No one’s mentioned that Lisa’s not there, I suppose because they don’t really miss her. She’s a bit constipated, if we’re going to be honest about it. Lisa’s at the Chateau Pump welcoming Pandy’s boyfriend’s parents and Mr. Lisa’s twin, Martin, who is there for no particular reason. She shouts to Mr. Lisa to come out of the closet and join them, and I swear he responds that he is “peeing in the puppies”. Jason’s mom is wearing a black dress that looks like it has big red hands clutching her bazooms, inspired by Janet Jackson. Finally, the guests of honor arrive and announce that they are engaged. Much applause follows. Lisa makes a toast and cuts off Mr. Lisa, whose toupee is on backwards. As jilted as he may feel, he can’t feel worse than Max who not only doesn’t have any shoes to cover his dirty Sock Monkey socks, but has now been bumped yet another notch down the totem pole by Jason and his Members Only jacket. Poor, sad Max.
Back to the Game Party, which has now relocated to the Parlor in which Dana has artfully arranged the living room set she picked up for a song at the Teresa Giudice Bankruptcy Auction. Brandi, having just met Kim, is unimpressed by her shenanigans and informs the camera that having been a model in Europe in the 90’s (suuuuuuure) she has been around a lot of people on drugs and just KNOWS something naughty is up in the bathroom. Pointing out her frequent exposure to drug users just days after losing her kid in a WalMart may not prove to be the best pairing of events for a person in a fraught custody battle, but the Glands couldn’t have seen that coming so we’re going to have to hope that Mr. LeAnn didn’t watch. ‘Cause now that his show has been cancelled he really doesn’t have anything else to get him in the news, and that’s not an ideal state of affairs for the Glands.
But this is about KIM, not the Glands, who knows what she knows. The ladies sit down in front of 370 filled glasses of champagne and Kim nearly chokes on her coffee cocktail when Dana announces that purely, genuinely, randomly, the Richards sisters are paired with the Glands for Saucy Charades. Who would have thought that would happen? Saucy Charades is apparently the same thing as Celebrity, and Brandi is bitter about it because no one put Mr. LeAnn in the cup as a Celebrity, and she doesn’t know anyone else Famous. She feels very excluded and made fun of, which is bound to happen when you describe Winston Churchill as a black man who was like Martin Luther King, but the other one.
Kim attempts to slip out but her giant pink purse gives her away and everyone makes an escape to the bar right along with her. Crabby Glands, who may want to get her thyroid checked, corners Camille and bitches that those Richards girls don’t like her and that the blonde one isn’t lucid. Kim, Brandi announces, is “off her rocker” and “clearly inebriated”. Camille’s eyes get really wide and she’s secretly a little excited that the shit show has a new carnival barker and she’s off the hook for good. After digging through her tranny makeup kit for another airplane mini, Kim sneaks back into the parlor and hides Brandi’s crutches. As I like to say, Kim does not get drunk. Kim gets AWESOME.
And then it happens: all of a sudden Kyle challenges Brandi to an IQ Duel and the caca takes flight. Brandi taunts Kyle to “bring it, bitch,” and the slapdown goes ghetto. Pam, who’s really the drunk here, is giggling and throwing canapés, and Tay looks legitimately afraid which is surprising for a person with so much experience with the Oklahoma asstossing. Brandi calls Kim out on getting her party on in the bathroom (I swear in the previews she specifically accused Kim of smoking meth, which really would have required the show to move to Expanded Cable.) Kimmy takes full advantage of the commotion to stealth a red plastic Snooki cup from the waiter, and then comes back to tell Brandi that she’s a tramp in out of season snapping-turtle shorts and her ass is hanging out. Brandi retorts that her ass is great looking so it should hang out and with better friends. “Color me slut,” she announces. What does that even mean? Doesn’t matter, because the Glands drops the kicker that Kim’s “fucking wasted” and it’s ON.
Next week: the Pumps hire Franck’s assistant to plan Pandy’s wedding; the Richards family rents a Dodge Sprinter to roll to Palm Desert and vacay in the house Mauricio stole from Kimmy (maybe we’ll get to the bottom of THAT one), and Tay gets snapped in half trying to keep Kim and the Glands from pulling each other’s weaves out. ‘Til then….
Written by:
Elizabeth Spilotro
Website: www.thislittlemama.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/thislittlemama
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/This-Little-Mama/245392435770
Elizabeth, you got me laughing at “poopy pants,” and I haven’t been able to stop yet!
Paul Nassif may be having money troubles, though I’m inclined to agree with you that considering where and what his business is, discount specials don’t sound indicative of anything to me, except possibly overkill, as he gets more free publicity from the show than he’d get even if he had Free Boob Job Friday every week.
Be that as it may, I saw the Radaronline story, which was immediately echoed everywhere else, and it sounded plantish to me, devoid of specifics, and consisting only of vague generalities, and coming, naturally, from an “anonymous source.”
As we learned along with the Giudices, real “financial problems” of the very wealthy tend to trail over into the public information department at some point, or at least flesh themselves out somewhat.
That’s all irrelevant, however, as the Maloof family own everything in the world, and are thus much more likely to cause financial problems for other people than suffer any themselves.
I suspect that Radaronline’s “big scoop” was intended as some sort of damage control, in the wake of viewer reaction to the football game episode.
For me, it was added confirmation, as if I needed any, that one’s impressions of reality show hamsters are ephemeral and not to be counted on.
I had previously opined that Adrienne seemed jarringly out of place on Real Housewives, as another blogger put it, “she’s just not trashy enough.”
Indeed, until the football episode, aside from being no less ostentatious than anyone who chooses to live in that neighborhood, she held the singular position of not having said or done a single thing that could be called trashy or skanky, not even by a judgmental old curmudgeoness like me.
The show glossed over the issue of how many people would lose their jobs as a result of the Maloof’s removing their ball team from the city, though they did show some signs that referenced it, or I think they did, and I don’t pretend to know if they intentionally placed that ITM clip, explaining that she simply wished to obtain more revenue, so close to those scenes.
It didn’t really matter where they put it, though.
Within hours of the first reference to the ball team on the preceding episode, even people who had never heard of it, or any of the backstory, knew enough, which was exactly what Adrienne said in her ITM: She wanted more money.
That was trashy. It was also, in my opinion, an ill-thought decision to include anything at all about the ball team in the show, precisely because of the controversy, and I don’t know if I’m more surprised that she permitted it, or that Bravo did it.
I would not be surprised to learn that at least some of Bravo, and all of Adrienne’s brothers, were extremely displeased and appalled, respectively, though obviously for different reasons.
The whole raison d’être of the Real Housewives franchise is to serve up, along with the trashfest, a heapin’ helpin’ of schadenfreude.
As viewers, we are supposed to come away from watching these shows feeling both entertained and immeasurably fortunate, that though we are poor, we are blessed with the ability to create, maintain, and generally cause the presence in our lives of joy and amusement despite having little or no money to do it with, and above all that we are blessed with loving and functional families, happy marriages, and as if that were not enough, good manners.
Real Housewives allows us to sink into the same kind of suspension of disbelief as shows about vampires and werewolves.
That rich men want more money is omnipresent in our own day-to-day reality, but we don’t want our entertainment time sullied by anyone making it so plain that the more money those rich people want – and are getting – happens to be the exact same money with which we had hoped to pay the mortgage next month.