Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Recap – 3/24/15

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 sh*t 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 f*ck 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 f*cking 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 d*ck 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 f*cked 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 f*cking 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 act that Kim even brought Harry into the conversation, something she makes clear when she sneers, “Don’t insinuate weird f*cking sh*t 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 f*cking 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 already endured?) 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 “c*nt” should start with the letter “K” because the name “Kyle” starts with a “K” and Kyle is a total c*nt. 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.