Hey Paula! Recaps of Episode 101 and 102: CRACK! IT'S CRACK! Or... cocaine, perhaps.

I’m not proud to say that I just spent a full hour of Dr. Phil in procrastination of writing this. When you’re using Dr. Phil to pad the crazy, you know you have a lot of crazy on your hands. Let me also say that I have been looking forward to Hey Paula since before Bravo even thought of it. I’m not an American Idol watcher (didn’t think there were people like that, did you?) but I have seen an odd episode of AI, and the most entertaining part is Ms. Paula Abdul. I was definitely a fan of Being Bobby Brown while it was on Bravo, even going so far as to listen to an interview of Bobby Brown on Loveline, speaking at length about dislodging excrement from his wife’s ass with his bare hands. That is a whole ‘nother level of TMI that I had not yet experienced, and haven’t much experienced since (Britney Spears had to pull out the trump card). Without further ado or distraction: bring on the kee-razy!

We get to meet Daniel (Paula’s Stylist/Ugly Gay Best Friend), Jeff (her Publicist), Kiley (her Wardrobe Stylist), and her Furry Family (several small, yapper-type dogs). When we start up with Hey Paula, she’s headed to the Grammy Awards. After that, she’s headed to LAX to catch a red eye to Philly, then straight to QVC for a 1am show. That sounds like my former boss’s schedule, except he’s a psychologist with a non-profit and Paula is a demi-celebrity. Paula correctly identifies, “most peoples’ days are 24 hours,” and without skipping a beat or acknowledging the whole rotation-of-the-Earth thing, “mine are 48 [hours]. Welcome to Paula Time!” She says it in that “naughty,” straight-from-the-teleprompter voice that made Anna Nicole Smith unnecessarily famous. Some people think Paula is on drugs. I’m one of them. For this interview round, I’m voting Percocet.

Flash past the Hollywood sign and palm trees. So, we’re in L.A.? I’m not clear. “Day One: The Grammy Awards.” Welcome to the Land of Crazy. Paula’s wardrobe assistant, Kiley, caterwaiters that she has a small tray of diamonds that Paula’s gonna wear to the Grammys. The bracelet alone is a 1940s antique, wide platinum diamond bracelet. It’s beautiful (Kiley says that too) and is worth a million dollars. If I were her, I’d keep that away from Paula. She doesn’t, of course - silly stylists - and Paula drunkenly tries it on, telling one of her “furry kids” (god) in that squeaky voice that you can only get away with when talking to pets or babies, “it’s only worth a hundred million dollars!” I know we have some editing action, so Kiley’s poor soul rotting from the outside inward may have told her the value of the earrings and rings, but seeing as Paula is already trying on JUST the bracelet, some editor probably just took out footage of her talking to her yappy dogs. Several other boxes of jewelery are strewn out on Paula’s bed, as are all of her mangy mini-dogs. Two of them start crawling over the jewels, and Everyone On Earth sees where this is going, including Kiley who whispers under Paula’s laughing/snorting, “hopefully they won’t eat anything.” Bravo’s captioning the scared assistants, people. “We’ll have to pay a lot of money,” Kiley babysits. Something tells me Kiley has this humiliating experience most everyday. Paula takes a look at a long necklace of black diamonds, promptly laughing and putting it around a mutt, who runs away trying to not catch The Stupid. Shortly thereafter, another pup tries to swallow a ring. Paula is oddly the first to realize this and gets a fighting hold on the ring, demanding that someone “get it out.” Kiley comes to her aid by petting the dog while Paula pries the ring out. This is most definitely not Kiley’s first encounter with this level of crazy. Paula laughs all Whitney-style (this is beginning of the mounting evidence that it’s crack), takes the pooch-slobbered ring out of the dog, and puts it in an assistant’s palm. The assistant (unnamed, unfaced, shamed), doesn’t skip a beat and says, “thank you,” in a way that you praise a toddler for bringing you an earthworm. Fashion Flurry! Ugly orange hat, tacky gold star necklaces that read “I’m a...” Ugly skirts and shirts, and very ugly watches. She goes on in her overarching “on Percocet” interview that she is producing a live-action film based on the Bratz Dolls and hand-designed the wardrobe and jewelery for the film. Well, that explains a lot of ugly and tacky right there. Before she heads for the Grammys, she wants to show fugly gay Daniel her designs. He has a smile plastered on his face. I think Daniel uses meth and mild sedatives to get him through the day, my main arguments being the permaface and the fact that he has enough poundage to not be solely on meth. Paula informs us and Daniel that a lot of thought was put into all that tackiness. Well, it had to be! Percocet Paula scriptreads that she put all her own money into all that tacky crap ($10.75? Max?) months ago, and suddenly the people at the live-action Bratz movie aren’t returning her calls. I can feel that this was written with a little gay sneer, but she reads it flat and slightly confused, as if she were actually reading, “today, I went to the grocery store.”

It’s 1:30pm, and Kiley corrals Paula to the area of the house containing the much more expensive, less-tacky clothes. Choice one is a black gown with a plunging neckline from La Perla at $4000. Not that she’s going to pay for it. That would be funny if there was a huge conspiracy that no one told her that famous people don’t pay for dresses that go down the red carpet and she had to pay the price anyway. She jokes that this is the dress she wanted to wear, “but [she] think[s] Simon is going to wear something very similar.” Then there’s a great shot of Daniel nodding solemnly/drunkly, his face all gin blossomed out, but with too much makeup on to show the redness. Over a $3500 Kari design, she explains that, “tonight is crucial,” because she always ends up on Worst Dressed lists “all the time - it doesn’t make sense!” The end of her Percocet Paula voiceover is coupled with her pulling a hideous black-and-pink dress (whose designer name and price we aren’t allowed, it’s so ugly) off of the rack. Well, there ya go, honey - makes perfect sense. She apparently “enlisted Kiley” to help her with this (poor Kiley), but we only see glimpses of Kiley while Paula harasses Doped-Up Daniel for advice. Perhaps Kiley harassed La Perla, Kari, et. al. for this little pre-Grammys costuming session. And, frankly, besides the unnamed designer, they all look pretty great. She also looks at a not-quite-maroon sparkly number from Temperly London (at $5k) that both her and Daniel think is beautiful, and which I think looks nice, but would look horrific with her skin tone (and could easily delve into matronly if you tip the age scale a little bit). Paula druggedly informs the camera that Daniel is highly making her go finish her hair and makeup. In an obviously way-after-the-fact complainterview - I mean, Christ, dude’s HAIRSTYLE is even way different (in every other scene, he has these flowy, curly dirty blond locks, then in this interview he has lighter, shorter hair), Daniel says that he started her makeup three hours ago and it takes four hours to complete, and she won’t sit still. That’s the crack, Daniel. Then they show Daniel looking bemused at Paula while she pets some of her “furry children” and talks on the phone. Oh, just drug her, it’s not like a new thing. This scene is apparently at 1:45, so I’m totally not sympathizing with Daniel. You know they were like, “happy hour? it’s past noon!” THEN looked at all them dresses, and he complained after the fact because he wants to be able to work for people other than Paula Abdul. Wouldn’t you? Then they show Daniel trying to put makeup on Paula while she’s completely reclined in a stylists chair and playing with her dogs. She then notices her housekeeper Marina cleaning up dog shit, and declares (we know, because Bravo captioned it), “Poor Marina, she’s cleaning up the dog poop.” Then she screams, “I’m sorry” out to Marina, several times, blames it on Daniel (...?), to which Marina accentedly replies that she can’t hear Paula. I think she learned to say that to everything years ago. We get an up-close-and-personal shot of some dog turds that look pretty big, but so much for perspective when we’re RIGHT THERE. Paula continues to scatologically (is that a word?) blame Daniel because the dog shit is too big for her dogs. I didn’t know Paula was so amused by crap. I don’t join her. BTW, don’t patronize the cleaning lady. She gets paid, probably very well, to clean ANY dog’s shit off of Paula’s hyper-green AstroTurf lawn. She could be working on the kill floor at a slaughter house, but she decided to pick up dog shit. Sorry, I just watched Fast Food Nation and I’m a little bitter.

Fame Flurry! Various magazine covers (well, it’s only seven, but if I were on the cover of a magazine, I’d probably plaster it to my wall too), a framed picture of the Opposites Attract video (oh, Paula - aren’t some things best left not remembered?), some sort of World Tour plaque from 1992, random Paula-centric art (I wonder if she had that commissioned, like, went to an artist and was all “I want it to be, like... pictures of me, with me in it, and it’ll be art”), her Hollywood Walk of Fame star, album covers, albums... it’s like a Montage of When People Cared. Now we meet Jeff, Paula’s long-suffering publicist, who is talking to Paula’s attorney about her calling him to okay wardrobe designs. Do you need lawyers for that? Oh! Got it: they’re getting back in contact with the Bratz movie bullshit. After two months of not calling, all of a sudden the Bratz movie people want to see all of the designs, STAT. Jeff is understandably like, “uh, we can’t really do that” because they’re already trying to get Paula to the Grammys without her breaking anything, humping anyone, or taking a dump on the red carpet. He doesn’t particularly say that it can’t be done in his complainterview, though: he actually says that he doesn’t want to tell Paula. Within a few sentences, sir, you have informed us that you have chopped off your genitalia and placed it in a small jar labelled “Paula: Forever Your Girl.” It’s 2:00pm Real Time, and Paula is eating a salad that’s about as green as her lawn from a huge bowl while Daniel attempts to style her hair. Everyone is gathered around a portable vanity (presumably Daniel’s) and Paula, while Jeff basically breaks the news to Kiley, who is staring at Paula, and they’re all approximately 6 inches away from each other. Kiley “uh-huh”s Jeff, and Paula slurs, “you’re not understanding, Kiley” Which is the conversation that everyone has had with that person in their life who gets drunk way too early in the evening. Or, in this case, way too early in the afternoon. Kiley’s had this conversation too, so her response is, “this is ridiculous.” She then makes sure to play both hands by saying that it’s “exciting” because it’s an awesome project to work on (or... whatever), but it’s “ridiculous” because they’ve been tacky about it. This is most drunken pre-breakup conversations I’ve had with my friends. “Well, it’s ridiculous that they’re treating you that way... but they’re really great... but it’s ridiculous, and look at what they’re putting you through. No, I don’t think you could use another Long Island Iced Tea.” Jeff meekly asks how to handle this, and more slurring from Paula: “Well, Jeff, you need to go tell them I worked my ass off on doing that - my ass off, Jeff. Okay? And, I put way more thought and care into it than anyone else ever possibly could.” Reminder: we’re referring to the Bratz dolls live-action movies. And on: “That’s because I know this movie, i know these girls, and i know this project. and to be screwed over... i’ve already had it. This is not okay, and I’ve already been hurt by this, and I don’t want to be the bad one right now.” Daniel’s all, “uh, QVC?” According to Paula - not sure if this is speculation or not - they just fired their wardrobe person so they want her back. Burn. Then Paula and Daniel go through the “Poor Me”/”Poor You”-a-thon that ladies go through. Courtney, Paula’s Evil Assistant, says that they’re not even packed for Philadelphia to Kiley and Jeff, who are now both chilling/doing damage control in the office. Jeff mutedly gays out at them, all, “this isn’t about YOU.” Well, der, it’s about Paula, who will be royally pissed if two assistants in their early-20s don’t get her some sweatpants packed for the flight to Philly pronto. Just sayin’. Jeff doesn’t think they’ll be able to make it. Paula is hunkering down with her dogs, evading her stylist/gay boyfriend, and crazying at everyone, and it’s Kiley and Evil Courtney who won’t have time? Methinks not! They’re not running on Paula Time! I think Jeff is running on Paula Time! because he’s wearing a Late Show with David Letterman shirt and dragging him lumbering ass through the compound.

Exterior Porn, and now it’s 2:17 Real Time. I’m not yet sure of the conversion rate from Real Time to Paula Time! but for now we’ll stick with the Bravo clock. Daniel continues his less-than-thrilling up ‘do. She interviews while Daniel tweaks that it was much more stressful when she was nominated at the Grammys because she had to perform as well, and she wore a leotard that made her look chunky, and IT ALMOST ENDED HER CAREER. A chunky Bedazzled leotard does not a career ruin, Paula. Gwyneth Paltrow wore all-black and pushed her boobs down to her stomach on a red carpet and is still famous. She snarks that the last time she had a hit record, Bill and Hillary were having sex. Not from what I hear, but hey, who knows. It’s finally 2:30pm and “Time to leave for the Grammy’s.” Thanks, Bravo, I couldn’t have possibly figured that out by myself. Kiley peels from behind a door, informing us that we’re going with the Valentino, and places a different, unnamed designer back on the rack. Ooo. Oh, I’d love to be going with the Valentino. It doesn’t exactly seem like Paula would enjoy the Valentino, but who knows, maybe she has a little taste in her. Paula then returns from the same door IN the Valentino and questions, “What do you think: worst dressed?” Paula! Do not talk that way in front of the Valentino! For those uninitiated, Bravo has conveniently written “Valentino, $12,500.” Really, now. $12,500 is the layperson’s price - Paula has her own Time. Kiley checks her out in a not totally hetero way, and Daniel checks her out in a fully not-hetero way. It looks nice. It’s Valentino; I’d look nice in it, my dog would look nice in it. She’s wearing the dog-eaten jewels, and asks if she should pose “like this,” which involves a huge open-mouthed smile with a thumbs up that pulses every vein in her arm. Really, Paula - I know you were a dancer, but keep your veins to yourself. Percocet Paula whines, “they have to love it! They have to! Joan Rivers, you’d better be nice to me.” Like she cares about your drunk ass. She plays with the dogs at a slight distance, asking them what they think, and those dogs are way too close to the Valentino. Then she asks Marina, who is wearing green trousers and white tennis shoes. She loves it, of course.

Red carpet flurry! We only get to see Paula with Joan and Melissa Rivers. Melissa asks who she’s wearing - why, Valentino - and says that, indeed, it looks Valentino, “which is a good thing.” Uh? Melissa? Don’t mock the Valentino. Joan quietly tries to keep her face from imploding. END SCENE! Jeff’s on the phone with Evil Courtney, because it is apparent that Evil Courtney, Kiley, Paula, and the limo have not all met at the rendezvous point, and if they’re late for the red eye, all hell will break loose and Paula will cry. We begin the ticking timer of “Time until Paula’s flight” at 1 hour, 45 minutes. Evil Courtney is now in the limo with Kiley, and they both look really comfy chillin’ in that limo. The limo driver seems unresponsive, and Paula isn’t answering her cellphone. Shocking, that. At 1 hour, 15 minutes, Evil Courtney and Kiley are still chillin’ in the limo. Uh? Your boss is MIA in Valentino and platinum diamonds, and she’s high and crazy, AND she had to look Joan Rivers in the FACE. You might want to track her down yourselves. Kiley panics in a future interview that they didn’t have time to pack (oh, I’m so sure) and that there will be hell to pay if they miss QVC.

Commercials. I might need alcohol. Fortunately, I have taped Hey Paula, and am spending a little time watching the end of the Project Runway: Season 3 marathon right before Bryant Park where Jeffrey is confronted by Laura. Oh, the drama. I wonder what kind of work Jeff has gotten since then. Hmm. Alright. Back to Paula.

Percocet Paula informs us that it’s 9:30, she’s just out of the Grammys, she has a plane at 11 and can’t find her limo. She feels stupid, and now she’s walking the streets in Valentino. Some guys ina car scream, “Hey Paula! You know you’re a legend! Yeah! I’m forever your girl - remember that?!” She slurs, “a legend”- Oops, she’s now tripping in Valentino. She finally reaches the limo with an hour to flight and is helped in by some Paula Wranglers. Apparently she had a decent time with everyone on the red carpet not looking at her like she was wearing linen with dog shit accents, and then she goes into Joan and Melissa Rivers non-reacting to her dress. Paula then scripts, “I wanted to say to Joan, what doctor’s your face wearing?” She proceeds to laugh at this hysterically while everyone in the car wants to kill themselves. They re-ID Kiley, and it makes me hope she gets a better job out of this show. Paula cackles. My soul dies a little inside. Paula semi-non-sequiteurs if they have her sweats, since they’re close to the airport. Evil Courtney says that they packed a jean outfit, and that they [certainly] packed sweats. Kiley blames herself. No, blame Evil Courtney. She packed hella tight jeans because they know she looks good on Paula. Oh, Evil Courtney - if something looks good on Paula, it feels like shit. So Paula will be unable to sleep during this flight. All Paula wants now is her white tennis shoes. Evil Courtney blanks, “we have your black ones.” Ooo. You are so fired, missy. Paula is looking for ANYTHING comfortable to fly in, but nothing will be had, so she boards.

Now it’s Day Two: QVC at 9:00am. Percocet Paula reiterates that she was wearing tight jeans with high-heeled boots on the plane. “I couldn’t sleep on the plane; could you?” No, but then again, half of my shoes are Vans and I don’t own jeans that I cannot sleep in. We see Paula at baggage claim, amongst the teeming masses, with some Nicole Ritchie (a.k.a., “hungover”) sunglasses on. They make her wait for her own bags? Her own bags that she didn’t even pack? This seems odd, but okay, whatever. She gives an autograph to a fan who tells her, “no matter what they say in the news, don’t let ‘em beat you down.” Wise words. She hugs him. She leaves the airport, attacking herself with her supersized, circa 1982 sweatshirt, and the whole crew gets packed into an SUV to get over to QVC, PDQ. Actually, they’re checking in at the Desmond Great Valley Hotel and Conference Center first, then - or so Percocet Paula dramatizes - she has a MERE 2 hours to wash her face, change her clothes, leave the hotel, and get to QVC. Boy, Jeff really does work Paula out like a DOG. Kiley, Paula, and Jeff spill out of her hotel room as if it’s a clown car, and we get to see exactly how severe the Desmond Great Valley Hotel and Conference Center can make the color turquoise. Really, did we need to paint the wall turquoise? Aren’t the accents and carpetting enough? I’ve been in some pretty intense hotel color schemes in my day, but this is ugly. There’s a little physical drama with the bags, and apparently Jeff had anticipated that Paula would have packed light seeing as she’s getting styled at the damned place. Jeff would be wrong. Percocet Paula says that she sold damned near everything, including the fake mannequins and plants, the last time she was selling at QVC, but then she had the media powerhouse megamachine that is American Idol. It’s the off-season of American Idol, so no publicity. Because no one relates American Idol to anyone who has been on even one episode. Oh, except they do. Shut up, Paula. It feels SO good to type that.

QVC has a big WELCOME TO QVC sign on the awning to its HQ like it’s a village that lives in 1872 and churns their own butter from scratch or something. Except with really tacky backgrounds. Jeff is REALLY struggling to keep hold of Paula’s bag. Paula tells a QVC “security guard” that if they see someone who looks like Simon, don’t let ‘em in. He smiles nicely, like you do around drunk people from American Idol. Oh, wait, why would he know she’s on American Idol, the show isn’t even on right now?! Christ on a cracker. A gaggle of QVC staff meet her, hug her, worship her, sacrifice a lamb in her honor, and similar. Percocet Paula slurs that they all wanted to greet her, but she was “ready to get down to business.” And we all know what kind of a disaster that looks like. We meet the boardroom and she wants to know where to sit. Sit on the fucking ceiling fan, Paula, you’re famous. She looks over the crappy QVC jewelery and disapproves. Jeff sighs silently but noticably. 4 QVCers listen to her bitch and moan about her cheap, crappy jewelery. Percocet Paula tells us that this was “not [her] vision.” Not blurry enough? We could do blurry. Commercials, mercifully.

It’s now 1am, Kiley is all caffeined up, and Paula is explaining that she’s not in the press with AI. We get it. It’s 15 minutes to air time, Jeff looks haggard, Paula looks crackheaded - I mean, “awake” - and we’re on the air! “Martha” calls in and Paula crackheads back at her. Martha’s entire family died, and Paula gives her hope. Paula crackheadedly tears up. Jeff sleeps around the set, next to the screens, and it’s 2am. By the end, everything sold out - I’m curious as to why, she’s just little Paula Abdul who used to be on some show that has some pretty high ratings in America that I don’t recall the title of. Paula needles Jeff about his nodding off on the set while she was high - er, awake. Then we get a preview of the new season. Lots of mouth opening, lots of yelling, “who’s gonna do my hair if Daniel’s gone?!” her dating is a horror movie, falling over everyone, Tim Gunn - it’s too much for previews, I can tell you that much.

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Previouslys: Paula goes to the Grammys and walks the streets in Valentino, has a dramatic red eye to Philadelphia, then sells a shitload of crappy jewelery on QVC while her manager Jeff drifts off. Cue Straight Up!

We’re at “Paula’s Hotel,” no real indication of where that is, but we soon find out that she’s actually in New York in a single-sleeved black dress in which she is receiving the Fashion Icon Award from the YMA Scholarship Fund. She’s also going to be working on her fragrance line (why do you need that? My mom has a fragrance line, and they all smell nasty as hell) and “a ton” of American Idol press. We get a multi-screen of bottles of fragrance, a limo, TV coverage, people trickling into the YMA Scholarship Fund Dinner Dance (and, presumably, Awards Ceremony), and Paula’s already exhausted! I wonder why! Because it’s Crack Time! Bravo lets us know that it’s Day One in New York City. We see garbage and people and bright things and taxis to help acclimate us to New York. We get in the limo and you thought I was joking about the Crack Time, but you’ll soon find out that, no, I wasn’t exaggerating in the slightest. Paula wink-wink-nudge-nudges Jeff about “eating your Wheaties” and how she has to eat three bowls full, and I don’t... understand. Maybe I’m not supposed to. She pleasantly dooms to Jeff, “I feel like it’s the beginning of my career all over again.” Jeff looks all, “is this good? Are you having a meltdown?” The Countdown Clock for Paula’s award is set at 15 minutes. Jeff figures we should get hopping and asks Paula if she knows what she’s gonna say, or if she’s just going to calmly quote the lyrics to Straight Up before tripping on her heels and giggling uncontrollably. She turns into a toddler - a very high toddler - by informing him that she has a fashion for passion. Jeff asks if she wants her speech, and she looks at it casually, crackheadedly. It’s not a bad speech. There are fashion jokes within it, including, “I don’t think I have ever seen a more beautifully dressed group - and the woman [sic] look good too.” She doesn’t understand it, it’s not a very good joke... moving on. YMA Fashion Scholarship Dinner Dance and Award Program - whew! That’s a mouthful. Paula missed the dinner, and she can’t concentrate when she’s hungry and high, so this might be bad. Introducing Tim Gunn! Paula is photographed randomly, she walks arm-in-arm with someone, she’s followed by a pack, she shakes random peoples’ hands (who don’t seem extremely excited to be shaking her hand) while Tim Gunn tries to stall by listing her achievements. Yeah, you try it. Jeff anxieties that she hasn’t had rest, food, or looked at her script, so this might be a disaster. Paula is given the written speech upside down and out of order. Good job, lackeys. She pulls out the crappy joke correctly, accepts the award graciously if concisely, and is happy that it’s yet another award that Simon will never have. Well, yeah, that’s one thing. Paula and Tim Gunn fabulous at each other - well, actually, Tim Gunn emits fabulousness and Paula receives some. Paula dances a little with the YMA scholars before grabbing her award and entering the Flash Photography Flurry. She’s probably exhausted - or she would be without the drugs! - and then eventually exits the place, is freezing, and suggests they stop at Starbucks. A piece of Jeff soul chips off, and he fathers, “it’s the middle of the night, Paula, how are you going to sleep?” So, we’re at Starbucks at 2:30am, as a person with sleep problems usually does, and she wants someone to split something with her because she wants to feel less guilty. She tells the staff to “just come up with somethin’” like, uh, fucking WHAT? She also doesn’t have money, so she “charms” the suits behind her for $5. She non-invites herself to a probably non-party with average people. She leaves Starbucks and some squirrels scream their heads off. Paula informs us that, “there’s an art form to this” as she falls into the limo. Yes, being not sober is the trick to everything. In the limo, she demands to know the schedule for tomorrow, then informs us that she doesn’t know what time it is (it’s 4am) and she hasn’t been able to eat what she wants to eat. Percocet Paula tells us that she has a big problem with sleeping. “I have insomnia. I started getting insomnia a few years ago. You know, it gets a little crazy after a while. Before you know it, it’s 5am.” She basically tells us in the limo that she doesn’t really sleep more than an hour a day, and it scares her. This is when I realized that she was on crack, upon first view. Something is keeping her up, and it ain’t coffee. Merciful commercials before we’re plunged into the horror that is The Interview.

Day Two - New York City. It’s 8:00am. We get shots of Times Square because Midwesterners think that’s all New York City is. Moving on. Jeff helps Paula out of the limo, she makes him spin her. Sigh. He doesn’t think she slept. Well, shit, Jeff, who’da thunk? Paula’s doing several live satelitte interviews after she checks out perfume swatches at Firmenich, Inc. From the mouth of Stanley Tucci, gird your loins.

We’re at Firmenich with Theo and Honorine, Jorgelina (do you have to have a bizarre name to work here?) and Paula dressed as Sgt Pepper. Kiley and Evil Courtney also get to meet the perfume peoples, but only as an afterthought. The people at Firmenich get to meet Bob (who could never work there, obviously) who is Paula’s Licensing Agent. Whew - lots of cheap QVC jewelery is underwritten by you, Bob. Theo says that they’ve been working their asses off trying to make her vision come to fruition. They have four samples on what they call “blotter paper” - basically, the perfume version of swatches. The first is called “Sexy Thoughts.” Paula wafts the blotter drunkenly while Bob looks like he’s smelling a Pinot. Don’t get Paula started. Next is “Spellbound.” Paula looks like she’s grooving to some smooth jazz or, more precisely, falling asleep. Bob seems to care less. The People With Bizarre Names From Firmenich cautiously sniff the blotter paper, but are mainly looking up for Paula’s reaction, which is a huge red herring, because Paula’s reaction to everything is either uncontrollable excitement, cracked out, drunk, or generally disorderly. She also appears to be sipping wine. It could be water, I’m not totally knocking her, but if it is wine, that’s curious to me, because I would think Firmenich would want to keep her able to smell, not interfere with it. One of the Long-Named People blots two different fragrances on her arm, which Paula smells and then pretends to bite. Ew. They ask her if she wants a lab coat, which she accepts. They walk her down the stairs in the lab coat, as Percocet Paula interviews that she felt like a mad scientist. This can only be bad. It’s 1:00pm and she has a million blotter papers in her hand. We now go into a room full of tiny bottles o’ fragrance. Paula smells some Natural Bulgarian Rose scent, which Theo informs us costs about $35k-$36k per kilo. Fuck me. Paula searches for violet, then drops the blotter. On the floor with several blotters, Theo merely informs her that she’s mixing violet and rose on her skin. Paula toddlers, “uh-oh! uh-oh! ah-HAHAHAHA!” Whoa. She has people smelling her violet-rose flesh, and talks about wanting people to feel like a sexpot. Ew, Paula. Paula falls onto a lab-coated guy named J.R., who obviously doesn’t actually work for Firmenich, then is all “who the hell?” Then he tells her that he might be working on her perfume and she hugs him, then falls into him again. Theo tells her that she can keep the blotters (uh, because they’re just fucking paper), and Paula says she’d meet any guy and say, “hey, wanna smell my blotters?” Ew. Paula. You’re embarassing me!

It’s now 9:00pm, and it took her 8 hours to get that much meeting together? She says she’s been “going non-stop” and hasn’t gotten any sleep, but had some great meetings. “I’m so overstimulated and exhausted and yet giddy, and hyper, and then exhausted, and I think the best thing to do is to get a massage and a facial and call it a night,” Paula drunkens. She yawns, then falls into Evil Courtney before declaring that she likes Dunkin Donuts - their coffee, in particular. And she’s tired. Really? Her driver extends a hand to help her out of the car, but she ain’t havin’ it and instead wants to bump her head on the limo. Whatever you want, Paula. Evil Courtney doesn’t blink an eye.

Day Three is the most important day of this New York trip, and Paula must sleep, for tomorrow is VERY IMPORTANT. American Idol press interviews! All of the FOX affiliates are getting this interview. We wake up, Day Three, with a sleepless Paula getting made up (in yesterday’s clothes), and she apparently “has the flu.” Her Bravo pre-interview interview reveals that she’s getting the insta-botox that comes with hard drugs. May the disaster begin! The insta-botox of hard drugs comes and goes with the interviews. Suddenly, they lose audio. Paula doesn’t stress, because she’s a consumate professional, she is resourceful, she knows the audio staff will not let her down, and - most importantly - she is blazed out of her skull. After commercials, Jeff interviews that “you worry about technical things” like losing audio, “not her.” You say that now, Jeff. At an L.A. affiliate, the reporters ask where she is. The correct answer is: “New York City.” Paula’s answer is: “I don’t know.” The reporters laugh, Jeff looks through the want ads. According to Jeff, she’s doing about 40 interviews, and things just go wildly downhill from interview one to interview forty. She’s slurring, she’s erratic, she’s cracked out, and she’s happy about it. Jeff thinks that this breakdown will “cause us a lot of bad press” because Paula acted batshit crazy. Montage of reporters questioning Paula Abdul’s sobriety and sanity. Next week, Jeff lets Paula know that he has her back, in the more monetary sense. Paula says she doesn’t do recreational drugs, phone interviews that she has never been drunk and has never done illegal drugs. She’s getting some kind of awesome award, and she also has some nice highlights going on, but she can’t enjoy any of it - the award, the highlights - because she’s “right in the middle of a big ole crap sandwich.” Well, I’d say that’s an understatement of the highest order, but then again, for me, the appeal of Paula Abdul is the crazy, the cracked out, the unexplainable. It’s like a UFO landing in my backyard, only I know what’s going on, and I cannot look away.