This week, Brandi tried to organize a getting-to-re-know-you Malibu BJ party; Adrienne and Lisa wore over-1-shoulder gowns and took jabs at one another; and Kim was evidently so lost in a K-hole that she couldn’t attend Adrienne’s charity event/fashion show/hoof unveiling.
The last two episodes of Beverly Hills have been nothing more than filler, unnecessary jaunts we viewers take to get to the acrylic-breaking, venom-spewing brawls that comprise the show’s best moments. Last week’s episode was so dull that I couldn’t even be bothered to write about it. The only thing blog-worthy about last week was when Kimstal Meth confused a replica of the Golden Gate Bridge for a sailboat. “It’s not a boat,” she incredulously asked her dealer. “No,” he replied, “it’s a bridge.” Seconds after the exchange, a TOTALLY SOBER Kim said, “Hand me that boat. I want to see what it will look like over the fireplace.” Mind you, this is the chick who, only weeks ago, spent an ENTIRE WEEK shooting air freshener in her mouth because she though it was Binaca breath spray.
Oh, lest I forget, last week’s episode did contain one other delicious morsel. When describing her relationship with her new boyfriend, Kimstal Meth compared herself to an Arabian horse and then meowed, like all horses do. Yes, Kim, you are a meowing Arabian horse. In moments like these, I remember what the child actress claims in the opening credits: “People try to figure me out but I’m one of a kind.” Ever been to a crack den, honey?
This week’s episode began innocently enough. The family Vanderpump (henceforth known as FAMderPump) dropped $15,000 on 150 wedding invitations, then watched wedding caterers and mixologists drop liquid nitrogen into sterling silver vats filled with stem-cell-infused vodka.
I imagine Kim watching the same scene, drool dripping down her chin. As we know, Kim sees what she wants to see. Anyone up for a stroll across the Titanic bridge or a morning sailboat ride on the S.S. Golden Gate? All Kim’s likely to see in the above photo is a drug dealer cooking up a fresh bath of meth in an urn. Just like mama used to make!
Later, we got to see Adrienne in the midst of her creative process. “I’m going to be a shoe designer,” she confessed. Dear Housewives of EVERY city, stop the cycle of commodity bullshit. Listening to music doesn’t make you a singer, Kim. Wearing fab-a-lus clothes doesn’t make you a fashion designer, Sheree. Eating lots of “INGREDIENTSES” in your dinner doesn’t make you a chef, Theresa. Attending a family member’s funeral does not a funeral director make, Phaedra. Wearing expensive shoes doesn’t make you a cobbler! Adrienne, you are above being another Real Housewives entrepreneurial cliché. You’ve already proven your business acumen. You own a baseball team! Or basketball. Or whatever it’s called. I have serious doubts about your creative process when your first shoe design meeting involves you throwing 20 pairs of your favorite platforms on a kitchen table and, in not so many words, telling your team, “Let’s plagiarize a little bit from EACH of these shoes.” And that’s exactly what you did! The Maloof hoof you HID throughout most of your party was a near-exact replica of the Louboutin Kyle told you looked like Cinderella’s slipper. Just so we’re clear, my pointing at a Picasso painting and telling a painter to paint something like it DOES NOT MAKE ME A PAINTER.
At Adrienne’s charity event, the hostess chastised Lisa for not throwing Pandora’s bachelorette party at the Maloof-owned Palms Casino in Vegas. “I would do anything for that girl. I adore her,” Adrienne mumbled with the sincerity of a paperweight. I hate to see my two favorite BH housewives go at it, but, if forced to choose, I’m Team VanderPump. Adrienne’s upset because Lisa didn’t turn her only daughter’s bachelorette party into an hour-long commercial for the Palms Hotel and Casino?!
Adrienne’s hoof unveiling was also a Kevan Hall fashion show. First of all, I hate Kevan Hall, only because I loathe idiots who come up with the gayest possible spelling of a first name. It’s not “Kevan,” a-hole; it’s KEVIN. FTR, Jason isn’t spelled Jasyn, Jasin, Jayson, or Jaysyn; nor is Alex spelled Alecks, Alichs, or Alox. Kevan Hall’s gowns are divine but he loses 2 full letter grades for name alone.
This episode was kinda’ painful to watch. I especially hated the scenes with Russell. Writing this blog, I walk a fine line. I don’t want to talk ill of the dead but I also don’t want to ignore his physical and mental abuse of Taylor. I hated watching Taylor, Russell, the marriage therapist, Kyle, and Mauricio use euphemisms when talking around Russell’s history of beating the shit out of his wife. “What happens when you get upset, Russell,” the therapist asked. “Do you use ‘strong words,’” he questioned. The therapist, like everyone else in Taylor’s world, had to know the extent of Russell’s damage. The whole episode reminded me of code words I used for smoking cigarettes when I was a kid. My friends and I would use “eating chocolates” as a rhetorical smokescreen for our budding cigarette addictions. We thought we were so clever! “Hey, Marcy, wanna’ go outside and eat some chocolates,” we’d say in front of our parents. And what REALLY gets me is that my father and stepmother never intervened, even after they cracked the code. Maybe I’m being a bit harsh but I can’t help but feel silence makes people complicit in abuse, whether violence take the form of a child smoking, a kid being molested at a football camp, or a husband brutalizing his wife. How can Kyle complain about Taylor’s mixed messages when the saner of the two Richards sisters regularly greets the wife abuser with open arms and a kiss on the cheek? Maybe I just have a distorted and/or romantic view of myself but I certainly wouldn’t dine with a guy who was beating the hell out of one of my close friends. I’d kick his f’ing ass. Haven’t these women seen Fried Green Tomatoes? When your friend is being abused, you intervene. You get in your car, drive to her house, pack her shit, and turn the husband into BBQ ribs if he tries to interfere. Never forget: “Secret’s in the sauce.” Then again, maybe the ladies of Beverly Hills have seen Fried Green Tomatoes. Lisa does own two restaurants. Nudge, nudge; wink, wink.
Next week, it looks like poo hits the proverbial fan. Brandi and Kyle get physical at a Malibu Beach party, and Taylor goes ape-shit crazy on Camille’s friend Cee Cee. “You have NO IDEA WHAT’S SHE’S DONE TO ME,” a crazy-eyed Tay Tay screeches as she rolls around on a table. Poor Cee Cee. She never seems to catch a break.
Ragan Fox was one of the stars of Big Brother 12. He is a super fan of The Real Housewives franchise, and loves every iteration of the series, even DC. Now that is brand loyalty. His Housewives blogs are not suitable for children. Or adults.