RACHEL ZOE PHOTOCAP: It’s A Feathersaster!

The quest to find Oscar gowns continued on the latest episode of The Rachel Zoe Project, and as the big Hollywood event neared, tensions flared, mostly thanks to Rodger, who spent much of the hour bitching about not getting to see his wife. I think we all like the guy, but Rachel did have a point when she noted that this happens every year; so why not shut up? Nevertheless, if Rodger didn’t complain, we probably wouldn’t have a show, what with Taylor and her drama now being absent from Team Zoe. Then again, I wouldn’t mind less fighting and more gasps over things like feathers and blazer emergencies. All in a day’s work, I suppose.

Photocap after the jump…

Rachel: “Oh my God. We have to go.”
Rodger: “But I haven’t finished my pasta.”
“You have a Rodgertude.”
“I just want to finish my pasta.”
“Now you have a pasta-tude.”
Brad: “He’s giving me a Milan-itude.”
Rodger: “We never get to finish our pasta.”
Rachel: “And I couldn’t finish my cap.”
“So finish your cap.”
“I can’t. You’ve given me a cappitude.”
“That’s not my fault.”
Brad: “He has a scarfitude.”
Rodger: “I have no attitude.”
Rachel: “Denyitude.”
“Maybe if you gave me a baby, I wouldn’t be so cranky.”
Brad: “Nestingtude.”
Brad: “There’s nothing wrong with nesting.”
Rachel: “Birditude.”
“I just wants kids.”
Brad: “Madonnatude.”
Rodger: “Okay. This is enough.”
Rachel: “Conclusiontude.”

Brad: “Oh my God. Why are you making me look straight?”

“Oh my God. Do I see a feather? I’m not on feather patrol. LITERALLY, I’m off duty. Like, if I were to see a feather, I could arrest it, but I wouldn’t want to because it’s my day off. Oh my God. I need rest. Feather Patrol is killing me. Literally, I’m dying. The feathers are killing me. I will die from feathers. Feather death. Ohmygod. Am I already dead? I’m a feather ghost. A ghost of feathers. Like, I look like a bird, but a ghost bird. I’m on ghost feather patrol.”

“Oh my God. Your collection was beyond. I die. I die.”
“Thank you. And your hat is very nice. Lovely feather.”
“Ohmygod. Why is there a feather in my hat?”
“It looks lovely.”
“You don’t understand. I’m on feather patrol. This LITERALLY undermines my feather authority. I’m the laughingstock of the feather world.”
“It’s fine.”
“Ohmygod. This is a feathersaster.”

“If you see any feathers, please call this number. It’s important that members of the feather patrol are alerted. Oh wait. This is Kate Hudson’s number. LITERALLY, she is so spontaneous. You could probably call her and get cap with her. Oh my God. I love me some cap.”

“Oh my God. I love me a llama moment.”

“Those jeans are like my baby. I want to carry them in my stylist womb and give birth to them on the red carpet. Oh my God. It’s a baby of denim. I die. I die.”

“I love this coat. I need to go out in it. Oh my God. Where am I going? I feel like a chicken who’s been vandalized.”

“Oh my God. I’m on feather patrol. Are there any feathers here? Literally, I will arrest them. They are under my jurisdiction. Like, I will persecute the feathers to the full extent of the law. The feather law.”

Brad: “I love your hat, Rachel. It’s like you’re going on fancy safari.”
“Oh my God. I should go to Africa.”
“You’d be the best dressed.”
“LITERALLY, I could style the lions.”
“That sounds scary.”
“Oh my God. What if they attack me?”
“You could die.”
“I die.”
“Do you think you could style a giraffe instead?”
“Unclear.”
“You were okay with Demi’s giraffe.”
“I love me a giraffe moment.”
“Could you wrap the giraffe in Pucci?”
“Oh my God. Vintage Pucci with a plunging neckline. Total giraffe Princess moment.”
“That’s, like, amazing.”
“Oh my God. We have to call Babar. He’s the Kate Hudson of Africa.”
“Babar? I’m going red.”
“I die for Babar. His look is classic. Crown, suit, shoes: clean lines, vintage flair. Babar is so major it’s not even funny. I love me some Babar.”

“Oh my God. I am so mad at my glasses. I can’t even look at them right now. LITERALLY, we’re in a fight. They have a Rodgertude.”

Rachel: “Oh my God. I have a headache so big, it’s like Babar called up all his elephant friends and told them to LITERALLY stampede over my brain.”
Rodger: “Babar wouldn’t do that.”
“Babe, Babar can do anything he wants.”
“Babe, I don’t know why you stress over this every year. It’s always the same. Babar never attacks you.”
“Babe, oh my God. If I married Babar, I would LITERALLY have to call him Babe-ar.”
“At least your name isn’t Barbara. Then you’d be Barbara Babar.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s just a lot of ‘bar’ sounds.”
“Oh.”
“Still dont get it?”
“Why am I named Barbara?”
“No, it’s a theoretical.”
“Am I still Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“So who is Barbara?”
“I was just saying that Barbara Babar has a lot of ‘bars.'”
“Like a jail.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Why is Babar in jail?”
“He’s not.”
“Does Barbara know?”
“There is no Barbara.”
“Did she die?”
“No. She never was alive.”
“Oh my God. Barbara is a ghost.”
“She’s not a ghost.”
“Who is she?”
“She’s you in the joke.”
“So I’m a ghost named Barbara?”
“Rachel, you’re alive.”
“Oh my God. Someone should tell Babar. He must have thought I died.”
“I’m not telling Babar.”
“Because he’s in jail?”
“Because Babar isn’t real.”
“Oh my God.”
“I’m sorry.”
“All this time he hasn’t been real?”
“It’s true.”
“He’s a ghost elephant.”
“No, Rachel.”
“We should tell Barbara.”

“Oh my God. Demi is going to be naked on the red carpet. Literally, naked. Her clothes will be invisible. It’ll be like ghost clothes. Ohmygod. I need to call ghost Donatella and have her send over a ghost couture gown.”

Rachel: “Babe, I don’t know why you bitch about this every year. You should be used to it by now.”
“I’m just over it, Rachel.”
“You need to drop your Rodgertude.”
“Every time I see you, you’re with your gays.”
“That’s not true.”
“Have you seen me lately, Rach? I make Johnny Weir look like Sylvester Stallone.”
“I love me a Rambo moment.”

“Oh my God. I can almost fit this ring in my mouth.”
Rodge: “You can do it. Say ahhhhh.”
“Ah.”
“No, aaaaaaahhhh.”
“Ah.”
“Open your mouth more.”
“Literally, this is as far as it goes.”
“Do you have lockjaw or something?”
“Unclear.”
“Did you step on a rusty nail recently?”
“No. But I thought about nails. I want a manicure.”
“Well, you don’t get lockjaw from thinking about fingernails.”
“Oh no.”
“What?”
“My jaw just locked.”
“But you’re talking.”
“Oh my God. How do I unlock my jaw? Is there a security code?”
“I think you’re fine.”
“Rodge, what’s my password hint?”
“There is none.”
“Rodge, will you enter ‘Babar’ as my password?”
“Enter it where?”
“I don’t know. Ask Babar.”
“I can’t ask Babar.”
“Oh my God. This is a Babarsaster.”

Rachel: “I feel like I just gave birth to three dresses. I carried them and now they’re born. They’re my dress babies. Like, LITERALLY, it feels like a gown popped out of my vagina and landed on Cameron Diaz. Oh my God. She stole my baby. I can’t believe Cameron would do that.”

Rachel: “Oh my God. Rodger has such a Rodgertude lately.”
Brad: “He’s having a Rodgey fit.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s like a hissy fit but with Rodger’s name instead.”
“Oh my God. I love it.”
“Isn’t it the best?”
“Like, I want to take that idea, put it in a box, and mail it to Kate Hudson.”
“She would love it.”
“Of course she would. She’s Kate Hudson. She’s a rock star. Major. Beyond.”
“Would you write a card?”
“Unclear.”
“I think the card attached should say ‘Thank you for being my friend.'”
“Brad.”
“Yes?”
“You’re a Bradsaster.”