REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS – 1/28/13

Back to Beverly Hills, or more accurately Malibu, where Yo is artfully arranging salad and shaking up some homemade dressing for lunchguests Kyle, Lisa, and Chrissy Snow! Yes, Suzanne Somers is swinging by to help the gals embrace aging. Yo has known Suzanne for several years and thinks she’s quite an inspiration and looks fabulous. I think Suzanne looks a little thick through the middle and could use Spanx; I also think she’s a bit of an herby huckster. Sure enough, after the gals sit and start sipping some “European bellinis” featuring peaches Yo “made” herself that very morning (did they fly out her Dutch ass along with some fairies and unicorns?), Chrissy lays into them about how what they really need is less bellinis and more horse pills of dubious origin. Kyle is eating this shiitake up with a spoon because she’s read all Suzanne’s books and is a big fan. Lisa, who unlike Suzanne has no interest in living to at least 110, really can’t be bothered and can’t swallow that kind of stuff anyway. Suzanne knows, just KNOWS, that her ziploc baggie full of supplements will enable her to live forever, fornicating away till the very end. Lisa can’t imagine wanting to have sex at age 110, much less having sex with a corresponding 110-year-old, much much less being a 110-year-old having sex with someone to any degree younger. Me, either, girl! Blech.

Meanwhile, The Glands is in training for her new gig hosting Brandi’s Nite Skool For Girls by taking stripper/burlesque classes with that gal from LA Law who has gone on to abandon acting and become a pole fitness guru. It seems that Mr. LeAnn once bought The Glands a stripper pole, but she lost it in the divorce. Despite the rusty technique, to LA Law’s surprise but not to mine The Glands is a natural on the pole! She’s swinging and spinning and drops into some very elegant and long giraffe SPLITS! Oh, Kyle is going to DIE.

Speaking of Kyle, Cottontail is graduating from 6th grade, will be Bat Mitzvahed next year, and is soon to start asking “are you there, God? It’s me, Cottontail”, which are all perfect reasons to have a party. Kimmy can’t come because she’s tending to her sick adult son, and Paris’s mom bailed because she has a “hurt tooth”. But Feige is here, in all her Feige glory, and the Oof-Ifs have come! Adrienne is wearing a cheetah print blouse and black vest that just screams Bea Arthur. Then came Maude! Has something odd happened to Adrienne’s face during her time away? If this is the result of using the new Oof-If signature skincare line I think I am sticking with Cetaphil. The Oof-Ifs are here to thank Feige for having charged after The Glands on their behalf, much to the dismay of Bravo viewers everywhere, and with that accomplished and one small morsel of chicken consumed by Adrienne they are off again. Kyle and Mauricio assemble what’s left of their guests in their living room (which is more of an alcove) to praise Cottontail for having successfully completed 6th grade. No car, no gift, not even a Big Wheel or a hamster. Just a nice pat on the back. Grandma Estella’s facelift looks good. Cottontail looks mortified. Stand up straight, girl!

Over at Kimmy’s, she’s hanging up photos of A, B, C, and Chad with the able assistance of her “houseman”, Milton. What is this, Downton Abbey? What else does a houseman do? Water plants? Probably. Take out garbage? I suppose. Advise on plastic surgery? So it seems, because Kimmy is going to get her nose done. It seems she accompanied a friend to visit a plastic surgeon who was not Dr. Paul, and while he could not possibly assent to her tinkering with her flawless visage via face or even brow lift, he did think she could use some work on her nose, so what the hell! New Kim, new nose.

While Kimmy and the houseman hang photos, the other gals are packing their bags for Vegas. The Glands is loading up her self-proclaimed hoochie wardrobe and taking it on the road for eating, drinking, pole dancing, and sex with strange men. So completely not my idea of a nice weekend. Marisa, who is wearing a regular bra with a racerback tank of some sort, is getting chewed out by her mother for having a closetful of dumpy tacky clothes. Marisa could use some decorating assistance from Feige is what I think, unfortunately. Lisa, meanwhile, is not sure whether she needs to pack underwear because she’s not planning to wrap her legs around any Chipmunks or poles, but Mr. Lisa tells her to pack some big brown ones anyway. Marisa’s mom and her 30-year-old dyed hairdo want to go on the trip too. Marisa says no to both.

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