Back in the car, Camille continues pointing out how not high-maintenance she is, indicating, "I could worry about me me me." They say that's the only way way way, but it doesn't mean she's selfish, according to...Camille: "I'm not a selfish person." And just by virtue of saying so, I guess that means it's automatically a reality. Do you believe her? How about I give one a try. Okay, here we go: you guys? I'm totally not typing right now.
Lara Klingon Boyle (her real name remains "Yoanna," for those of you playing in some Rotisserie Top Model League who need the facts as they come) kicks it to a confessional, where she tells us, "I don't know where Camille comes from, and I really don't like Camille." Back in the car, Yoanna twists a rosary around her fingers and lies, "I'm gonna be quiet now, 'cause I'm gonna meditate for the evening." When I run across someone conversationally savvy enough to use the dual scapegoats of god and yoga to get someone to shut up, I say more power to her any day. By the way, God and Yoga is totally going to be the name of my tell-all book about working for the Television Without Pity empire. It's just like Gods and Monsters, but with small scented pillows to put over your eyes instead of...well, monsters. Cam-me-me-mille -- not taking the hint of explicitly being told to cram it -- asks Yoanna if she can see her rosary. Shouldn't Yoanna be able to decline that incredibly personal request? In voice-over, Yoanna deems the experience of being with Cam-me-me-mille one of the most "exhausting" of her life, and adds a fantastic "uch," all of which is a pretty accurate depiction of any exchange which ends with someone overbearingly asking to borrow...y'know, the lord. Somewhere ethereal, meanwhile, a flowy-robed being with a long white beard throws Himself off His gilded throne and goes into a downward dog, repeating, "Breathe into the stretch. Don't let Camille get to you. Breathe into the stretch," over and over and over again.
It's the next morning now, as establishing shots from Central Park South to the city skyline to Soho tell us in rapid succession. I guess when God forsakes models, the world doesn't have to go in order anymore. Inside of and upstairs at Chez Freak C'est Chic, Shandi (you're a fine girl, what a good wife you would be) sits on a bed with SeeYouTomorrow (or...WILL WE?), Shandi admitting, "I don't want to do another photo shoot." And I mean, I sympathize to a certain extent. After all, there are certainly mornings when I stare at a blank computer monitor wondering what the hell is going to happen next. But then again, I don't have the hunger of the young whippersnappers appearing on America's Next Top Recapper, so sometimes I get maybe 1% jaded. All I'm saying is that Shandi probably shouldn't eschew the excitement of taking part in the photo shoot that will increase her life's grand total of photo shoots to...well, two.