And, Catie. She stands up and reminds us that she's just gotten a haircut, and has decided to celebrate with black legwarmers, heels, a blue mini-skirt, and a yellow tank top. And purple eye shadow. In the awesomely calculated payoff of putting Catie last, Simon hits a perfect fever pitch to this evaluation by instructing Catie to "go down where the hookers hang out by the docks and see what they're wearing and then avoid it." Catie mutters a sarcastic "okay" and re-takes her perch, allowing for Simon to chastise the girls that they need to be a little more self-critical. Catie takes her cue off this, back-talking, "You called me a ho!" Simon fact-checks that he "would never say anybody was a ho. I would say that's ho style." Well, Simon, that depends on what you mean by the word "is." She's not cheese. She's "cheese-like product." She's the Combos of hookers, an imitation even more believable than the original. But the fight escalates, Catie starting to cry (and watch out for the reaction shots of the other girls cracking up at this latest predictable meltdown) and dictating policy, "If it was you and me talking, that's cool," and Simon tells her that she might have underestimated the seriousness of the competition, warning, "You knew when you entered into this competition that you're not going to sit there for three weeks with an umbrella drink with everybody telling you how fabulous you are." Ha! I love it. Next time he needs to add the term "chaise longue" to that snark and he's all set as my Mini-Me. And whether it's "ho" or "ho style," y'all take a look at Catie's outfit right now. Seriously, I just slipped that girl a five and she blew my TV's picture tube.
Emotionally appropriate rain falls down on New York City and makes me realize that one person's emotional journey is solely responsible for the winter we've been having and makes me want that person to just CHEER THE HELL UP ALREADY and maybe the snow that fell on Thanksgiving weekend finally get around to melting. Back in the dry, throw-pillowed sanctuary of the ZoLoft, Mercedes tells us that she's afraid people will judge her and not hire her were they to find out about her disease. On the phone (so this is why it's always busy whenever I call the LupusLine), Mercedes tells someone, "I want to push as hard as I can so I can get this." She wants to get this. She's already gotten lupus. The problem with the world is that some people are just takers, y'know?
I just moved last week, see, so my Tyra Mail keeps getting bounced back to my old post office, which isn't so much frustrating as it is completely made up. So I'll just have to live vicariously through the Tyra Mail of others, such as these here top model candidates, who receive a card reading, "Get ready for a wacky day with the wildest designer in New York City!" It's Betsey Johnson. You know it. I know it. The only person who may not know it is Betsey Johnson, whose own name seems to keep slipping her own crazy, crazy mind. Into her bright pink studio they march, and Ms. Johnson (if you're nasty) comes bounding into a room so brightly lit that sitcom characters on other, real networks with shows on during this timeslot start to instinctively shield their eyes from it. "Hi, hello!" she announces, decked in long, red shorts, a hat with the letter "H" (conveniently, in Betsey's language, "H" is the first letter of "crazy"!), and a black tank top announcing in bright pink letters, "Guys [heart] B.J." I'm sure there's some inside joke about that, and somewhere in Soho right now Betsey is sitting on a giant shag couch next to her friend B.J. watching this episode, and he totally turns to her and is all, "I so can't believe you wore that shirt on TV," to which Betsey volleys effortlessly back, "Who the hell are you, and what's that glowing orb box with the crazy lady in it?" Shandi tells us in a confessional that her meeting with Betsey led her to "freak out," which means she doesn't know who she is because Shandi's last five years of wardrobe was procured with her 10% employee discount compliments of Kathie Lee's Malaysian Sewing Circle.