Marc tiptoes around to avoid Cliff, but it doesn't work, and Cliff is like, "Dude, three days we haven't talked, after a very important question?" Marc babbles about how with the nonstop blackmailing, backstabbing, and Pinkberry runs, he hasn't had time to take the curlers out of his hair. And I was wrong before, because Marc knows exactly what he's doing when he queens out like this, and the reason that I know that is that the next thing he does is literally turn his back on Cliff and ask if he's still got curlers back there, which is sort of bizarrely non sequitur, but also, come on, pretty genius at the same time. Cliff is not distracted, though, and flips Marc back around to ask what the effing problem is with even discussing the idea. Marc spazzes out about how moving in is like getting a kid, do you go Russian or Chinese or "stay local" and get something South American and what if it clashes with the furniture... Cliff tells him to forget it because that's his answer, and walks off. NO! Because that's not even the actual answer, because the actual answer is one more layer of BS behind that, which is that he's thought about it, hard and independently of discussing it with Cliff, and doesn't know how to have the conversation they're actually supposed to be having. Which is both better and worse than where Cliff left it, I guess, but makes Marc's position here a little more sympathetic.
Betty helps Daniel dress for the parties, and he's fretting about how Connor hasn't called him back because what if he's with some other playboy publishing scion and whoever that bitch is, Daniel's going to claw his eyes out, and plus he's technically Connor's boss so he deserves to know where he's been all day, and then his eyes fairly cross as he notes Betty's cute, inappropriate and crazy outfit, and reminds himself to calm down and not listen to his shitstirring mother who forced him to hire Connor in the first place, and focuses on Betty for a second. She thanks him for the donation to the South Of The Border party -- and once again we see Daniel indulging even Betty's most tragic concepts with all the love of a brother -- and he's like, "Well, it is the Mode afterparty, and besides, I heard the singer is to die for..." And again, Betty just makes that face and giggles instead of being like, "Yo, Kettle? Cram that shit because I'm nervous as it is."
The party, it is insanely kitschy. Everything is Christmas-lighty and piñata-tastic and there's like snowflake-cut menus hanging and Ignacio's worthless ass is wearing a big stupid sombrero, and like I don't even know. It's the Suarezes doing it, and I guess it's up to them, and maybe the semiotics of this are completely different because I live in Texas and that's a very different place from New York, but this just seems stupid and a little demeaning to me, even in the narrative context. Amanda's forcing people to hand over "crisp George Washingtons" at the door, in her scariest voice, and wearing a silvery kind of madness, and everybody's dancing including this one very intense young gay gentleman extra who somehow got on the list, and Hilda -- gorgeous as usual, and again rocking off-the-shoulder purple -- is harassing the sangria-drinkers like, "Mama owes the government!" and some hipster dude tries to borrow Ignacio's sombrero, probably just because anybody wearing a sombrero is automatically less troubling to look at than Ignacio Suarez wearing a sombrero, because WTF. Betty geeks out on Hilda about how an understudy from Spamalot used her bathroom, and Hilda tells her Jesse is downstairs looking so cute, so sad, so tortured. Barf.