Meet Jennifer. She’s screaming and crying in a parking lot in her wedding gown. She’s 37. First-time bride-to-be. From Fall River, Mass. Some sort of nursing assistant. She’s marrying a 52-year-old quality control manager named Lance.
They met — cue the romantic music — when she was a laundromat attendant.
She sounds like one of them broads in a Jimmy Fallon SNL skit based in the greater Boston area; the type who probably has a Cam Neely poster with drawn-on manmeat above her bed or, better yet, has “Bobbi whOrr” tattooed on her ass.
Anyway, she’s talking about how she probably should have taken those pills the doctor prescribed for the crazies.
And man oh man, does this one have those insane eyes. This is more prevalent when she starts whining about how she wasn’t moved to the front of the line — I’m The Bride!!1! –and about the heat of the pedicure tub. Or manicure. Fuck if I know. Whichever one’s when ladies pretty your feet up. But thank Christ the lady doesn’t look to be able to understand a syllable of her rantings, which become more insane when she thinks people were laughing at her when she left.
Cuckoo. And unable to comfortably fit into the wedding dress when she goes off to the tailor to whom she refuses to pay $20 for alterations. “I don’t have $20,” she says. “It’s ridiculous. … I’ll have to have 10 shots of wine or something to get this out of my head.”
Next day, she wakes up in the midst of an anxiety attack. This is three days prior to becoming a bride. She calms down upon noting that Lance has a big pimple on his nose, and that he should “stick something up your ass” and mime-stabbing him to death with a pair of scissors.
Remember boobsy Blanca? Yeah, she’s back for Round 2. And the episode actually starts with her reading an IM which states, “You will always be tacky, raunchy and just a whore. It should be called Trampzilla.”
When her maid-of-honor and bridesmaids show up late to their whole makeup-and-hair event, she uses a Nerf gun lest she actually shoot and kill them. She’s all over MoH Dahlia in a disrespectful fashion. Wedding planner Angela calls her out on this. So, too, does an anonymous texter who “doesn’t give a fuck” about her wedding or her “whore” bridesmaids; this texter also notes that he or she has tried to talk her man out of the nuptials.
She is now on a mission to figure out who the texter is, at least when she’s not bitching about everybody else on the face of the earth, most notably about punctuality while chanting “I’m’a lose it” like an obsessive-compulsive Benedictine monk.
Fun fact: One of her bridesmaids is remarkably more attractive than Blanca. That likely has a lot to do with the edginess.
Funner fact: That dude Julian or whatever is wearing ANOTHER tuxedo T-shirt, but a different tuxedo T-shirt than he wore to get his ass waxed as his bride-to-be’s behest.
She’s doing shots now. And bitching about one of Julian’s groomsmen’s baby mamas named Carolina, who didn’t say hi. She’s hammered on the dance floor talking about “fuck(ing) that bitch up.” Carolina is now returning fire to Julian who, it turns out, was talking shit on Blanca one night but Carolina heard about it and thought he was talking shit on her. Slutbag. Whore. That kind of thing.
“I understand she’s a bitch, but a whore she’s not, and till the day I die, I’ll defend that,” declareth Julian, who’s also drunk and, before long, dry humping Blanca against a wall in tha club.
Next day, Blanca is explaining how she’s hairy and has yellow teeth and hasn’t written her vows on Wedding Eve (she’s working on them en route to the wedding-day pictures) and how she forgot to make her signature “B.J.” drink.
Wedding day, her dress gets infested with bugs. That’s a new one. But that’s quickly overshadowed by the fact that their wedding “officiant” has a pornstache. Or maybe that’s her dad. Wait, they both have ’em!
Anyway, she didn’t finish her vows. Just said that she loved him more than words can express. But not enough not to change the initials on the wedding cake to B & J despite making her man wax his asshole bare in exchange for the less innuendo’y “J &B.”
“I rule at the end of the day, bitches!” she declares with cake on her face before explaining that she has since learned who sent the nasty texts, which happened before two wildebeasts actually fought for the bouquet that Blanca threw.
You know, Blanca and Julian might could be my favorite Bridezillas couple ever. Respeck.
Postscript: Blanca and Julian are from Ontario, Cal., where the whole YOLO crash happened the other day.