Miami Social: Who the Hell Text Messages About Abortion?
George and Lina of Miami Social manage to make all those couples look like Ozzie and Harriet in comparison. I mean seriously, what the hell is wrong with these people?
Last week we found out Lina was with child. The manipulative, sneaky lady with a shady past decides to tell George at the perfect restaurant Philippe Chow, thee allegedly manipulative, sneaky restaurant with a shady past. How fitting.
She has a pacifier put in his dessert. At this point, the last thing we'd expect Lina to put in George's food is something as innocuous as a pacifier. All we're saying, George, is hire a food tester.
What follows is about five seconds of happiness, maturity and the lingering thought, "Hey, maybe these two really will get it together and raise this kid."
"I'm happy because we're going to have a cute little motherucker!" says Lina. Adorable. Make sure to put that in the baby book.
Then there's fighting! Imagine that, on a reality television show of all places?
It escalates until George comes home and Lina infers that she's misscarried. But wait, George starts getting text messages from multiple people saying that Lena's been going all around town saying she had an abortion and George wouldn't pay for it.
Which brings up the point: Who the fuck text messages someone about abortion rumors?
Like, have we really come to the point in human communication where it's totally cool to send out text message about something as serious as that? How does that even go?
That's really more of a face-to-face conversation. Not text message. Not Facebook, or email, or Twitter message. At the very least that really deserves a telephone call. And not on a cellphone, landline only. Not a cordless phone either. In fact you can only use a rotary phone. Seriously, just keep a spare one in your house, and when your guests say "Oh a rotary phone, how kitschy," just say "No, I keep that around for when I need to ask my friends about abortion rumors."
Fer' crying out loud, have some decency people.
Text messaging about abortion. I mean really.
Elsewhere, esteemed "art director" Ariel Stein has landed a campaign with ëa Lingerie, and he decides Maria is the perfect photographer to work with because she has huge tits.
Maria blows the meeting though by admiting she doesn't really have a passion for photography. "I just get paid really well."
Initially, we wanted to rip Maria, but she does swimsuit shots on South Beach, and portraits for puff pieces in Ocean Drive. You can have passion for photojournalism. You can have passion for art photography. You can have passion for classical portraiture. But admitting you have "passion" for shooting lingerie ad campaigns is like admitting you're an annoying, blowhard, much like, well Ariel. So high five for dropping the bullshit Maria.
Michael finally gets a date. Some guy, who happens to be Sorah's friend, calls him a loquita. And he does the thing all gringos in Miami do and has to ask a Spanish speaking friend if that's good or not. "Omg someone called me que lindo, what does that mean? ....*Squeee*" "Hey, I met this hottie who was really into me. She called me a pinche cabron, that's good right?"
Sad Katrina's statement that she's been together with soon-to-be-ex-husband Ben since she's 16 is starting to rival Gansevoort for the most overused words on this show. Ok, we get it. It's sad. Stop. Thanks.
Anyway, Katrina decides it's time for her to finally live on her own and looks at two seven-bedroom houses. Seven bedrooms for one divorced lady. So sad.
What did everyone else do?
Hardy was there. I think. Eating food. Saying things like,"We're staying together for the kids. screw that."
Sorah may or may not have done other things. Mostly, the most important thing she manages to do week in and week out on this show is somehow keep her dignity.