It’s difficult to select the single most idiotic statement ever uttered by often intentionally undernourished women who seek fame and fortune by being recorded by a small camera crew, but I have a few favorites:

“I’m gonna be on Broadway!” – said by NeNe Leakes, the Atlanta Housewife who has literally choked a woman on camera, about getting an actual role in a Broadway show.  Continue to dream big, violence-prone strippers!

“Did a ghostwriter write your book?” – posed to Carole Radziwill, a legitimate writer, by Aviva Drescher, the former New York City Housewife who was let go after her final Hail Mary to stay relevant (removing her artificial leg and flinging it across a restaurant during a party that was held for no good reason) went awry.

“My husband is so hot!” – uttered by the currently-incarcerated Theresa Giudice about her revolting husband, a man whose body mirrors the shape of a beer truck.  His awful physique is that asshole’s finest quality, narrowly inching out his ability to help send his wife to prison for the duo’s flagrant acts against silly things like legalities.

“I need my love tank filled.” – breathed by Vicki, the fire-exhaling-cleavage-baring shrew on the Orange County Housewives, a woman who has been on this show since its inception despite coming off to anyone with a pulse as out-of-her-fucking-mind crazy, which is a very particular strand of crazy that can be purchased off the rack at the gift shop at Bravo headquarters.

As a whole, the Housewives say ridiculous things all the time and I cannot see that pattern shifting.  After all, they inhabit a world where they are rewarded for speaking in sound bytes – the more controversial, succinct, and with the highest probability that what they say can be turned into an insta-hashtag the better.  And this week, both Kim and Kyle Richards jump into the mucky fray with senseless sentences of their very own, though both come off as far more sad than shocking.  

Kyle’s foolish words come during a moment in which she is quite calm and explaining directly to the camera a very important lesson her mother – who sounds more and more emotionally-warped each time one of her adult needy daughters sings her praises – taught the family:  “My mom always taught us not to air our dirty laundry in public.”  


Which is a better idea:  laughing at Kyle’s hypocrisy, judging her for it, or embroidering that eloquent life lesson onto the kind of pillow that won’t cause face wrinkles and then handing them out during the THREE-PART Reunion to a bunch of women who earn a living by airing their dirty laundry in public?

I’m going with the pillow idea and I’ll even personalize them so they become extra special.  Kyle’s pillow will have a little mirror sewn onto it so she can gaze upon her shiny curtain of hair, which I think probably serves to calm her down and makes her feel youthful.  Kim’s pillow will have a small turtle sewn onto it, and just so you know, he is not high; he is just tired and he only took one small pain pill so shut your mouth and I hate your face.  Speaking of despised faces, Eileen’s pillow will have the phone number of her agent embroidered onto it so she can call him in the dead of night and ask him what the fuck he was thinking when he convinced her to go on this show with alcohol-tossing women who were unfortunately born with absolutely no self-awareness but were blessed with very fine aim.

The reason Kyle brings up her mother’s astute family rule in the first place is because it’s morning in Palm Springs and just last night Kim shrieked at Kyle about being a liar and then both sisters told the other that everyone talked shit about them and then Kyle – who cannot refrain from bursting into weepy tears whenever she’s confronted – dabbed at her eyes in the kitchen, trying to keep her mascara from streaking down her cheeks and wondering where the fuck her Ouija board was in that new house so that she could maybe contact her mother and ask for clarification about whether or not having family brawls while wearing a microphone would be considered an infringement on the Rules.

Before the séance can commence, into the kitchen saunters Kim – who looks light as a feather and stiff as a fucking board – and she tells Kyle that she’s so glad she didn’t just walk out last night after their fight.  So am I, because if I had to place bets against who would reign supreme if Kim had to do battle with a coyote, a lizard, or a rock shaped like a broken star – all the kinds of things Kim would likely come across while fleeing from her sister in the pitch-black desert – there is zero likelihood whatsoever that Kim would walk away victorious, including from the rock that can only lie there.

But Kim, proving her unrelenting internal strength, did not go barreling into the night and now she is adamant about one thing:  Kyle needs to start treating her like she is the healthy older sister, and that is the second most moronic thing uttered during the first ten minutes of this episode.   

I feel like explaining to Kim that she cannot possibly expect to be treated like a healthy person when she screams and shrieks and points and deflects and threatens – and that’s when she’s actually able to form a sentence out of words – but that would be breath very poorly spent.  Instead, I’d rather create two puppets out of socks riddled with athlete’s foot and staple blonde yarn to one of them and brown string to the other and have the brown-haired one try to explain to the sock with the yellow hair that she is perceived as unhealthy completely due to her own (constantly televised) actions while the sock with the yellow hair just jerks back and forth oddly and tells the other sock that it’s just jealous since it never ended up on the foot of Willie Aames or on the dick of Scott Baio.
I actually quite like the idea of Psychological Puppet Theatre, but I will probably be far too busy creating my Reunion Pillows.  Plus, I’d really rather not waste a pair of socks. 

But even more revolting than the idea of sticking my newly-manicured fingers inside of a fungus-filled sock (not my own fungus; I’d purchase some on eBay) in an effort to explain to Kim why people treat her like she’s a poisonous rattlesnake that can do a keg stand is the way that Kim doesn’t ever apologize for her actions or for her questionable reactions; instead, she likes to remind Kyle of random things their mother used to say, which she knows will knock Kyle in the emotional gut and remind her of that time when she had to declare to a dying woman that she would take care of the most fucked up of the siblings.  It’s a behavioral pattern of Kim’s that is obvious and manipulative and, frankly, quite genius because it does what it’s supposed to:  it gets Kyle to back down.  Kim may not be able to speak in full sentences, but at least she has figured out how to get her more lucid sister off her far-from-lucid ass.

“It’s just easier not to talk about things,” says Kyle in the last sentence of that opening scene, and I’d happily construct an argument about how very unhealthy that kind of enforced silence can be within a relationship, but there’s really no point in saying a single word because these women WILL talk about everything, just not to one another privately.  Instead, they will yammer about the broken dynamics of their relationship to a televised audience and answer question after question posed by Dr. Andy Cohen and then probably not speak to one another again until next season, when they have to journey to the Arctic together for a fun Housewives vacation.

Leaving the worst spot in the land – which, technically, is anywhere Kim Richards happens to be, and that means that should she ever wind up at Nordstrom during their annual shoe sale and ruins that place for me, I will make it my personal life’s mission to destroy her – we head to Lisa Rinna’s house.  As I’m of the assumption that Kim will never be invited over to Lisa’s house, my breathing and blood pressure returned to normal as I watched Lisa and her family remove the swing set in the backyard that her daughters have outgrown.  It’s a sweet moment – actually it’s bittersweet; I always wanted a fucking swing set and I never had one – and Harry Hamlin arrives in the grassy background with crystal flutes and sparkling cider to commemorate the momentous occasion.  I’m not sure why he is not busy in the garage with a gigantic shovel burying every single one of the secrets uncovered by Sherlock Kim Richards, but perhaps he has already covered the transsexual prostitute’s body with dirt and he wanted a cold drink.

And speaking of the damning allegations Kim alluded to over dinner in Amsterdam right after she told Eileen that she hated her face, Lisa has decided not to give it all too much thought, though she is highly aware that her reaction in the moment was not her finest hour.

“To have that kind of reaction is giving her way too much,” sighs Lisa.  Still, she can’t help but take real issue with the fact that Kim even brought Harry into the conversation, something she makes clear when she sneers, “Don’t insinuate weird fucking shit about my husband,” a request that strikes me as more than fair, but maybe that’s because I don’t have an addiction to try to hide. 

(I’ve heard reports that Kim never actually had a single shred of evidence that Lisa’s husband ever did anything unseemly, that she only said that she did out of pure anger.  Now stop being silly; there’s absolutely nothing disturbing about a person who would do such a thing and if you maintain that there is, you are a liar with a horrible face.)

Over at Kyle’s ridiculous store that is filled to the brim with ugly blouses in jewel tones, an event is underway to celebrate the release of Nicky Hilton’s book, and I have a few questions I must work out in relation to such a thing.  First, how have I – nay, how have any of us – survived this long without a definitive style guide written by Nicky Hilton?  Second, is it possible that an event with cameras present would not bring Paris Hilton forth from whatever cretin she has been lying beneath these days?  Of course not; she arrives to prance in the light of the bright flashes and I began to question whether or not there is a God.  

For the love of all that is holy – which would include my dog, my carefully organized array of strappy sandals, and that cute guy I’m starting to really enjoy – what fucking year is it?  Because I feel as though Kyle’s store and her attention-starved nieces have somehow made it 2005 again!  I’m not all that worried for myself, but I genuinely fear for Kim, a woman who always thinks it’s still 1973, and all of this confusion makes me want to build a time machine that will rocket me off to an era without Hiltons and without Kims and without ugly caftans sold at a ridiculous markup in Kyle’s ridiculous store. 

Who is getting into that time machine with me?  I shall provide the flux capacitor myself.

Next to come walking through the door of the store is Camille, and her presence reminds me of a simpler time in The Legend of the Housewives, back when everybody was still kind of feeling one another out and hadn’t yet moved onto mass loathing.  Also in attendance at the signing for The Greatest Book Of Our Time is Mauricio’s mother, who is hanging onto the arm of a Danish Prince – you know, as people sometimes do.  

Most of the event doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, but what does make sense is that Lisa Vanderpump doesn’t really want to attend the Mandated-For-Housewives-Old-And-New Party – White Parties are so last season – which former Housewife Adrienne is throwing.  Lisa, being of sound mind, doesn’t particularly want to be in a room filled with feuding women, but as she is a woman who understands terms of a contract, she will be there and so will everybody else because this is the season finale and there needs to be a gathering where some tussling can ensue.

The party doesn’t just arrive, however.  First the viewers are asked to endure (have we not alreadyendured?) the party preparations, during which each Housewife gets to mull aloud about the complicated emotions she feels for each of the other women.  

The lucky ones get to pontificate to someone who loves them.  

Kim and Brandi share their feelings with stylists.

And to the stylist whose client’s hair has been rather hit or miss since he began squatting on her futon, Brandi reveals that her father is still in the hospital, her ex-boyfriend is back in her life, and the word “cunt” should start with the letter “K” because the name “Kyle” starts with a “K” and Kyle is a total cunt.  It’s Brandi’s hilarious attempt at combining humor with the art of linguistics.  

At least she tried.

And those tepid words will be the most I am able to get it up for Brandi Glanville from this point forward, because her behavior is deplorable and a case study in stunted adolescent development – which might have been slightly harder for me to diagnose had Brandi not screamed into Lisa Vanderpump’s face at a party that her father is “the best person on the planet!  Better than you!  Better than Ken!”  This woman needs to be studied by mental health professionals, and I have no doubt that one day not too far in the future, my volume of Brandi will sit on my bookshelf next to my copy Freud’s Dora:  An Analysis of a Case of Hysteria .

Over at Sober Manor, Kim tells her stylist that Kyle said that Lisa Rinna said that Brandi said that Kim needs an intervention and that means Kim must confront Lisa Rinna yet again because Kim loves to feel stronger than someone – it so rarely happens – and she recognizes that Lisa Rinna is scared to death of her and Lisa’s abject terror gives Kim a fun little thrill because she is a very sick person.  

Lisa Vanderpump swings by to pick up Kyle and I am saddened beyond comprehension to say that Lisa’s outfit was very much a mistake.  Since I find her delightful, I will overlook it and maybe one day I will be able to block it out completely like I did with seventh grade.  I feel the scenarios are comparable as they both involved very bad hair.

Arriving at Adrienne’s party to launch the idea that she’s now available to be rented by a magician (I think that was the point of the party, but it all got a little foggy), it’s clear from the first shot that this is an Adrienne Party.  What’s an Adrienne Party?  Imagine shirtless waiters, angels dangling from the ceiling, a hostess with more peeled layers of epidermis than any other human being on the planet, women who abhor one other, and no food anywhere in sight.  Then add a haze of gaudiness and top the whole mess with a Danish Prince.  

That’s an Adrienne Party.

The women saunter through the crowd and greet one another with that overlong double-kiss thing they insist on doing and Camille gets to show off her S&M finery as she sets her sights on the royalty in the room, which is really just good sense.  I’d thought Fake Hamlet was the virile male concubine of Mauricio’s mother, but I must have been mistaken because he was tonguing Camille by night’s end.

Having less fun is everybody else.

Lisa Vanderpump approaches Brandi, who is standing near a bar – shocking – and she is wearing a dress that doesn’t cover her nipples.  Now listen:  I’m all for wearing stuff that is low-cut, but this dress was not only beyond the realms of normal good taste, it was also clearly a pain in the ass to wear all night because Brandi kept trying in vain to conceal her areolas.   Into her cleavage walks Lisa, who begins to speak to Brandi about some apology email Brandi sent, but Brandi is a child who cannot deal with more than one thing at a time and tonight all of her focus is on the fact that her father is “dying” in a hospital while she is at a party.

Let’s call this situation for what it is:  a fucking mess.  Brandi is there probably because she is mandated to show up, but if you and your breasts are going to follow guidelines and show up, keep your emotions in check.  Don’t start lashing out at people who would have been there for you had you not sought to destroy them publicly and then all but pissed on any decency they once threw your way.  Brandi herself says that only Yolanda has been in touch with her to inquire about her father’s well-being, but Brandi has only herself to blame for the fact that her reality television co-workers do not offer their emotional support to a woman who has wronged them at each and every turn.

(By the way, according to Brandi herself on Watch What Happens Live, her father is recovering nicely.)

“I’m sorry your father is not doing well,” is really the very most Lisa can offer Brandi in ways of empathy, and frankly, that’s actually more than Brandi deserves.  It’s all really quite sick.  Brandi obviously has a complicated relationship with her father and she clearly sees Yolanda as a mother figure and she once saw Ken and Lisa as sort of surrogate parents, but she slammed her metaphorical bedroom door on them one too many times and got annoyed when Lisa mentioned that she ought to do the responsible thing and get her broken wrist checked out by a doctor and now Brandi has lost her fake parents and she’s nervous about her real father so she does what any adult would do:  she goes to a party where everyone hates her and bursts into tears as a way to deflect anger and drinks her weight in chardonnay.

Across the room, the same nonsense that has transpired all season is occurring yet again.  Crazy Kim wants to ask Lisa Rinna if Brandi actually used the word “intervention” when speaking about her, and that word is apparently of the utmost importance.  See, if Brandi had said some version of “Kim needs serious help because she’s out of her fucking mind,” well, that would be okay.  But the word “intervention”?  That’s a word that can’t exist – and Lisa Rinna shouldn’t exist either because what she did, according to Kim and her enormous levels of rationality, was to make “something out of nothing and it’s going to ruin my reputation and my life and all that I have worked hard for.”

Once again, in what stratosphere does this broken woman live?  What convoluted mindset does she follow?  Who has allowed her to get away with believing that the reactions of others are the problem and that her actions that cause those reactions are negligible?  What has been presented on television this season (and last season – and the season before that) is legitimately psychologically-imbalanced behavior, and I would feel sorry for Kim and maybe I would even root for her if she wasn’t such a cruel asshole.

As soon as Kim approaches Lisa Rinna, Lisa begins to shake.  She is scared out of her mind by this woman and she should be because Kim doesn’t fight fairly and she apparently is not bound by pesky little things like truth or public decency.  Not wanting to get into it all again because it won’t matter anyway (“Kim will believe what she wants to believe,” explains Lisa – who is correct), Lisa tries to demure and she begins to stammer and she looks around the table for an instrument that can maybe help her burrow her way out of there and she is trying to decide which is a better digging tool – a cocktail stirrer or the clip that is in Eileen’s hair – and she is desperately trying to avoid any conversation with Kim about alcohol and how screwed up she is.

Kyle is stunned that Lisa won’t simply admit that Brandi used the word “intervention,” and she and Eileen both explain to her that the truth must be revealed, but Lisa wants nothing to do with any of this bullshit anymore.  She’s right to feel this way because it’s not like Brandi will tell the truth or like Kim will sit up suddenly and scream, “Eureka!  I do need help!”  Lisa is in a lose-lose situation, and she finally decides that she might as well wade through the dark waters of Kim Island – it’s an island where there is no food and no hope – and have Kyle’s back, so she paddles her way over to Brandi to let her know what is going on and that she should tell Kim what they each said about her.  Brandi is furious at how “toxic” all of these horrible women are, but she somehow manages to forget that the only reason Kim even knew that Lisa had spoken about her compromised sobriety in the first place is because Brandi told her while conveniently leaving out the fact that she was a huge part of that conversation and that she agreed with every single thing Lisa Rinna said.

Yolanda then approaches Brandi and pulls her to a quiet spot and begins to pour the woman some water because she is sweating-off-her-makeup trashed and she tells Brandi that she should speak to Kim, who comes right over to speak with her very best friend in the whole wide world.  Kim asks Brandi if she mentioned an intervention and Brandi asks her for exact clarification of how Lisa ordered the words that Brandi apparently said.  And all of a sudden, we find ourselves in a discussion involving semantics because if Brandi can latch on to the fact that Lisa Rinna misquoted her or stuck a comma some place Brandi did not, Brandi can be found to be not guilty by a woman who desperately wants to believe that Brandi has only her best interests at heart.  So when Brandi dances around what she did say and sort of denies the truth, Kim takes her slurred word for it and all is right in the world of the two most repulsive blonde women on basic cable – and that includes the emotionally-detached Betty Draper on Mad Men and any participant of Teen Mom or Gypsy Sisters who happens to be momentarily flaxen-haired.

And with that lack of a climax, the season ends.  We find out from the onscreen text that Yolanda is still battling Lyme disease; that Kim is still caring for her ex-husband and that Brandi is still her best friend; that Eileen and Lisa Rinna are exhausted and dazed by what they have been through in their inaugural season; that Lisa Vanderpump is – as per usual – doing just fine; and that Kim’s dog bit Kyle’s daughter’s hand down to the bone and the sisters have not spoken since.

Maybe the dog hated Kyle’s daughter’s face.

And Brandi?  Well, Brandi is walked out of the party by her ex-boyfriend who is now stuck back in her life.  She weaves her way down the street and she says, “You have to accept me as I am.  Don’t try to make me into a different person,” and for some reason, the game of Mad Libs came into my mind and I started to think of applicable words that could be used in place of “different” in that sentence.  Here are a few suggestions:

·      moral
·      appropriate
·      not insane
·      reasonable
·      wise
·      logical
·      sober

Personally, I’d go with the word “sober,” and I’d keep it in the forefront of my mind as I listened to the last official line of the season uttered by the woman tied for first as the biggest asshole in Beverly Hills proper:  “I don’t understand why I always have to be the bad guy.”

Perhaps that mystery will be solved during the Reunion that begins next week.  According to the promos, Brandi will end every sentence with the word “bitch,” like she’s an extra on Breaking Bad; Kim will mock Lisa Rinna; Eileen will be embracing meditation so that at least she can transcendentally be elsewhere; Kyle will cry; Yolanda will drop by to give Brandi some orange slices and her allowance; and Lisa Vanderpump will sit back and count the number of diamond tiaras she has in her head to pass the time until she can be somewhere else entirely.  

The truth is, I’ve become a little tired of all of this disgraceful behavior and the fights that never get resolved and the vile duo of Kim and Brandi and this season cannot end for me soon enough.  I think that I really need to begin to expose myself to quality television for my own sanity.  Luckily, The Real Housewives of New York premieres in just a couple of weeks and nothing screams “sanity” like Ramona.  I hope Bethenny strangles Ramona with Ramona’s own vocal cords this season and I hope that we will get to see an uncut version of that brawl and that it will be shown in slow-motion and maybe in 3-D so I can begin to believe that there is goodness in the world again.