard wooden bat in his right hand. Sandoval knew he’d be playing catcher for the second time that day and, as usual, approached this position with gusto.
