Last night, after watching an exhausting hour of the Bianca

Bitches and Hos (aka America’s Next Top Model), I settled deep into the couch cushions, opened up the laptop and participated in a live blog party with the most rabid (and I say that in the nicest possible way) of the Project Runway fans over at Blogging Project Runway. Thanks for letting me in, and I’ll certainly do it again, even though it made taking any coherent sort of notes impossible.

And. We are off and running, and damn Heidi Klum for being spot on when she said this is the best season yet. We didn’t waste any time with the audition tapes or the freak show of folks who didn’t get in. There was no pre-challenge challenge to narrow the field. There were just new apartments, which, I’m sorry, look exactly like the old apartments. Gotham. Atlas. Cube Farm. What ever. The fourteen move in and the camera does not linger over any of them, but I wonder at the introduction between Jack and Kevin (who would like everyone to know that he is straight before we go any further). Kevin says hi and Jack says hi and they shake hands and seem to hit it off and then Jack charmingly allows as how the two of them will most likely loathe each other before the end of the season. And then he smiles and laughs, charmingly. Or sinisterly. Only time will tell.

In the women’s apartments the two earlies gloat over having squatter’s rights to the closet space and bed choices. It turns out that this is Jillian (in Betty Page mini-culottes) and Carmen (I used to be a model and if you were never a model, you don’t know shit about clothes.) They are joined by a heavily tattooed Sweet P (who used to be a biker chick and also has Evil P tattooed on her other forearm, and who warns us that you never want to meet Evil P. I’ll lay you odds right now that we meet her in all her Shetangi-like glory before the end of episode 3). There is the requisite whack job who comes in and claims a spot for her Sun Salutations. This is Elvira, uh, Elisa, who makes 30-foot tall marionettes which somehow accidentally translated into fashion. Whoo-boy. Is she Angela? Is she Lupe? Is she Vincent?

In the men’s apartment, we have the arrival of a flamboyant little boy with wicked manners and the worst emo haircut in history. It is Christian, and he has worked for Vivienne Westwood and gone to school in London, and is a perfect prat. He is also, he says with a stupid valley girl uptilt at the end of the sentence “Really kinda Fierce?” Hmmph. We’ll just see about that. He says he is thrilled to be sleeping in a bed because he sleeps on the floor at home. Why spend money on furniture when you can spend it on? What did he say? Fabric? OK. I’ll give him that. But if you have a big enough stash, then you can sleep quite comfortably on that. Not that I would know, by any means. I’m just guessing.

There is a handsome fellow named Rami from Israel, and a Jay McCarroll light clone, who, as it turns out, made the salad dress that Erin featured on Dress a Day. Look, I loved it then, and I love it now, and despite the unfortunate resemblance to Jay, I’m loving Chris March. There’s some guy who looks like a watered-down, much shorter Emmett. A stupid hat guy. Several stupid hat guys. Lots and lots of tattoos. None can hold a candle to the Neck of Darkness that was Jeffrey-the-Pinheaded-Shmoo, and for that, too, I am grateful.

Back in the women’s dorm, there are more tattoos and more women. Simone Le Fang. Kit, whose work just floored me. I love her stuff. And I know the perfect place to get the hats to wear with them.  If I don’t own that candy pink Marie Antoinette Pirate Tricorne with the fishnet drape by next Halloween, my name ain’t Miz Shoes. Of course, I’ll need the candy pink, be-ribboned and be-shelled corset, too. But maybe Kit works in pink… Rounding out both genders we have a florist who makes clothes and a lingerie designer who wants to do outerwear, and Victorya, who seems to design a lot of stuff that looks alike.

Heidi Mail! Meet us in Bryant Park. And now you know where that forced song lyric in the title came from. Hey, you want better? You think of better. Champagne, and nibbly things and small talk and Tim and Heidi. Heidi asks the designers if they are enjoying the champagne and they all say yes, and she says good, because the party is over. Tim reminds everyone how in previous seasons, the first challenge has been to make a dress out of junk like groceries or their apartment furnishings, but this year, no. He points across the park to three shabby art festival tents and tells the designers that the tents have what they will work from. Only—FAKE OUT!—it isn’t the tents, it’s what is inside the tents. $50,000 worth of fabrics from Mood. Heels come off, elbows come out and they stampede across the lawn to claim their yardage. Except for Chris, who is a leetle too portly to run. Kevin beats out Kit for the silk plaid. Elisa grabs some silk chiffon. Others are grabbing just anything. By the time Chris makes it to the tents, there is nothing left but (insert evil chuckle) exactly what he wanted. Good, because that was a shitty thing to do, reality show or not. Hah! and Snap! Their ultimate assignment: to make a garment that shows who they are as designers. State your point of view now, or for ever hold your peace.

Back they all schlep to Parsons, but not before Elisa takes her silk chiffon and starts scrubbing it in the grass, rubbing grass stains into the gorgeous fabric. She is wearing Bermuda shorts and high cowboy boots. She claims to be imbuing the fabric with the soul of the grass. Oh. Really. Well. That will either be fabulous or a fabulous atrocity. Score one for the Vincent style of loony. Or would that be Bradley? As they leave, Tim turns and looks at the skeletons of the tents. All that is left is a faux fur pelt, sadly alone. Poignant. And also nasty, which is why it was rightfully left behind to become a nest for rats, or some homeless guy when even the rats don’t want it. They arrive at the workroom. (Oh, workroom, how I’ve missed you and the mannequins. And the industrial machines and cutting tables of correct height and steamers and irons and the BlueFly wall of accessories, which last year was the Macy’s wall of accessories. It looks like a big step up in style this year.)

And now all the crazy comes out. Christian is showing off what he learned in Vivienne Westwood’s attellier, but without the attention to little details like matching the plaid, which he defends as a point of view when Tim questions the wisdom of matching the back seam, but not the sleeves. Christian is putting on the wicketywhack. Elisa is communing with the voices in her head to determine which one has the best ideas for the dress. Christian calls her strange. Miz Shoes calls Christian Mr. Pot, and points out that as such he has very little room to criticize Mrs. Kettle over there, who, having destroyed that yummy silk chiffon is now doing bad things to a bolt of peacock blue…jersey? In a moment of lunacy that makes Vincent, Lupe, Bradley and Angela all look like pillars of sobriety and sanity, Elisa is sitting on the sewing table, legs stuck straight out, and is somehow sewing the dress on herself, rather than on a dress form. What ever. I’m sorry, there Mr. Pot, you may, in fact, have a point. And then, while everyone else is working like made, she announces that she has finished and goes off to take a nap.

Rami is draping. Rami has biceps. No. Really. Rami is built like a brick house and as long as he wears tank tops, the man can do no wrong in my book. I think Tim Gunn may feel the same way, because he says things about Rami’s draping but he’s eyeing Rami’s biceps. And who can blame him? Rami is doing things with a steel grey silk georgette that makes me want to weep. Did I mention that he has really great arms? He does. And Marion and Ricky have stupid hats. I’m thinking that the rule this year is stupid hats, stupid tats and/or stupid hair. Carmen has the same asymmetrical emo cut that Christian does. I miss Laura all of a sudden. Finally it’s time to go home, and many of the designers have much left to do, like put in zippers, or sew up seams, or in the case of Elisa, make a dress that doesn’t suck.

It is morning in the apartment, and we are gifted with the sight of Jack in nothing but his briefs. Miz Shoes has a moment on the couch. Miz Shoes thinks that if Jack will continue to wander around in towels and briefs, Miz Shoes will be very happy. This is infinitely better than Santino in a towel. At Parsons the designers meet their models, send them off for hair and makeup and prep for the runway. There are some big girls this season, by which I mean that they may have eaten more than wheat juice and hot lemon water in the past year. Some of them actually look like solid food has passed their lips and they LIKED it. Elisa “hand measures” her model, by which I mean she estimates the girl’s height and width by hand spans. A hand is the standard by which horses are measured. A hand is four inches. In case you ever need to figure out someone’s height in hands. I am so amazed by this action of Elisa’s that I almost miss her (Elisa) thinking that maybe a column of peacock blue jersey with a tail of shredded, wadded up crap that will unfold and explode down the runway could be a bad idea because maybe the girl won’t be able to walk in it. Tim asks her if she’s sure about this concept and she says that the other times she tried it, it almost worked. Unfortunately, she doesn’t listen to the voice that’s telling her to make it work, she’s listening to the one that is telling her this: Bai Ling wants you to design for personality number 43.

Heidi comes out in a gold mini dress with her golden locks and her legs up to there and looks amazing. Today’s guest judge is Monique Lhuillier. No idea. Had to look her up. And the runway commences. Eliza’s model comes out (wearing a particularly clashing aqua slouch boot…Angela crazy moment) and promptly gets ensnarled in her gown and can barely make it to the end of the catwalk and back without tripping. Chris, who we saw nothing of in the workroom, has made a beautiful, elegant olive green and eggplant gown in something shiny and drapey. Charmeuse? Kevin, who wants you to know, before we go any further, that he is straight, has made a sort of Playboy Bunny/waitress mini-dress out of what looks like a black pinstripe menswear suiting, but with the added kickiness of a metallic ren-fest wench bustier. Meh. Sweet P has the first baby doll dress of the night, in an ivory oversize eyelet lace with burgundy at the neck and hem. Simone has a monochromatic hot mess with an even worse brocade mini shrug. Jillian has made a vibrantly red (perhaps a red sheer over a magenta stretch underlining) party dress with a bubble miniskirt. Christian hauls out his beige, black, white VW ensemble complete with bustle on the skirt. But markedly well-made, I have to say. Victorya sends down a black mini-baby doll with bondage straps across the upper arms that makes me think of something Heidi wore last year. Rami’s steel grey dress is a knockout, and I’d wear it if I could get it. Ricky the lingerie designer also sends down a black baby doll minidress. Ho-freaking-hum with the baby dolls already. Jack sent down a dress that could have walked in anyone’s cruise wear collection, and it is accessorized flawlessly. He used a black and white fabric, cutting it so that the print was an integral point of interest in the design. Oh, there’s a term for that, but it escapes me. He used a clear turquoise either as an edge treatment or as a lining that showed along the seams, I couldn’t tell about the construction, but it was another dress that would sell out if it were put into ready to wear. Marion did some Santino light thing all flowy and drapey and with raggedy swatches of denim. Steven (and who is he again?) did a wonderful, retro new-look sort of pencil skirt and dramatic jacket suit. Black with red accent. For all the color that I saw in the Bryant Park tents, and all the color popping out of their bags of swag, this is a black and red runway show. Carmen made something with genie pants and an Elizabethan vest. I didn’t want nightmares, so I didn’t look too closely. Kit sends out an asymmetrical black and red (plaid?) hottness. And then, there is judging.

Chris, Kevin, Sweet P, Jillian, Jack, Marion, Steve, Carmen and Kit are all safe. Rami, Simone, Ricky, Victorya, Elisa and Christian are the top and bottom three. Simone Le Fang says that she wanted to make a moderne romantic, but Michael says it looked like her model dressed in the dark. And you can’t sew, either. Rami’s silk georgette was called sophisticated and chic. MK pointed out that there was a mother-of-the-bride fleurchon up there on the shoulder, kind of spoiling everything. Ricky, as a designer of lingerie, was called out for doing a stupid baby doll when he could have done something constructed to within an inch of its life. A pageant dress? Oh, Kayne, where are you now? Victorya’s baby doll was also dissed, but Michael admired her use of the arm bindings, and laughed an evil laugh as he allowed as how he knew women who would bleed for fashion, much less not be able to hail a cab.

And then we had Elisa, who explained her point of view thusly: “a sylphlike haiku of a cut like SLLLLLLUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPP and a tail that goes FFWWWWWAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH”. Imagine the appropriate hand gestures, too, please. To which Michael says, “you had me at hello. Color: pretty. Sleeve: pretty. But where to stop? It’s a train wreck.” Dammit, Michael, low puns are MY purview. Christian’s work was found to be innovative (you say innovative, I say derivative. Tomayto. Tomahto.) Rami’s ability to drape with those amazing arms was duly noted as was the fact that he knows his craft.

As the judges discussed the bottom three, Heidi said that Elisa’s dress made her model look like she was (and again I quote, because there is nothing I can add) “pooing fabric”. And finally, Rami wins and Simone is out. Next week looks like a team challenge. And having watched this and ANTM in the same night, I am left to ponder the differences between shit and shinola.

At the Casa de Bitches and Hos, Lisa is talking shit

about the pressure on her to remain in the top spot. We see her practicing in front of ever reflective surface in the house: mirrors, glass doors, the shine of grease on Binaca’s forehead. Honey, you should just worry about remaining in the house, is what I’m saying. Heather is eating at a table with Binaca, where, I am certain you will be shocked to learn, Binaca is engaging in her very favorite game (well, you know, other than torturing kittens, ripping the heads off baby chicks and tearing the wings off of flies) of beating down Heather to her face while pretending to be concerned about Heather’s fragile psyche. Today this takes the form of worrying about when, exactly, Heather will have a complete and total breakdown, and be taken from the house in a straight jacket. My guess would be shortly after Heather finally snaps and pounds the shit out of Binaca. Pounding the shit out of Binaca would leave nothing more than an empty skin, but where would the loss be?

Tyra Mail! tells the girls to get ready to be schooled. Doesn’t say in what, and the usual lame guesses aren’t worth wasting the pixels on writing down. Off they go in their bio-bus and end up at the Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising. There they meet Neal Hamil, the head of Elite Model Management (and one of the Powers That Be that have to live with the winner for a year, and I think that after 8 seasons of winners (and I use the term loosely) like Jaslene the Drag Queen, Noxema and that other one who couldn’t talk to save her life (insert any name here), the Powers That Be have decided to participate a little more closely to prevent another nightmare like (insert any winner’s name here).

So, the hamsters see BennyNinja again, and he tells them that today’s challenge will be to become a muse to a student designer. The designers will use a particularly nasty, mother of the bride, pastel blue polyester dress & jacket and transform it (good luck, says I) into an expression of who they (the models, not the designers) are. The hamsters are teamed up with their designers and we see the designers trying to get a feel for who these vapid clothes hangers really are. Lisa says she likes to show off her legs. Binaca gets some little Asian girl who sees Cleopatra and a boat trip down the Nile. Binaca sees that this is not what she wants, and begins to show the stank face. Chantallobotomy is asked to strike a signature pose and stands with arms akimbo and the same vacuous look she always has. I suppose that a face devoid of expression or intelligence could legitimately be called her signature. Whatevs. Jenah’s designer sees a ballerina. Has the designer ever been to a ballet other than the Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo? Heather’s designer is a cute little guy named Justin and between the two of them there is so much cuteness and dorkiness that I think they should get their own spin off. Neither one can look the other in the eye, probably because Justin is like, two feet shorter than Heather. Heather explains who she is by saying “I’m a dork.” All righty then. When the dresses are done, there will be a fashion show and the girls will have to explain how they inspired their designers.

Backstage, Lisa is practicing her attitude and little speech. “I’m a garden party crasher.” Yeah. Binaca is telling everyone that she’s not worried about a thing, because her pictures just keep getting better and better. Unlike her skank personality, which is starting to really, really annoy me. She’s not as delusional as Darth Jader (but then, who could be?) but she is as big a bitch as pick one: Camille & her signature horse stomp, Yaya and her ego, or Moonique of the crusty undies. Boy, we’ve had some good times together on this show, haven’t we? Memories, sigh. But right now, Binaca is going off on Heather again, saying how she has a pretty face and nothing else.

For the judging, in addition to Neal, we have Ann Shoket, Editor in Chief of 17 magazine. There is a brief montage of the girls variously hating on their designers and dresses, with the occasional squeal of “This is SOOOOOO me!” from Jenah. And we’re off. Bianca comes out and declares herself Cleopatra Jones, and flounces and attitudes her way down the catwalk, daring the judges to not like her or how she’s reinterpreted what her designer told her the look was. She’s a little more Grace Jones than Cleopatra Jones, if you ask me. Heather comes out, looking etheral and then…can’t speak. She chokes big time. She chokes worse than Vinnie Testeverde at the Fiesta Bowl when Penn State cleaned the collective clock of the University of Miami on national television, after the Canes looked like fools wearing cammo and talking shit. GACCCKKK! Calling Dr. Heimlich! But I digress. Heather stands there and we get the dreaded cricket sound track. Not good for Heather. Oh Noes! Ambreal comes down in something that looks like a cross between a crash test dummy and police crime scene tape, with a neon yellow lollipop thing. But that’s OK, because she interviews that she was perfect.

Jenah was a rock star ballerina, which translates to fairy dress from Hot Topics. Lisa blows the talking part as much as Heather or Jaslene, but doesn’t get the cricket edit. She does deliver that inane “garden party crasher” drivel, just not well. Then she goes back stage and cries “No more Top Model for me!” No, no, no. That’s “no soup for you!” Get your pop culture references straight there, missy.

Chantallobotomy comes out in a sort of gauzy Barbie dress, which, actually, is perfect for her, but then she does some crappy, crabby mean-faced stomp down the cat walk and it looks stupid. Salacious D comes out in a real pixie dress, complete (at least in my mind) with wings and is just adorable. And what’s up with her weave? Why is hers still perfect and adorable (even if it looks a little bit like Kelly Osborne?) and poor old Jenah has the rat weave from hell (or Britney Spears) exploding on her head? We’ll never know. But it’s time for Neal and Ann to review the hamsters and pick a winner (who will also get to do a photo shoot for jewelry and take along two frenemies),

Ambreal rushed it and oversold it. Binaca had more attitude than anyone else (shocking) and way too much attitude for the dress. Lisa got derailed while trying to speak and it was her weak moment, unlike Heather, who totally blew up. They were very disappointed that Heather couldn’t sell her ocean dress and called her a blah day at the beach. The winner, the girl with the most sparkle, is Salacious D, who picked Lisa and Binaca to share her prize. At the shoot, Binaca continues to trash talk Heather, and Lisa looks a little rode hard and put up wet for 17 magazine. At least to me.

Back at the house, Lisa and Salacious D make a dive for the showers, completely ignoring the fact that Heather had first dibs. Sort of like in week whatever when Binaca literally walked over Heather to take the phone first. This must happen a lot in the house, because Heather totally looses it, runs in the shower and just screeches at the other two to quit dissing her. Salacious D could care less about this, and naturally, if there is shit being stirred, Binaca has a spoon it. We are saved from seeing more by commercials, where Jaslene is signing autographs and being unintelligible at a Wal-Mart. Ah, nostalgia for Noxema signing autographs at Walgreen’s wafts over me. Is Walgreen’s a step up or a step down from Wal-Mart, do you think?

The next morning, the hamsters get an early wake up call and are hauled off into the middle of the desert in the bio-bus, which, having dropped them, then leaves them stranded with nothing but their wits and the camera crew. Slim pickins’ I say. But from out of the shimmering heat comes a man. Not an interesting man, like maybe, Clint Eastwood in a serape, but the Little Orange Man. Who leads the girls across the salt plains to the bio-bus and today’s shoot. A Model’s Burning Wasteland. Sort of like a Teenage Wasteland, but without Roger Daltry. Or Pete Townsend. Or guitars. Or a point. But with a burning car. Little Orange Man tells the girls to give him, and I quote: “desperation fabulosity”. Lisa tells herself not to over-think things, because then they go wrong. The photographer today is Trevor O’Shawna… the guy who shot the krunking klowns on the roof, where in Darth Jader sort of rocked the shot. Bianca goes first and wears Jay out with her fabulousness. Oh, Jay, please don’t feed that particular fire.

Chantallobotomy is in a baby doll dress that keeps flapping up and she works the frustration with the dress. She also tells us that she craves being in front of the camera like water. I think there’s something missing in that sentence, but I can’t quite put my finger on it…like, maybe, the other half of the simile? Salacious D has to get frustrated before she can get a good shot. Ambreal is told to stop posing. Jenah allows as how her emotions in the photo were real, because she really was hot and miserable. Lisa got all stumpified some how, and didn’t work the garment. And here, I have to say that this season, they actually are trying to teach the girls to model the clothes rather than model themselves. Sort of. And we’re done with this segment.

Back at the house, Heather is all bummed out about her performance this week, so Binaca stirs the turds a little and asks her, Oh, Heather, what’s wrong. Sweet baby Jesus, Heather: STOP TALKING TO BINACA!!!! No good will come of it. No good will EVER come of it. She’s evil. She’s getting in your head. And then Binaca gloats that Heather wasn’t perfect this week. And Ambreal says how everybody’s been babying Heather, and now she’s having to pay for that. And Chantallobotomy says how they are all in the house together, for each other, together, by which she means that she’s there for herself and everybody else should be there for her, too.

Tyra mail announces the week’s judging, and Heather is sure she’ll be sent home, and was that a cobalt blue garden gnome on the table next to the Tyra mail? In the judging room, Miss Jay’s Afro is now bigger than anything Diana Ross ever dared to sport, and I keep seeing Chinese dragons pop up in the background. Then a dragon comes out, and in one of the worst scenes ever on ANTM, Tyra pretends to talk to it as it wags its tail and bats its eyes, and then Tyra shouts with more falseness than her eyelashes, “What you say? We’re GOING TO CHINA!!!!” Much squealing.

Jenah gets her evaluation first, and Nigel and Twiggy are all over her in a good way, and Miss Jay gives his highest approval: she looks like a broke down doll next to a broke down car. Heather is loved by Twiggy, but not by Tyra and Jay. Heather says how she was off this week and the Elite guy says that her talk was directed at him because he was so hard on her, and Tyra explains how to compartmentalize and turn off your soul for the pictures. Salacious D is called pretty, but not striking. Tyra says she took chances, but not enough, she needed to commit to the chances. You know what? My brain hurts just typing this shit. Chantallobotomy is told by Nigel that this is her best photo to date, and Twiggy says yeah, what he said. Ambreal is beautiful but the clothes are lost and she’s got stumpified legs. Binaca looks like she set the car on fire and is challenging the viewer to do something about it. Miss Jay compliments her on showing the dress off well (I didn’t think so, since she was behind the freaking car door). Nigel says Lisa was dramatic, but managed to make herself look squat and short. So. On to the discussions.

Jenah and Heather get love. Neal from Elite gives it up for Salacious D, saying that she’s got the whole package, and that she’s a fun girl that people will want to book her. Chantallobotomy is compared to Cheryl Tiegs (ha. In dreams) and everyone agrees that she’s pretty but not a super star. Ambreal is not special enough. Binaca is rising… to which I say that cream may rise, but shit floats. Lisa gets the harshest critique though. Miss Jay says that she didn’t do so great this week, but she’s still one of his favorites, and Nigel says she’s shrinking and sinking and Neal from Elite says “she isn’t fresh enough”. This makes Tyra mad, and she says something about youth, and Neal says, not youth, freshness. I said she looked rode hard and put up wet. She makes last season’s Renee look positively dewy by comparison.

And the photos go to: Binaca (oh, she’s just going to be insufferable now), Jenah, Salacious D, Chantallobotomy who scrunches up her nose in a sickeningly cutesy way and Heather. Lisa is already crying and she and Ambreal go forward to hear which is doomed. There’s no sexy snot ‘stache, but she ain’t pretty. In any event, Lisa gets to stay and Ambreal is sent home. Just in case we ever forgot that she was a musical theater major, she dances off. I’ll miss her. Next week: Shanghai.

Well, sweeties, is today a great day, or what? We have the newest season of Project Runway beginning tonight, and we are mid-way through this season of America’s Next Top Model… in honor of this momentous occasion, I am discounting my “Got Taste” t-shirts in my cafe press shop. It’s never too early to think about your holiday shopping. Or about my dwindling bank account.

After the thrills and chills of Halloween’s Recap Episode where we saw how quickly Ebony went from Stank Bitch With Attitude to Sunk Bitch Without Hope, and Chantallobotomy gettin’ all up in Binaca’s stank grill, I just don’t know if I can handle tonight’s episode.

Oh, who am I kidding, I live for this. Well, this and the accompanying martinis. So. Without further ado, I present my recap of ANTM: The Girls Work It Out With Tyra. YES! I kid you not, this week the original Miss Thing gets down and dirty with the bitches and the hos and reminds us out here in TeeVee land exactly why she can get away with the crap she does and says to the hamsters every week. It’s because she defines “fierce”. No, really, I’ll wait here while you guys go to your Webster’s and look up the word. See? Right next to the entry is a picture of Miss TyTy on the catwalk. She can stomp it out. She can create the wind in her own hair. She has fire in her eyes, and and and… well, I’m just speechless. She leads the girls across the floor and they are just feeble echoes of a dim reflection of Tyra.

But I digress. Let’s begin at the beginning, with Binaca on the BioBus, explaining that Ebony wasn’t a broke down wannabe, she was just missing her family. Unlike Binaca. In the traditional foreshadowing interview segment, Chantallobotomy tells us that she isn’t concerned about a thing (SHOCK!) that she doesn’t question herself at all (BIG SHOCK) because she knows that she is a natural at this modeling game.

Heather explains that she is doing well in the competition despite not having any natural ability or the first clue because she is a visual artist, and instead of “posing” she is making art with her body. I think Farrah Fawcett did that on the Playboy Network. Of course, with her this involved a lot of paint and a lot of nudity. But still. I’m just sayin’.

Binaca then steps up and hates on Heather. A lot. And to her face. Which, maybe it’s the Ausberger’s or maybe it’s her mental maturity, but Heather just lets it roll off her scary-bony back. Which only infuriates Binaca more, and she asks the other girls why they are so protective of Heather when she’s the competition. Oh, I dunno, and just a wild guess here, but maybe? It’s because she doesn’t talk shit to and about everyone else? And she seems pretty sweet? Unlike, say, BINACA?

And then, the girls end up in a dance studio, wearing fleshy colored unitards and dance shoes. For some skinny bitches, those girls sure look awful dressed like that. Then Tyra! comes in and tells them that she is the teacher for today and she’s going to teach them how to move for music videos and runways. And I have to point out that after a few stomps back and forth across the floor, girlfriend is pretty winded. We do runway stomp with fierce eyes! We flirt with ourselves in the mirrors to learn how to be sexy and coy. Ambreal is choppy and hokey, and allows as how since she isn’t supposed to be there, she really needs to prove herself to Tyra. Good luck with that, Am, since Miss Thing is in front of a mirror.

Next, we work on the “wall slide” which is, apparently, a Very Important piece of munitions in a top model’s arsenal. Who knew? Heather looks a tad possessed, but in a fierce and sexy way (which irks Binaca greatly) and Lisa the Lap Dancer (which we haven’t heard about lately) fails to haul her scrawny ass back up the wall using only her leg muscles. This astounds Tyra, who gives us all a little lecture about how just because you skinny, you ain’t fit. But I’m too busy trying to figure out how a stripper/lap dancer can’t do this particular move in her sleep. I mean, I thought the wall slide was de riguer for strippers/lap dancers. Right up there with the pole twirl. As usual, what do I know…

Then the girls get knee pads, and—SHUT UP!!!—it isn’t that at all. It’s about the sexy/strong tiger crawl. Chantallobotomy does her best, but Tyra says she looks like she’s only running on half a tank. Of what? Bio-diesel? Half-tanked on tequilla? Half a brain cell? Answers are not forthcoming. Binaca is seen as too self-conscious. And then Heather crawls and Binaca tells us that Heather was pure suck on dry toast, and Tyra tell us that Heather was fabulous, and Binaca’s head explodes from jealousy, anger, hatred and just general stank.

And at this point in my notes I say “I’m thinking that Chantallobotomy is heading home this week because she keeps interviewing about how good she’s doing, and how confident she is and how she was BORN TO WIN THIS!!!

Then Sarah comes on and talks about how is she a plus size or is she ain’t and she just doesn’t know anymore. Tyra mail arrives and it is found by Heather. Who stands six feet away from it, like she’s afraid it might explode, and yells for all the other girls to come before she’ll open it. Musicians love models… No kidding. That’s breaking news.

The girls arrive at a theater, and meet Jessy Terrero, a famous (I guess. If you know about those things, which I clearly do not) music video director. Today they will be shooting a music video for a fabulous, international singing sensation. One girl will get a starring role. All the girls will appear, but the “multi-platinum” artiste will get to decide. The “mulit-platinum” artist turns out to be Enrique Iglesias, who, I must admit, is a lot hotter than his dad ever was, and even hotter since he got that mole taken off his face. They are going for a vampire-esqe/Goth girl feel, and in what must be the first time any one of these guest judges ever told the whole truth, Jessy says that after consulting the record company as to what they actually want, the girl chosen to star is

Commercials and we see Jaslene in New York City, unveiling her billboard in Times Square. I hate to say this, but I think I understood what she said. Something about a New York Minute?

Lisa the Lap Dancer…and Heather, because she was just too good to pass up. Binaca head blows up again. This may be my new drinking game. Jenah and Heather stand in a doorway as Enrique walks in. Jenah is supposed to give him the vampire come-hither, and Heather just gets to grab him. Nobody is surprised at how good she does that, or how fierce she looks while she does it. Chantallobotomy opines as to how bad it sucked not to win because she has all this natural talent and stuff. The director says: Chantallobotomy was a stiff. Ambreal (the musical theater major) gets to do a wall slide, and does it totally hootchie, which is exactly what Tyra told them not to do…except in a music video. We will hear more about this later. Lisa’s big scene is to stop Enrique with a leg across the wall, which she (using her talents as a lap dancer) manages to also sort of twine around his waist. Salacious D, Sarah and Binaca are all in a back room, supposed to be giving Enrique the old vampire come-hither, en masse. Sarah is just too freaked out by being the big girl in big-ass open mesh to do anything more than whine about being too big to be mostly naked. To which I say, Sarah, come to Miami and check out how big you can be and still wear ass-floss on the beach. I did that a few years ago, and went back to bikinis, since even though I’m the size of a Mini-Cooper these days, I’m still a LOT smaller than most of the women on the beach. Yep. If you don’t wander into Euro-trash territory over on SoBe, the beaches of Miami can do wonders for a big girl’s self esteem.

They are finally filming the final rave scene and it’s hot and it’s late and it’s hot and nobody has thought to have a caterer on set apparently, because all of a sudden Heather turns whiter than usual, and takes a face plant. The diagnosis is that she hasn’t eaten all day and it’s hot, and it’s late and girl has no stores of body fat to turn to in situations like this (lordy, you could saw a tree down with the points sticking out of her back). She gets some Gator Aid and a lecture and the BioBus back to the Green House. Salacious D makes the astute comment that she doesn’t think that Heather goes out clubbin on high levels of adrenaline too often, and so doesn’t know how to dance all night on empty. Binaca, on the other hand and this will amaze you, takes this opportunity to say that Heather just doesn’t have what it takes to live the model’s life. Which, it goes without saying, she, Binaca, does have…in abundance.

Back at the Casa De Bitches and Hos, the girls are all tucked in their beds, contemplating who will be sent home. Chantallobotomy once more states that she isn’t nervous about judging, because SHE WAS BORN TO DO THIS, and God gave her this face and body for a reason… as an apology for forgetting to install brain cells? Ambreal is nervous because she isn’t even supposed to be there anymore.

Judging. Finally. Jessy Terrero is the guest judge. Miss Jay’s afro is getting scary. Lisa goes first and Nigel tells her that if she could turn out that energy and hotness in a still, she could go far. Big freaking IF, Nigel. Ambreal’s wall slide is dissed as being hootchie, and she even (heaven forbid!) Licked. Her. Lips. The horror. Jessy, though, says he thought she was HOTT. Ha! Salacious D and Sarah were told that Salacious D popped and Sarah looked wicked, except for the part where she looked embarrassed. Nigel tells Sarah that she’s disappearing and she was brought on to be a plus sized model and to, for god’s sake, eat something. Beef up, ho. Don’t be ashamed of the T&A.

Jenah and Heather are called up and their footage reviewed. Jenah was smiling, and vampires don’t smile. She wasn’t evil enough. Evil light. Heather, though, rocked the evil fierceness.  Chantallobotomy was supposed to be checking out Enrique, but instead she was giving the “I’m hot” model pose, and not the “you there, come to Butthead” that she was supposed to be broadcasting. Binaca was too choppy, kissy and stagey, and not fluid.

There is discussion about Sarah losing weight, about Chantallobotomy being too flat and a dissppointment, Binaca being choppy but bad ass. Jenah can’t control the sexy, the camera loves Lisa (and good thing, because none of the rest of us do) and Heather is awkward and coach-able. So. Names are called in this order: Lisa, Heather, Salacious D, Binaca, Ambreal, Jenah. Sarah and Chantallobotomy are the bottom two, and in what must be a first, the foreshadowing and hints were a ploy to throw us off. It is disappearing Sarah who disappears, and Chantallobotomy who gets the second chance. Sarah cries more than any girl ever in any season, and Tyra gives her hugs and comfort. See? If she’d just made a couple of bacon and grilled cheese sammiches, who knows how far she could have gone.

And another week on the couch comes to an end. See you next week, when we play the “Binaca’s head explodes, time to take a shot” game.

A couple of weekends ago, the Number Two Surrogate Daughter came to visit me with her roommate. We went out to dinner and then headed back to the couch and watched “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.” There’s a scene where they stop the bus, climb out and stare into the west, as the road goes to infinity and beyond and the enormity of their journey first hits them. I’ve seen that scene myself, out in New Mexico, and it is a humbling thing to see all that space with no other sign of human existence except for that straight line of tar and gravel.

The image caused the girls to ask how big, exactly, is Australia. So we dug out the old atlas (1974) and looked up Australia’s land mass (comparable to the lower 48) and population distribution (three or four small dots on the South East coast) and traced the line between Sidney and Alice Springs. Then, because I always need to say something, I mentioned that my father had been stationed in the outback during the war. The Roommate took an audible breath and said “cooooooool. did you get to live there?” “Shit. I’m not that old, honey.” And then she said, “I didn’t even know we had men stationed in Australia.” “Uh, yeah. Pacific Theater of Operations? Japan? That whole thing?” And as we looked blankly at each other, the penny dropped for me.

World. War. Two. Not Viet Nam. The Big War. Oooooooh. Cause see? Her pop served in Nam. Yeah, that would be about right, because my FRIENDS went.  Oooooh, cause, like, her Gramps? HE served in WWII. Right? Yes. Your grandpa and my father would be the same age range.

Every now and then I have to get reminded that there is a generation or two behind me. Sigh.

We open on the mansion on the hill, where we meet Ebony, face deep in the refrigerator saying that her personality does not suck. Jenah of the blonde rat weave is standing next to her, all eye-rolling “what evs, babe” and remembering what a totally rude bitch Ebony was back on the Love Boat, before Tyra and the 2 Jays started plotting Miss Thing’s high-fashion ass-whooping.

We cut to Ambreal in the phone booth, talking to her pops, and asking him to pray for her as he gives her the advice to buckle down, work hard and quit looking for a good time all the time. What? How’s she talking to my father when he’s been dead for 3 years? But sweet little thing calls her pop Daddy, and that makes me love her a little more, despite that she’s a musical theater major, and all the MT majors I ever knew were completely insane and insufferable, and not necessarily in that order.

Binaca and Heather are out on the patio, and Heather is whining about having to work on full frontal face. Binaca is surprisingly supportive and only sabotages Heather with bad advice once or twice at the end of the conversation.

At that moment, or at least at the next edit, the doorbell rings and there stands Tyson Beckford, the hottest, most famous male model ever (or so says Tyra, later in the show). I will grant him hott. Very, very hott. And heavily tattooed, but who among us is not? Tyson is at the house to give the girls advice on how to use your beauty and fame to be a spokesperson for important stuff other than hair products and clothes. This is a concept for Chantallobotomy to wrap her itty-bitty mind around. Tyson’s arrival causes Ebony to go running up and down the stairs, squealing and squeaking. It’s actually sort of cute. Heather, with her usual sangfroid, just allows, and I quote “Eye candy. Yumm.”

The girls are told to go into the kitchen, pick some random thing, and sell it sexy. Chantallobotomy felates a lime popsicle. I’m stunned that she would go there. Just stunned. Who would think that a cheerleader would do such a thing? Binaca sells a watering can… it’s wet. It’s realllll wet. Ebony is too flustered standing next to Tyson to do anything more than go guhguhgugh about something or another. Heather rocks a wine glass, saying it’s fingerprint proof, and (as she kissses it provocatively) lipstick proof. For some reason, although we keep hearing about how Aspberger’s prevents eye contact or physical contact, Heather manages to twine herself all over Mr. Beckford, who is happy enough to stand there and take it. Not to be outdone, Ambreal has a mango, and she sells that juicy thang enough that Tyson takes a bite out of it. A big, juicy, perfectly round bite. And Ambreal goes squealing back to the couch, mango in hand, and you just know that she is going to save that fruit in formaldehyde until the day she dies. SQUEEEEEEE.

Tyra Mail tells the girls that they need to have a cause. They speculate blindly and lamely. The cause, they find out at the shoot, will be Mr. Beckford’s personal cause: the I am Africa campaign, and the non-profit Keep A Child Alive, which fights AIDS in Africa. Good one. I’m down with that. For all my jaded scorn over TyTy and her Cycle of Meaning, AIDS is an issue that will always have me digging in my pockets. The girls are broken into 3 teams, and given the executive summary of the organization, a handful of props and thirty minutes in which to develop a 30 second public service commercial. The teams are Ambreal, Heather and Jenah; Lisa, Chantallobotomy and Binaca; and Ebony, Salacious D and Sarah.

Binaca’s team goes first, and Lisa and Chantallobotomy do OK with their “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” ad, but Binaca totally blows her lines. Heather’s group does a thing with signs that reminds me of “Don’t Look Back” and we know how I love all things Bob, so I’m prejudiced toward their ad. I am also a little bit charmed at how they have no idea about sound on a set, and their cardboard signs go banging and clanging as they are dropped. The last team is Ebony’s and they are all the face of AIDS is women, and it’s all about girl power. The woman from Keep A Child Alive is the judge, and she tells them that the first team (hello, BINACA?) got the name of the charity wrong. (Buzzer noise). The second team was a little stiff (well, it did include Jenah and Heather, duh) and the last team incorrectly identified the services offered by the charity. The winner, then is Heather’s team. GO TEAM HEATHER! Prizes? Yes, two team members will get gift baskets from Carol’s Daughter and the third, whose name will be chosen at random from a little basket, will get to shoot an ad for Carol’s Daughter, art directed by Miss Mary J. Blige! More squealing. More good news for Heather, because hers is the randomly chosen name. She heads off to her shoot (and unlike when Lisa the Lap Dancer won a photo shoot, the other girls are all happy for Heather) and meets her photographer, Matthew Ralston, who has a shot of Johnny Depp on his website that just made me swoon a little. Mary J. Blige decides that Miss Heather is a leetle bit white for a cosmetic company that specializes in persons of ethnicity, so Heather gets a spray tan. Heehee. And she looks good a little beige. Ralston gives her some major one-on-one coaching and she impresses him greatly. She also learns how to pose face forward. Neenerneener, you Heather haters.

Back at the Casa de Bitches and Hos, the girls are making chicken fingers and microwave pizza and having a party in the closet. Yeah. Too easy. Make your own closet jokes, people. Ebony says she’s over this whole thing and wants to go home. The very concept make Chantallobotomy’s head explode. Since it’s empty, there is no mess to clean up. She says something, and I realize that she has a speech impediment. Or she’s talking with her mouth full. In any event, whatever she has to say is instantly forgettable. Binaca is practicing not having dead eyes. She’s doing the “squint with your eyes wide open” trick that Tyra was telling her about at panel last week. Frankly, I think this is a joke, like when Susan Sarandon tells Tim Robbins to breathe through his eyelids in “Bull Durham”, but Binaca is working it out in front of a mirror, so she believes.

Heather arrives home and a camera cut shows us that it’s almost one in the morning. She is glowing and happy. Binaca gives it her best shot, but all she can muster in the way of hateful is to ask if Heather got to practice face forward, and Heather beams, Oh Yes! Matthew was soooooo helpful with that. And Mary J. Blige was soooooooooo cool with me being a total fan freak. And we see Heather giving MJB a big ole hug, and MJB barely tolerating it. Asberger’s helps sometimes, I’m thinking. Binaca then confessionalizes that Heather is her biggest competition, and she just doesn’t get it, why it all comes so easy to Heather. I think the answer, and I could be going out on a limb here, is Karma, bitch.

Commercials, where Jaslene gives make up advice to the make over winners. I wonder if any of them could understand a word she said? No, I didn’t think so.

The theme for the final photo shoot of the week is Recycling, and each girl gets to be a recyclable object. (Oh, come ON. It’s like the closet jokes. Sometimes, it is just too easy.) The photographer is Frederic Reshew, and the girls are made up as: Heather/Aluminum; Chantallobotomy/Shredded paper; Sarah/Garbage Bags (and she does a great, backward flop into the piles of trash); Salacious D/Auto Parts (and manages to knock over the set); Ebony/Bubble Wrap (and she is soooo over it, and the Little Orange Man says she looks trampy); Jenah/Cardboard (and the LOM talks about how Jenah takes direction and then looks for more); Binaca is Grease and you know? sometimes it’s like shooting fish in a barrel…But the LOM says she’s obviously been practicing that smile with your eyes thing that Tyra loves; Lisa/Plastic Bottles and Ambreal/Newspapers. The Little Orange Man says she is going backwards. She looks inexperienced, she’s forgotten how to model, she is boring and uninspired. Not to put too fine a point on it, he grabs Ambreal as she walks off set and draws her a picture of herself, spiraling down, down, down.

Commercials. Ambreal tells the camera that if she can just stay in the house, she could win the competition. Big IF. Ebony allows as how she is praying with all her heart that she gets sent home, that Tyra won’t call her name. She is tired of the criticism and being beaten down. In the judging room, Miss Jay’s Afro is starting to take up two seats at the table, Twiggy is looking a little road worn, Tyson Beckford is the guest judge and Nigel is wearing one of Miss Jay’s old, shorter Afro wigs. There is a huge sigh of relief from everyone when he takes it off. Despite what he says, it is not that he looks bad with hair (we’ve seen the pix from his own modeling days) it is that the short, nappy little wig is atrocious and would look indecent on anyone.

Reviews: Salacious D is showing a lot of neck, and looking good as auto parts. Jenah got cleaned up for the judging and looks as good in person as she does in her shot (except, you know, for the rat weave) and Nigel says he’d book her. Is that Nigel-speak for something dirty? We can only dream. Ambreal is dead in the eyes, and she says it was because her false eyelashes were falling off. Tyra calls foul and says (no, really) “It’s always something.” but it is the model’s job to sell it despite whatever. Lisa has smoothed her poodle curls down again (she ain’t liking that poodle cut at all), and the judges say that she was too “modeling 101” easy, sure poses and no fire. Binaca was too stiff, but she had smiling eyes (You’ve been practicing!). Sarah was good, but she’s losing weight, and she should stay full figured. Ebony is told that it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t want to hear criticism, they are only giving it too her because they believe in her. You can do it! (I’m hearing echoes of the old Tiffany from the Hood “I’ve never yelled at any girl the way I’m yelling at you now.”). Ebony just rolls her eyes, chews her lips, shrugs her shoulders and prays for the ax to fall. Chantallobotomy has hair in front of her face from her movement shot, and Tyson hates it and the other judges love it (because you can’t see that she’s a forceps baby with one half of her asymmetry covered?) and Heather gets all the love. Full face! Hot hot hot! Love, love, love! (Kiss of death, death, death????)

Salacious D is called first this week and praised for her growth and improvement. Then Jenah, who is deemed hot stuff. Heather is one of the best of the bunch. Binaca is getting better. Sarah has to put some pounds back on, and stop denying that she’s losing weight. Nigel says if she can keep the weight on, she could be a super star in the plus-size world. That’s because she’s a size 6. Which is not plus sized in the real world. But I digress. Chantallobotomy (I was born to win this) is OK in person but meh on film. Lisa is playing it safe, she’s stagnating. (Kind of like the New Jersey swamps from whence she came, if you ask me.) And that leaves Ambreal and Ebony. I didn’t hear what Tyra said to them because I was calling the emergency vet to see if I should be worried that JoJo, the dog of very little brain, had found and eaten a tube of cortisone cream. The answer was no, but our home remedy of burnt toast wouldn’t hurt, either. The dog is an endless source of love, and an equally bottomless pit. Even the vet calls her a garbage scow.

In any event, the girl with the most potential is Ebony, and she refuses to take her photo. Y’know, Tyra, she says, I just don’t want to be here any more. I don’t think that modeling is really for me. Tyra, having once screeched at a girl with the same ghetto-fabulousness and long, Naomi weave, doesn’t yell this time. She just tells Ebony that the real reason she wants to leave is that she can’t handle the truth, and that there is nothing uglier to Tyra than a quitter, and for that reason Miss Ebony-the-Ingrate can just take her stank attitude and get the fuck out of the house. And Ambreal? You get to stay after all, and you’d better work this last, final, really we mean it this time chance. And the girls stand around in dumbfoundedness, blinking in shock and awe, and watch as Ebony saunters out, happy that she is free at last, free at last.