The Lesbian Question of the Week is “What is a 100-Footer?” Jill says she doesn’t know and jokes it sounds like a Subway sandwich. Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard their jingle, “Five hundred dollar foot-long…” Mikey immediately thinks “penis,” because any measurement of length sends her mind straight into her pants. Well, girls, you’re both wrong. A “100-footer” is a lesbian you can spot from a hundred feet away. If only we could tell which ones are crazypants from that distance.
Tracy mentions the ages-old, “Lesbian or German?” and adds “or Hipster?” to an already difficult game. Nikki, Whitney and Rose offer some dated, stereotypical giveaways: flannel, Birkenstocks, crew cuts, fence-building. Apparently, we’re also all farmers. How did this happen? We need a better publicist.
Nikki and Jill aren’t 100-footers, but they are scaredy cats. They wait anxiously to hear if their wedding planner, Camilla, is mad at them for balking at her original, whopping $9,000 fee. How offensive. What cheap asses. Camilla should run them both over with her solid gold Lamborghini. But she doesn’t. Not in this economy. Camilla leaves the girls a voice message saying she can pare down their reception to seven grand just fine. Jill mouths silently, “I told you!” at Nikki, even though it’s just the answering machine.
Don’t worry, Jill. No one will know, even though there’s a camera crew in your kitchen.
In other vendor news, Mikey has to figure out where to hold LA Fashion Week, now that the studio has given the stage they promised her to someone else. They offer her an “outdoor space” also known as a parking lot. Now the build-out now requires a huge tent that was never in the budget. She has to find a new sponsor to foot the bill. Ed Hardy should just give her the money. It’s the least they can do for douching up West Hollywood.
While Nikki thanks her gardener for charging $200 to water two hedges and a potted basil, and Mikey writes an even bigger check for an empty piece of blacktop, Whitney is taking her show on the road. She’s driving to San Francisco with her friend, Scarlett, for a little out-of-town fun, and to see Sara. Seven hours with nothing to do except talk about chemistry, wonder what girls want, and check the rear view mirror to see if Romi is following them.
Whitney has problems other than the LA drama she’s leaving behind: she’s about to get her period. She tells Scarlett, “I wish there was a pill I could take to put it off for a day.” There is a pill. It’s called The Pill, lesbian.
But I get it. It can be a pain in the ass. Who hasn’t timed at least one vacation around their period? Or had sexy time cut in half by opposite schedules? Whitney brags she doesn’t care. She’s earned her “red wings.” The only thing that makes Whitney back out of a bedroom is the word “relationship.” And blond hair. And soft butches. And hard butches. And glasses. And anyone not wearing a slouchy hat and a feather as an earring.
Meanwhile, Rose is on her way to a lesbian wedding reception with her pops. Natalie has to work that job she hates, and will meet them there later. Rose texts her the address, telling her dad that Natalie is a little lentas. Oh honey. Just because you say it in Spanish, doesn’t mean people won’t know you just called your own girlfriend “slow.” Being insulting in two languages is Rose’s idea of multiculturalism.
On their way to the party, Rose’s dad asks her to make amends with her mom. They haven’t spoken in over six months. Rose asks her father to intervene, which is something he could have done months ago, but if mother is anything like daughter, you can see his dilemma. One person Rose’s mother does talk to regularly is her restraining order-ex, Angel.
Good sense runs in that family.
After checking into their hotel, Scarlett helps Whitney cover up her “sagging vagina” eyes with tons of makeup. Tonight is “Flourish,” the monthly girl party. Scarlett isn’t going because her ex runs the party and she doesn’t want drama. See how that works? Whitney pops her collar, rolls up her sleeves and heads out into the fray. But don’t call her “butch,” not to her face, anyway. She gets offended. Step back, oh, I don’t know, 100 feet?
Stamie has sent Tracy’s homo-resistant mother a Facebook friend request. Fun. Mom doesn’t acknowledge their relationship, but Stamie hopes to be a virtual daughter-in-law. I’m sure Tracy’s mother would love nothing more than to be poked by the woman who’s poking her daughter. Next, Stamie friend requests Tracy’s new step-mom, a “very, very, very young girl.” She’s so young, in fact, she’s younger than Tracy. I didn’t know Tracy’s dad was Keith Richards.
At the wedding reception, Rose looks bored out of her shot-deprived mind. With her dad in tow, she can’t slam vodka or pull girls’ tops up, or do anything Rosetastic. I have to admit, I miss the douchery.
Just as my urge to switch over to Animal Planet is about to win, Rose gets a call from Natalie, who’s having a little meltdown. She’s lost, she’s pissed and she’s actually yelling at Rose. There is a god. Rose doesn’t give a crap if Natalie is having a day from hell. After giving her conflicting driving directions, Rose says, “On your drive over here, f—ing correct yourself, real quick, ’cause your attitude sucks,” with all the compassion of a prison guard.
Just for fun, she adds, “You’re retarded and being super stupid.” It sounds nicer in Spanish, I’m pretty sure. After Natalie finally finds her way to the reception, Heckle and Jeckle have a shouting match in the bathroom of the banquet hall. They emerge and sit in seething silence as people dance around them. Who’s ready to catch that bouquet?