I had it all figured out. I thought I would sit down at the computer, watch an episode of the Real Housesitters of Dekalb, react, open up a new window, fire off some commentary, and go about my day. After my last recap, I have been itching to revisit the trainwreck we all hate to love. Uncle Jesus had other plans. Within the first five minutes, my hands started shaking. My palms are now sweating. My Fuckery Cup doth runneth over. The coonery-per-minute ratio in this episode is greater than the dick-per-inch ratio in Nene's tights. Whew.

I have no choice. I must address each delusionista individually. Here goes...

Sherman. 
The episode opens with  Madame Hardface showcasing her newest purchase, a vagina an Aston Martin convertible, for the cameras and her miraculously unhomely daughter. Nevermind that the car has since been snatched by her divorce attorneys. Don't be a hater. Sherman needs you to know that she's living her own life now, thanks to spousal support and her part-time work as Atlanta's most back breakingest male escort, and that's all that matters.

This week she's competing in a charity event, "Dancing Stars of Atlanta." Apparently, when the marital assets were divided her husband was awarded the shame, as she clearly has none. That's the only possible explanation. Sherman is not shy about the fact that she lacks ovaries rhythm. In rehearsal, Sherman says she's confident in her abilities. If it were a dog show, then yes, Sherman you're bound to win. A dance competition? Hardly. The rehearsal footage could have easily been lost tapes from "Mister Ed On Ice" because Sherman in heels, log rolling and shuffling to and fro was about as sexy as sexting wehthe Faehntaisea.

Now, in the midst of all this trained horse foolisness, Sherman does deserve credit. Delusional transsexual she may be, but a liar she is not. When questioned about why she didn't bring her dress and shoes to the dress rehearsal, she responded:

I know it's for charity but I'm a busy woman. I'm a mother. I'm an actress. This is a lot of work.

Ladies and gents, Sherman is playing the role of a lifetime: a woman. The dedication required to pull off that farce? EPIC. To survive a marriage, a divorce, and several dates without blowing her cover? Somebody hand that man a Lifetime Achievement Award and some duct tape. I got a little nervous when that dress got to twirling.


Later when it was suggested that hair and makeup would be provided for her during the competition, she said she always traveled with her own glam team:

You gotta be skilled to touch this face.

My thoughts exactly sir.


Clay Aiken.
It is pretty much understood that Clay Aiken inhabits her own universe where obnoxious, bisonly daughters and albino alley cat wigs rain from the sky, right? Okay. Nothing with Clay Aiken surprises me. She spent $60,000 to revamp her youngest pork cutlet's room. Pink, pink, and more pink. For the next five years, Babe the piglet has to sleep inside Ne-Yo's Beautiful Pink Limp-Wristed Fantasy. I am baffled that she'd spend that much on spoiling the piglet when (a)she's spending thousands per week on those lush ass I-hate-myself wigs and (b)employing and trusting the advice of her friend/assistant, this girl:

She is quite possibly the most foolish-looking colored woman not named Star Jones on television. Anyone who leaves the house with Kelly Rowland's despair and various Bad Boy artists hiding atop her head is not to be trusted. End of story.


Cynthia.
Close your eyes.

Now, imagine a sex scene.

Candles. Three dollar champagne. Rose petals. You're waiting in your sexiest tube socks and your finest head scarf. Lube in-hand. Ready to get  down with the get down. To your left, is your sister. And there's an armadillo on the bed. And a camera crew. All the lights are on, and a large man is commenting and coaching off to the side.

Awkward as the fuck, right?


This was Cynthia's marriage proposal from boyfriend Peter. Well, no armadillo. And no head scarf, but a hedgehog spike 'do and the man coaching and commenting is Uncle Nene. And cameras and this woman:



In theory, sharing a marriage proposal with friends sounds charming.


But when the couple in question is an aging model who runs from relationships (including one with that damn Leon aka David Ruffin) and an attractive 50-year old whose teeth match his gray beard, the thrill dies a little. It was the worst proposal ever:




"...I gotta get down on my kneeeees."











  


Three years. You ready? You ready? 
 





 


You ready? You not gonna back up?




 

 You not gonna run?
 





 


You not gonna run?





 


You wanna marry me?







 

You promise?









What in the self-doubting hell, Peter? Cynthia didn't show enthusiasm until she saw the ring. Friends then had to coach Cynthia into the bedroom to "do what engaged people do." Cynthia's the sane cast member. I hope their marriage lasts.


Phraudra.
It is painfully clear that Phraudra's knowledge of babies begins and ends with the fact that she should have swallowed them on the night of her insemination. This week, she's packing her bags to go have her labor induced two weeks early, possibly to maintain the lie that her baby was conceived after her November 2009 wedding? Whatever the case, she's absolutely clueless about children. For a well-respected entertainment attorney, she is a giant, country moron. Snagging that fine ass convict husband of hers may have been her best move to date. She mentioned that her friend Melanie, mother of three, was to fully prepare her for childbirth. This being a woman who referenced the ambiblical cord and using ackahol to clean up after the baby's circumcision. They discussed penis ointment and Phraudra's need for a fifty cent dimepiece to prevent the baby's belly button from protruding. The wide and country blind leading the fraudulent and blind. Either she screwed around and Apollo is gay and is not the father or she wanted to uphold an image of purity...or something.


Kandi.
Kandi Leghorn voiced her opinion about Clay Aiken's reaction to the song she wrote for her, "The Ring Didn't Mean A Thing." She stood up for herself and insisted that in order to continue a professional relationship, Clay Aiken would have to stop sucking dick smoking cigarettes and resume vocal lessons. Handclap for you girl.

I hesitate (not really) to bash Kandi, as her "manager" @donjuannc appears to have a Google alert on "Kandi" and "ChrisAlexander." When I wrote about her for Soulbounce, he found me on Twitter. I recently compared my coworker's hair to Kandi's:



and he found me again.

He acts as if I called her Nene Leakes or something. Can't please everyone. Next week, Phraudra has her labor induced "since the baby is fully developed" and we learn what the deal really is with everything.

Will you be watching?

...and here is Sherman's dance performance. :( 





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