I’m feeling two ways about Marysol. When Larsa is rallying the girls and tells them that it is time to work out, Marysol says, “I’m not much of a worker-outer. I would rather starve than lift a weight.” Slap that on a sticker, slap that sticker on your VSCO girl Hydroflask, and then slap that Hydroflask upside the head of someone taking a shirtless selfie on the top of Runyon Canyon. This is what Marysol is so great at. The highlight of the whole episode for me was her sitting in the pool while the rest of the ladies are boxing and giving her half-hearted encouragement. “Punch her in the tit!” she yells at her friend, not because she is choosing violence, but because she is choosing chaos.
Oh wait. Sorry. No. The highlight of the boxing training is coach Gareth Hoernel who doesn’t decide to take his top off while training; he shows up without the shirt on like he just forgot to put one on that day. Honey, this is the kind of training we want to see. All of these other trainers on these shows make me go find their Instagram and then look at the shirtless pictures. Not our Gareth! He’s right there on our screens as half-naked as the day he was born. (And then put into diapers, I guess. I can’t make metaphors right now because my entire brain is locked down fantasizing about Garreth.) Oh, and he also sells title insurance. Vicki Gunvalson should get him on the Coto Team, STAT.
Back to Marysol. Yes, I love when she’s lobbing bitchiness from the sides or her confessionals with her sparkly witch’s goblet full of liquified bats’ brains. What I can’t stand is Marysol everywhere else. She did Nicole D-I-R-T-Y with the stunt she pulled the last episode at dinner, and she does her Christina Aguilera’s “Dirrty” with two Rs the next morning. Larsa comes down for breakfast and starts chatting with Nicole and tells her that “Marysol doesn’t lie.” I think Nicole handled it perfectly and says that she did say some negative things about Larsa but that the spin that Marysol gave it was malicious. She is exactly right.
After Nicole leaves, Larsa talks to Marysol, who doubles down that Nicole called Larsa a hooker and didn’t want to associate with her. It’s this snakey-ness about Marysol that I can’t stand. It’s the “let’s play a game…” delivery. It’s storing up this information and then doling it out with a face twisted up like she just swallowed a whole Nerds Rope. I just want the fun, nice Marysol. The drama will find a way to come out, but she’s forcing it like she’s Kiki trying to push out a three-day store up of caca.
I’m not entirely sure why it drives me crazy when she does it and when Kenya Moore shows up at Marlo’s wig launch with a marching band, I’m like, “YAAAAAASSSSSS,” and snapping my fingers in the air like I’m trying to click invisible castanets. Maybe it’s because Kenya is matching with equals? Maybe because she’s reacting to things that happened on screen? Maybe it’s because, no matter what Kenya does, you don’t feel like she is making things up to make a point and stir up drama. She will show up to lunch with the Cookie Lady, but there was a Cookie Lady to be found. Marysol is the kind of girl who will stare at you across the table and say, “What do you know about a Cookie Lady?” and she’s just misrepresenting something that is totally innocent.
Marysol and Larsa talk about how they don’t know the real Nicole and how she’s wearing so many masks. No. Nicole even copped to it and says, “I thought the OnlyFans thing was gross, but then I checked it out and I got to know you, and now I understand it better.” Nicole isn’t two-faced; she just changed her mind. She went from having a shitty, uninformed opinion to having a good, informed one. It’s like saying, “I hate all Indian food, and I’m never going to ever eat it,” and then trying a Samosa and saying, “Know what? I actually like it.” There’s no harm in growing and evolving as a person, or else my favorite TV show would still be E.R.
The ladies then go shopping at a boutique called Wyld Blue, which would have been Lisa Rinna’s third daughter’s name if she had one. It is run by an ugly hat that was cursed to never leave the Hamptons until it understands the true meaning of fashion and an Australian DJ with the scariest head of hair that isn’t on Chucky. Sorry, I just wanted to rag on these two. Nothing really interesting happens at the store.
Well, there is one thing. Julia brings matching rings for her and Adriana. When the dinner starts to get tense, with Alexia taking her change to turn Dr. Nicole into a punching bag, Julia decides to get on one knee, and friend proposes to Adriana right there in the middle of the restaurant. The old saw about lesbians and U-Hauls is no lie (even though Julia is bisexual). NeNe and Cynthia had a “friend contract.” Julia went straight for swapping vows. It is next level, and I hope they consummated it that night.
Julia gets the MVP of the episode, not only for saving the dinner from becoming Hunting Dr. Nicole: A True Crime Podcast, but for showing everyone how to do Russian vodka shots. Apparently, you hold your breath, swallow the vodka in one swig, blow out through your armpit, and then suck on a pickle or a cucumber or really whatever you have on hand. A radish? That will work. Oreo thins? Sure, in a pinch. A hint of Lime Tostito’s? Ew. No. Never.
Julia makes all of the women do them at various times throughout the day, getting more and more wasted. She tells us that she employed an old Russian remedy where you do a shot of olive oil, and then you will never get drunk. Well, like most remedies, it doesn’t seem to work because by the time they get home after dinner, Julia is hilariously wasted and having the best time in the kitchen. Everyone is a little tipsy and feeling their pickles, as it were, except Larsa, who is filming content in the house’s foyer. Even Marysol gets in on the fun because she’s a great time, when she’s not trying to swallow you whole like a Cuban anaconda. I don’t know about that Marysol, but as Larsa’s ex-friend Kris Jenner would say, I think she’s doing amazing, sweetie.