What were the producers thinking when they let Ripsi go home? Ripsi, or the girl to whom I am referring is the ubiquitous lush from Massachusetts whose name rhymes with Pepsi (though her drink is tequila, or whatever alcohol is available). She’s the spoiled daddy’s girl who came in the house with more suitcases than the others had combined. In the short time that Ripsi graced our presence with her magnanimous personality she brought back memories of ol’ Teddy at Chappaquiddick when he got more headlines for being a drunk than a politician. And perhaps a little Zsa Zsa Gabor with her fiery but classy demeanor, born of some good living and some wealth that you couldn’t imagine. And to be sure, Ripsi could definitely use some lessons in being political.
But the one person who confirmed Ripsi’s short stay in the house was none other than Kerry, a down-on-her-luck country-western washout from Nashville whose claim to fame is gracing more video shoots than Janice Dickinson. That’s not a compliment and true to her persona it was Kerry who sealed the deal for Ripsi when she refused Ripsi’s numerous apologies, only to say “it’s either me or her,” and continued complaining about her neck. Sure, the neck did have some nice raspberries but Kerry probably got more flak in A&R; sessions and beauty pageants back home in rural whatever than she ever did from some drunk girl who blacked out and went berserk.
Whatever. In Kerry’s introductory interview she proclaimed for all the world to hear that she was “manipulative” and that obviously showed during the “Rip-tervention,” in which Ripsi and the other girls sat on the couch determined to come to a conclusion about the ordeal the night before.
What ensued the night before was pure hilarity, which all started when the girls were ragging on Rip and her Amish (yeah, I know…it hasn’t been confirmed BUT LOOK AT HER, WOULDYA!) friend, who I’d swear was on that short-lived Amish reality show on the WB…I could be mistaken, but I’m usually not. Anyway, as the dynamic duo ensued in executing some difficult yoga moves after drinking a few, but not too many (if you’re Ripsi) and stumbled and bumbled their way to idiocy, the others watching had had too much and started laughing at Ripsi.
As Ripsi and friend continued to receive the many accolades that come when you’re the kind of person who likes to brush your teeth with tequila in the morning, ol’ Rip put a few of these snippy comments coming from Kerry in her memory bank (near as I could tell, five minutes worth) and continued in the crouching tiger, hidden dragon position. After a few minutes of the constant jawing, a ripped Rip came stumbling over to the bench on which Kerry was sitting and started pushing her. Now if you look at the tape you can clearly see Kerry threw the first punch. So why isn’t she going home?
Because she’s blonde, that’s why! Well, after Kerry threw Ripsi into the pool after a few minutes of elbowing and pulling hair, ol’ Rip chilled out (literally) and toweled off. The next person predicted to beat the shit out of Kerry (now, mind you this is just a prediction), the loudmouthed brunette Aimee from Philly, proceeded to blurt out a few words of encouragement (more like, “if that was me, I’da killed that bleeping girl”) and everyone moved inside for more drinking, rambling and psychosocial behavior.
Once inside, though, it didn’t take Ripsi long to locate Kerry on her drunken radar. Like a fish out of water she leapt from the pool and rambled her way in the house and then upstairs, pulling on Kerry’s hair weave until Kerry fended off her attack. Then she ambled further upstairs, honing in on the other fake beast in the house, the 40ish Jodie, a girl who has never seen a thing she didn’t hit–and I’m not talking about domestic violence, either. Once Rip hit the room she wasted no time in reaching the bed in which Jodie was sleeping, proceeding to rip out the girl’s weave and screaming for no reason, really.
Perhaps she had some of that memory stored in her trusty little memory bank. And both Kerry and Jodie had laughed at her previously and in other episodes.
Memo to the other girls in the house: Somebody else is eavesdropping. And she looks to be sober.
And before Ripsi left, this girl received a Nicole Miller dress from Ripsi’s wardrobe closet (read: one of Rip’s many suitcases) worth ten G’s. You will soon know who she is.
Until then, here’s to the snobby bitch from Chappaquiddick (or somewhere near there). May she fall flat in a vat of Cabernet Sauvignon and drown in peace from the weight of her bling.
RIP Ripsi 2006-2006
