Sure, sometimes I allude to the possibility that the crazy cruelty, incessant idiocy, and stomach-churning hatred heaved out into the world by our Real Housewives of Orange County could bring about the kind of fiery day of reckoning Tamra studies with her personal trainer/spiritual guru while she's doing burpees. Yes, I've suggested Vicki pantomiming the act of nailing herself to a crucifix during a party in Newport Beach might very well lead to Catholicism as a whole shutting down just so the religion's followers do not have to be in any way associated with a creature I'm pretty sure was thought up by Satan himself after a particularly rough week. And okay, fine – I've called some of these women morons and lunatics and Mephistopheles' asshole. I've giggled uncontrollably just glancing at the hideous purses Gretchen once thought would make her a millionaire and I've gone on record saying I'd rather drink the urine of a possum in heat than ever so much as taste Vicki's Wines By Wives. I stand by those comments; they're entirely accurate, but none of it means I wish personal harm to come to any of these women. Watching the accident go down on tonight's show was scary and I'm glad everyone is safe. That's not to say, however, that I would have objected to this accident knocking some sense into the heads of the truly senseless, but I suppose it's best I don't get greedy. Besides, I've already used my allotted three wishes on praying Bethenny gets herself ordained and shows up in Palm Beach to perform Luann's wedding ceremony in a long white dress and a veil.
Tonight's episode kicks off soon after the odd peace summit between Heather and Kelly, the one presided over by Saint Tamra of CUT Fitness. It's difficult for me to follow the totally nonsensical, but I believe the upshot of the entire thing was that Kelly swore not to howl the word "cunt" in front of children and then burst into tears so Heather would refrain from asking any follow-up questions about the status of her sanity. Also covered at the saddest meeting in all of the land is that Kelly is an EXCELLENT mother – well, according to Kelly. We'll have to wait and see what the kid's eventual therapist has to say about the matter.
And now that everyone is pretending everything is just fine, it's time for them to all take a trip together! Actually, not all the Housewives are willing to go ride dune buggies together n the desert. Both Meghan and Shannon have begged off. Meghan's excuse is that her doctor doesn't want her to juggle the fetuses implanted inside her as she rides across some dunes. Shannon's rationale for getting the fuck out of dodge is that her bad breathing might be compromised by the topography of the destination. I applaud these ladies and their excuses as I would have faked my own death to get out of being in a desert with Vicki, Tamra, and Kelly and I plan to spend every commercial break praying for Heather, who somehow did not come up with an excuse of her very own. My guess is she was busy meeting with the architect who was designing a bidet that shoots champagne instead of purified water and therefore forgot to contract herself a fake case of gout before this trip.
Moving on to Kelly, it's not at all shocking to see the lunatic has not reformed herself in the slightest. Even after bawling her eyes out and asking for forgiveness, she still makes sure to drop how "judgmental" Heather is to her. Some people just can't let shrieks of "Cunt!" across a dinner table go, huh? Besides, according to Kelly, only Jesus should judge her. Um, do I need to convert just so I can watch this show – because, if so, that might finally be my out. Kelly is such an asshole, you guys. I hate her as much as I hate Vicki. I hate her as much as I hate that I'm going back to work tomorrow after having a summer off. I hate her more than the creamed squash my mother tried for years to pass off as mashed potatoes. I hate her more than she hates her own husband. I hate her more than I hated her last week, so I cannot even imagine how I'll feel come the motherucking reunion. Oy vey, does Jesus make house calls?
Over at Shannon's house, she's gotten word that her house is finally in escrow and she only has thirteen days to pack up her entire house. Thirteen days? How can she pack up the entire craft room and the basketball court in less than two weeks? For now, she will rent until they buy or build a new palace and the idea of living in a home without "hospital grade air" is freaking her out. As for me, I'm now terrified about the grade of air I've been living with daily, so I hope Shannon is planning that her new home will have a lovely guest room for me. I'm gonna require seven large closets with a sitting area in one and she can feel free to toss in one of those water filtration systems she keeps talking about when she's done burying some crystals in my walls to ward off whatever evil comes my way that will probably look very much like Kelly Dodd.
As Shannon gets ready to invite witch doctors over to bless her rental home, Heather hops on the party bus that will whisk her off to Glamis, a place with lots of sand and very little shopping. That alone should inspire Heather to run fleeing towards Malibu, but she's game to rough it in her somewhat luxurious RV. Besides, her chef prepared all the food she and her family will need for the entire vacation and even stuck little notes on each meal that probably say things like, "Don't microwave aluminum foil." I realize entirely that this scene will make many think Heather is uppity and mildly ridiculous. She is emphatically both of those things, but God, wouldn't you want to be in her RV instead of anywhere with Vicki and Kelly? I unapologetically love Heather – and I only want to use her champagne bidet sometimes.
Now it's time for Meghan and her adoring husband to go take a blood test to find out if she's pregnant. She's anxious and emotional. He's a withholding prick. Still, he does deign to touch her on the arm and whisper that she'll be alright and it's the biggest expression of sentiment this guy has shown in two seasons. I'd applaud him for being human, but it seems way too soon to make that call.
Heather rolls up to Tamra's house next to pick up Vicki, Kelly (dressed in her Axl Rose finest), and Tamra in the RV. There are kids all over the place, Kelly already feels nauseous, and Vicki kicks off the conversation as only a dipshit can by asking, "So tell me about Shannon's vow renewal and party that I wasn't invited to." (I'd ask right here if this woman has any shame, but I think that question's already been answered.) In any case, her question never gets answered because Kelly hauls off and pukes three minutes in. Oh, Heather. Pull off the road and call your pilot to come get you. I mean, I'm ready to send in a chopper myself to rescue you from this nightmare. Sadly, it's a small chopper and can only rescue you and your child. The rest of those women will have to stay in that RV and become one with the wilderness like the characters in "The Hills Have Eyes" so nicely did.
Also: I'm taking up a collection for the driver of the RV, as he will clearly need his very own padded room to stay in for all of eternity after this trip. Please contribute handsomely.
Away from the bus, the doctor calls to tell Meghan she is in fact pregnant and she is thrilled. Jimmy barely cracks a smile at the news and the entire thing is just uncomfortable to watch. I have nothing else to say about this scene because it's fucking disturbing as hell.
The RV group finally arrives in Glamis and they all check out each other's motor homes and this is officially the Housewives trip I have the least desire to be on. I'd rather be in Dubai with Lisa Rinna screaming "Münchausen!" over and over again than be in the desert with these OC ladies – and that's saying something. But the women are having a great time. Vicki's drunk and exploring the dunes, Kelly is still talking shit about Heather, Heather is grilling hotdogs for the first time in her entire life...it's all a delight and it's also very clearly the calm before the sandstorm. The next day, Heather's son learns how to ride motorbikes and dune buggies across the sand and then it's time for the women to pile on in. Heather, Vicki, Kelly, and Tamra hop in one together and there might as well be horror music playing because we all know what's coming. Yes, we all read TMZ and we know medics were called in and people were airlifted to a hospital -- and still the footage of the ATV crash will the flying sand is horrifying.
"Nobody move!" instructs Heather immediately, though it might have been Kelly. That's about when Vicki throws up all over Kelly's lap – and the whole thing looked so serious and awful that I didn't even cheer. Medics are called for, Heather remains calm and focused, Tamra is lying on the ground, Vicki is wrapped in a neck collar and is breathing heavily. All of it is horrible to watch and the cameras never stopped filming for even a second. Vicki is taken by helicopter to the hospital, Tamra is brought to another hospital, and Kelly and Heather embrace like trauma survivors. Every second of this footage – especially when the editors throw it into slow-motion – looks like some Mad Max version of the apocalypse.
While terrible things go down in Glamis, Heather calls Meghan and Jim to tell them the news. Since they are currently in Palm Springs and Vicki has been brought to a hospital there, it appears Heather and Kelly would like them to go check on her. "That's too bad," Meghan says about Vicki’s condition – and it's immediately apparent she's going nowhere. And you know what? I can’t blame her – not for even a millisecond.
Nell Kalter teaches Film and Media at a school in New York. She is the author of the books THAT YEAR and STUDENT, both available on amazon.com in paperback and for your Kindle. Also be sure to check out her website at nellkalter.com Her Twitter is @nell_kalter