The first thing you’ll notice about Bridezilla Angela is her breastuses jiggling while she sit dances in the limo. That’s what the producers of Bridezillas intended they opened this episode with Bridezilla Angela‘s breastuses jiggling while she sit danced in a limo.
From there, the observations become more psychological than physical; i.e.:
– She throws a veil at some lady; presumably her or her man-to-be’s mammy.
– She holds her man-to-be down in a chair as his bows are waxed.
– She throws a glass of water in some bridesmaid’s face that she presumably doesn’t like (as in, her man-to-be’s sister).
– She smashes a huge glass vase in a parking lot to presumably make a point that people are making her wedding-planning more problematic than it should be.
This is all before the opening credits. After the opening credits? Yep. Groomie’s sister raises her hand and speaks when the pontiff asks for objectees. Look:
She’s hot, though. Actually, both bride and sis are. So there’s that. There’s also this kind of attitude which chips away at the value of mere appearance:
“This is my wedding. This is my week. If I don’t get my way, I get frustrated and angry,” she says.
Groom-to-be Eric explains that he met her at work, but after that encounter, his performance slipped and he lost that gainful employment. He also notes that he has to run everything he wants to do by her, because, well, there’s no reason on earth anyone should be treated as such this long after the Emancipation Proclamation was, um, proclaimed.
“She’s crazy,” The Bitchboy of Irving, Tejas maintains, though Angela chalks it all up to being committed to organization and whatnot. “Whatever she says, goes.”
Philosophy-in-action: She makes him come to the salon while she, mammy, sis-in-law get mani/pedis. She makes him fetch wine. She declares that if she told him to go over into the corner and do a salsa dance, that’s exactly what he would do. Then, she makes him dance.
“If he was any more whipped,” says narrator Mindy, “he’d be meringue.”
I wonder how long until he starts walking into doorknobs. Lack of eyebrows, which she made him get waxed off, would probably draw too much attention to the facial damage right now, though, so they’ll probably wait.
“I’m putting my blood and tears in the wedding,” he says, leaving out the vaginal secretions left behind as well. (Oh yes I di’d.)
When they meet the photog, Angela says she intends to get her money’s worth. But, one photographer isn’t enough for her. Especially for the 250-person affair. She suggests 10. Doesn’t care. Because it’s Eric’s cash and “I just spend it.”
“Money concerns? Well, just go get some more,” the blushing bride-to-be says. “Swipe that credit card. Fuck it.”
Then, she refuses to let the photog (who just threw in two other shutterbugs) eat anything at said wedding and reception.
She is such a doll.
Anyway, they’re onto the DJ. He has zero thoughts about music; she wants lovey girlie classic music. He then thought about “booty shaking sexy type” music for the garter toss. She retorts that he must think she’s a stripper. He cites Filipini rage. DJ says he oughta be able to pick at least one song for the event. She says fuck to the no. Because he don’t mean nothing here, yo.
Says sis-in-law Sandy, who looks like the hottie from The Crow kinda, “I think she’s a spoiled brat. … If Angela keeps pushing, I don’t think she’ll have a groom at the end of the week, and I’ll completely understand if my brother doesn’t show up because she’s just been so demanding lately, even with the smallest things.”
GuhROWL. But we’ll have to wait until next week to see if Sandy Crow’s predictions come to pass.
Anyway, Bridezilla Mai Lee is back this week.
She’s talking about party favors not being done.
And how tired she is.
And how she’ll “stab” someone if he tries to mug her and her mammy on the way to the salon for an appointment to which they’re several hours tardy. Cunt doesn’t even thank the salon for squeezing them in despite blowing the appointment. “She was rude. Very bitchy,” says the salon owner. Understatement.
Anyway, here is a very flattering shot of Mai Lee at the salon:
Egads.
From there, she don’t like brother Mardom’s dyed-fauxhawk hair despite her wanting him to “look clean like everyone else.”
Mardom’s all, like, I wasn’t thinking about the wedding when I did my hair so whatEVar. Our happiness should not be sacrificed for her happiness.
“MARDOM IT’S MY FUCKING WEDDING!” says Mai Lee before swiping a bunch of stuff off the table and ripping Mardom’s “silver head.”
Soon, a black cat shows up outside the house. And the skies open with rain.
“He hates me. God hates me,” Mai Lee says.
Mai Lee is right.
God hates self-satisfied, rude Bridezillas. It says so in the Bible. Look it up. You’ll see.
But, Mai Lee and Tomas get married anyway (attractiveness quotient: bridesmaids > bride; and, alcohol consumed despite bridey’s prohibitions). Here’s hoping their God is not a vengeful deity lest the gates of Hell will open and swallow Hiealeh, Fla. whole.