Recrap Tuesday: London Calling

Our Kelly, Who art in Soho, Caftan be Thy name; Thy Cutrondom come, Thy guest list will be done, or an Intern shall be sent to Heaven. That's right, this week I have the almighty privilege of recapping Kell on Earth for you, as Co-Blogger Chris was feeling a bit under the weather last night. Am I mad about it? No! Christ Cutrone no! I'm honored. Because as I've alluded to many a-time on this blog but never explicitly discussed, I love Kelly Cutrone. But you know what I don't love? The look people give me when I tell them that. True, I don't usually stop at "I love Kelly Cutrone." I awkwardly continue, "No but like, I really love Kelly Cutrone. Like, questionably. I want her to be my Wolf Mother," a sentence which if you haven't read her book somewhat sounds like I'm into gay incestuous bestiality. And to clarify, I'm not! I just don't think people understand what a win for planet earth Kelly Cutrone is. And (apparently) it is my mission to tell them. YOU'RE WELCOME. First of all, let me just state for the record that I don't love Kelly Cutrone just because she's an over-the-top bitch. Being outlandishly bitchy doesn't give you a free pass to sit at my lunch table; I don't find it amusing or charming. Omarosa? Olivia Palmero? Sarah Palin? No thank you. Bitches? Yes. Inspiring? No. But Kelly Cutrone is bitchy and inspiring. In fact, it is her bitchiness that's so inspiring in the first place! Because Kelly Cutrone isn't just a bitch for the sake of being a bitch; she's a bitch because she's a fucking badass businesswoman who don't take shit from no one and that is something I can be down with. Not taking shit from people on a daily basis is a hard thing to do, especially if you're female. Not to get all awkwardly serious on a comedy blog, but I think we're programmed to want to be "nice girls" and, unfortunately, in the quest to be labeled a "nice girl" we let people walk all over and take advantage of us. But I say eff that ess! Because I'd rather be called a black haired looser than take shit from anyone. That being said, having the balls to stick up for yourself can sometimes be easier said than done. That's why you need people reminding you not to take shit from anyone. My family's motto is "Don't fuck with a [insert real last name here.]" If I'm ever complaining to my sister or parents about getting dicked over by someone, they just look me in the eyes and say, "Meghan. What is our family motto?" NEVER FUCK WITH A MCBLOGGER! Suddenly I feel empowered to tell a bitch to akrite. And That's why I respect Kelly Cutrone. She just wants the women of our generation to never settle for anything they don't want and to work hard to become a bad mother—shut your mouth! But I'm just talking about Cutrone? Well I can dig it. And frankly, I think the rest of the world should dig it too. Yet I look like the asshole when I say she's my hero. Christ Cutrone. Are the Shaft jokes helping? Probably not. True. All I'm trying to say is I love me some Cutrone and not just because she works in fashion and oh muh gaw she's such a bitch and L0Lz she doesn't wear makeupz!!!!1 Although she is pretty L0Lz. And what I wouldn't give to not have to wear makeup...

BLOKAY, I'm off my soap box now. What happened? What did I write? I blacked out. Let's get to the recrapping, shall we?

So New York Fashion Week is over but don't take that Xanax bottle away yet! London Fashion Week is just about to begin. The gals unwind from Fashion Week by going to People's Revolution local hangout, Sanctuary T, for drinks and end up not talking to each other and checking their email all night. Seriously you guys, Robyn has 1,421 emails. Kelly has like, 700-something. I currently have five. Four are from Twitter and one is from Shop PBS...so there's that.

Before Kelly, Robyn and Emily can zoom off to London for Fashion Week, they have to get through a Greg Alterman/Alternative Apparel press event in what I can only assume was the Hampton's. They kept nondescriptly saying the event was "out of town," but never mentioned what town it was in. This, frankly, was a welcomed change from Real Housewives of New York City where they nonchalantly toss the word "Hampton's" around like Rip Taylor at a confetti convention. The event was basically an outdoor dinner party/schmooze fest. Kelly had her traditional Native American Mingling Headdress on and the party was well attended and an overall success. You know, if you ignore the fact that Intern Elida and Stephanie Vorhees got Sorority-Crush-Party-style-drunk and Elida's friends snuck in, stole booze from the venue and landed themselves (and the event) on Page Six. HAHAHA ohhhhh day drinking in the hot summer sun. You make us do crazy things. Like buy yourself devil horns at Ren Fest, in my case. What? I digress. Kelly and the gang are pretty peeved about the entire situation. I mean, is it too much to ask your employees to "hold your liquor, keep your dress on and get through?" Kelly asks. No, Ms. Cutrone. I think not. (Says the girl who was once so busy the day of a work event she didn't eat anything and got so wasted off two glasses of wine she told Boss #1 the story of how she lost her virginity...God damnit.)

Things don't get much better once back in the office. Stephanie Vorhees still doesn't know her ass from a hole in the ground, the assistants are too busy looking like they've take a shower that week to be productive, nobody knows how to delegate tasks and the printer breaks again. This, however, serve as good bonding time for Andrew M. and Andrew S. who although from different spectrums of the Homo Rainbow are joined in their mutual hatred for these "boxes of plastic that we rely on." MODERN TECHNOLOGY IS SO NOT AVANTE-GARDE, YOU GUYS. Unlike the Eddie Bauer leather belt wrapped around Andrew M.'s neck for a large portion of the episode. Oh and we also learn that Andrew S. has Britney Spears tattoos. Specifically, he has "stronger than yesterday" on one forearm and "now there's nothing but my way," on the other. Which I totally get because I have "If You Have to Cry" on one boob and "Go Outside" on the other.

Unfortunately things get so tense in the office that Robyn and Emily decide it's time to fire Elida for being a dirty, drunken whore. (In so many words.) Kell is kind of bummed about it though because her daughter Ava is "friends" with Elida, which I think means they giggle and eat Swedish fish together. I can do that! I like Swedish fish. And little kids. (HAHAHAHHA...I couldn't even write that with a straight face.) Rob-Rob and Em Dash call Elida up to the showroom and let her know that she's a boozer, a user and a loser, and losers don't work at People's Revolution so TTYN. It was incredibly awkward and only got more awkward when Elida had to go down to the shared workspace to get her shit while everyone just kind of stared at her like "........sucks." I'd feel sorry for her if she didn't look and sound like That Bitch You Went to Jew Camp With. This whole mishigoss puts the fear of god into Stephanie Vorhees that soon she'll be the sad sack of Frederic Fekkai hair product and bold statement jewelry walking out the door, so she decides to beat Robyn and Emily to the punch and essentially fires herself. "Look. I know I'm going to get fired anyway, so I'm going to make a list of everything that needs to get done," she tells Emily. Emily and Robyn high-five, Skinner does a happy dance and Andrew S. slinks around the office singing I'm a Slave 4 U with an honest-to-god boa constrictor wrapped around his young, tan, nubile body. (God. What if?)

The Holy Trinity leaves the next day for London and Andrew M. and Skinner are left to run the show at home—two men down. A task they handle with all the grace and poise of a fat kid ice skating for the first time. Skinner deals with the stress by shoving an entire bakery in her mouth, Andrew M. tightens his neck-belt a few more notches and Andrew S. cries and cries and cries the bronzer right off his face. But like, literally. It causes Skinner to crack her shit up and it's kind of adorable and solidifies the fact that she's my new best friend. Oh you didn't hear, Skinner? Yeah. Wake up bitch, you're my new best friend. Let's go shopping for under-eye concealer and bitch about our jobs. I'm having so much fun already.

The kids decide that there's just too much work to be done and not enough people to do it, so Andrew M. interviews a series of shiny young things to be the new assistant. In the end he goes with a pretty black girl girl with blunt-cut bangs named Virginia, a choice I also would have made, so I can't really blame him when 20 minutes after giving her the job they find her Twitter page a-covered in juicy Bravo secrets. THAT BITCH! Skinner immediately calls her back and lets her know thanks, but no thanks. #Fired #Sucks2Bu #KBAI

On the other side of the pond, Kelly, Robyn and Emily meet up with Kelly's ex-lover and Ava's father, the incredibly Italian and sextatious Ilario Calvo. Me-ow, sister. Aces 10! Kelly and crew are in charge of handling the American press for the House of Holland show at Guildhall Cathedral. It's at this point I immediately forget Stephanie Skinner and Ilario ever existed because I am all about Henry Holland. Because, WOW. "He's like Jimmy Stuart meets Dennis the Menace in a bow tie," Kelly explains. As I said to Helena, "I WANT TO STARE AT HIM FOREVER." And as she said back, "The problem with hugging him is it would mean not looking at him!" Official Fantasy Celebrity Hot Tub Party: Kelly Cutrone, Henry Holland, Mo Rocca, Bob Villa and me. BAM!

DVR BUSTER! Andrew S. has a blind date—his first in six months!—which he prepares for by whitening his teeth, getting a hair cut and going tanning. "People are pale right before they die," Andrew explains, "Healthy people are tan." I can't help but agree with him as I hide my translucently pale skin behind the heavy protection of my coffin door as the television's blinding light rays fill the darkness of my apartment. Hissssssssssss!

Throughout the day, I frequently find myself pondering the same two questions over and over again: 1.) Why am I so awkward? and 2.) Why can't there be just one fashion show where seat crashers don't show up and ruin everything? AM I RIGHT?! Kelly had to lay some serious smack down at the House of Holland show when seat crashers show up and steal some precious American Press real estate. It's empowering. The show itself was Holland-tastic, what with the hot DeGlow lace dresses worn sans bra and black shirts with the words BLUE, GREEN, YELLOW etc. screen-printed in white. Blasting bare nips at the Lord and semantics jokes?! As per my notes: Henry Holland, I want to have all sorts of sex with you.

Back in the office, Andrew M. decides he and Skinner have been working too hard and deserve to head over to Sanctuary T to get a drink with some friends. Skinner, however, is paralyzed with fear that one of the Holy Trinity will call while they're out and she'll miss it and get fired and not be able to pay her rent and all of this will have been for naught and UGHH, Andrew S.! I said I don't want one of your Atavan!!!!1 Andrew M. assures her that if someone calls they'll just say she was at the deli and he had explosive diarrhea and it won't be a big deal. From someone who is actually frequently either at the deli or in the bathroom with explosive diarrhea, I agree, they will be fine. The two scamper off to Sanctuary where they finally have time to unwind and relax. "I was drinking wine, Skinner put on lip gloss―we have made leaps and bounds!" says Andrew.

A job well done and cheerio!