In many ways, Bravo is a douche-y, frat-y, date rape-y network where ‘no’ means ‘ok, sure’ and shows just slam together like particles in the Large Hadron Collider. I was giddy with excitement over the two-hour (!!!!) extended Real Housewives of Beverly Hills dinner party conclusion and the impending Eddie Cibrian (sp?) mistress confrontation. I quietly locked myself in my room as to remain uninterrupted and sunk into my bed, ready for the most exciting night of my life to begin.
I am so ready.
We picked up right where we left off…inside Kyle’s gaudy One King’s Lane furbished Hollywood Regency style mirrored dining hall. Ughhhh this bitch! I went from loving her and her beautiful “My Little Pony” mane to wanting to rip her fucking head off. She’s so fake, and obnoxious, and dresses like a dumpster mannequin from Cache. Also, she needs to stop inviting the morally corrupt melting candle that is Faye Resnick to social functions. That bitch is trying so hard to become relevant she is going to stroke out on national television. Wait, actually, I really want to see that happen.
Ugh I hate this cunt.
Back at the Bordello of Blood dining room Faye begins to tear into Brandi for no discernible reason other than Faye wanting camera time. At this point in the evening I am torn between wanting to cuddle Brandi and wanting to punch Brandi in the face. Is she a manipulative bitch? Is she a wrongly accused defender of the truth? Is she ever going to wear a bra? I just don’t know anymore. Faye continues to berate Brandi and eventually Faye’s face melts onto the table, signaling the end of the dinner party. Ha, just kidding. Brandi dramatically gets up from the table, uses the swinging butler’s pantry door to escape (like a commoner), and then sits on the curb crying. Kyle fakes sympathy for Brandi and runs out after her. This was good because the viewers got a chance to see Kyle’s 70’s bejeweled silken pantsuit in all its glory. Also, she had TWO matching diamante cuff bracelets. But I digress.
That is seriously one too many Swarovski crystal cuffs.
Lisa comes outside and she too is wearing a strange silken and bejeweled shirt. I always wonder where she buys her clothes. Kyle and Lisa try to comfort Brandi but then they all remember that they lost their souls year ago and don’t remember how to feel human emotions any longer and decide to send Brandi home in a limo.
“I mean, I didn’t even get to pretend to eat the main course.”
After the dinner party they cut to YOLANDAAAAA and her lizard husband. YOLANDAAAAA stands in front of her marble refrigerator pretending to make spaghetti Bolognese because she is the perfect wife-model-mother-robot-person ever. And you will never amount to anything. Her kids come home from school and she gives them a few cherry tomatoes as an afterschool snack. The fuck?? I guess Tostino’s Pizza Rolls would really mess up the aesthetic of the glorious see-through marble food tomb. Then YOLANDAAAAA’s beautiful 17-year-old daughter declares she would rather play volleyball and have friends and be able to eat more than four cherry tomatoes a day versus being a model. YOLANDAAAAA scoffs at her daughter’s ridiculous dream and calls her a lesbian. Yes, you read that right. I am not exaggerating. I mean, she’s right, but still. Then the lizard husband says the Bolognese is too damn spicy and throws it across the room, hitting YOLANDAAAAA in the face. Her skin starts to slide off her cheek, revealing her machine skeletal structure and we find out that she is a Terminator. And then her lemon grove explodes.
I’ll be back…for Season 4.
Cut to Taylor’s house. Because every episode of the Real Housewives franchise has to feature some sort of comic relief we are given the gift of Taylor’s new physic friend. This lady is the BEST. She throws her head around talking to some dead male ghost and tells Taylor that everything will be ok as they walk around the house spraying Glade Apple Cinnamon air freshener. Later, as Taylor prepares Kennedy-the-Omen’s bento box lunch the phone rings. It’s John, Taylor’s lawyer. He says the people suing her dead husband want to settle their case. They want her 10-carat wedding ring and two Birkin bags. I would have gone William Wallace CRAZY. She needs time to decide. Uh…decide what? You’re bankrupt and you owe people $1.5 million. But I would be pretty pissed about losing my Hermés bags, too.
“They make take our lives, but they’ll never take our Birkin!”
Finally, the moment I’ve been waiting for arrives. The Brandi versus Scheanananananaaana (sp?) showdown. They meet at SUR. As we know, because Lisa says it EVERY commercial break, SUR is “where you take your mistress” (hahahahaha the irony.) As soon as they see each other they immediately start punching each other in the head. As Brandi throws a haymaker into Schwhatever’s face they lock eyes. In a moment of unequivocal tenderness Brandi takes Schadoobie’s head into her giant alien hands and kisses her tenderly on the mouth. They start to make out on a table at SUR as the lunch rush begins. Lisa walks over to their table, rips off her silk pink button down and asks them if they want to order something off the dessert menu—perhaps some spotted dick?
I wish that had happened. Instead, we had a watered down Brandi telling Schenaynay (I seriously don’t know what her name is) that she is a home wrecking slut but she forgives her because she works at SUR and for some reason the viewer is just supposed to accept that.
Would you like sparkling, flat, or tap water you fucking bitch?
As the confrontation ends, Scheycheese sits down at a table and talks to Lisa, looking for a shoulder pad to cry on. When the commercials begin I realize that this show is on for another hour and I get really excited. What else does RHOBH have in store for me? Is the sheriff going to show up at Taylor’s door and repo that random white dog they got to replace the white dog they got rid of because Kennedy was allergic to dogs? Is Lisa going to wear flats? Is Adrienne going to wear more Native American soothsayer turquoise jewelry? I am giddy with excitement.
Then something happened. Something strange. I feel like Bravo came to my house and slipped something into my cup because one minute I was watching RHOBH and the next minute I was watching “Vanderpump Rules.” There was no warning, no explanation, no choice. Brandi’s confrontation with Scheathead blended seamlessly into “Vanderpump Rules”. It was actually kind of brilliant if it wasn’t for the fact that these are supposed to be REALITY SHOWS.
Pictured: Andy Cohen’s hands
So, after 45 minutes of watching “Vanderpump Rules” I finally realized that I was watching “Vanderpump Rules” and not RHOBH. Comcast didn’t even know that I was watching “Vanderpump Rules”…it still said I was watching RHOBH. I felt like I had sustained a head injury after being given a large dose of rohypnol. I was really disoriented, a little sore, and very confused. After the icky feeling wore off I kind of got into the swing of things. And you know what? Vanderpump does kind of rule. But more on that tomorrow…