Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Ep. 3 Recap

When last we left off Kim was drooling half-words all over a phone that Adrienne was on the other end of. She's lost her power and she was sorry and she needed to look nice to bang basketball players. I'm not actually sure what she was saying, but I'd be willing to bet that she's been taking whatever she takes for long enough that if she were given equal tranq dosage as Secretariat, the horse would go down first.

Adrienne and Paul are still waiting at the airpot, sitting in their chartered private jet and asking a still unintelligible Kim (who is still asking who's calling--don't you have her number saved in your phone?) how long it will take her to get there. She responds 15 minutes, to which I would reply, "Hell no, bitch. I'm playing for this flying metal machine by the hour." But they wait for her, I'm sure prodded by the Bravo producers, and she obligingly puts on a show when she arrives.

She attempts to re-tell the story of blubbering Taylor on Scary Mountain, which now includes details of T-Town in only a thong and bra, sobbing and dry-humping a mid-sleep Kim. Don't worry. Kim demonstrates. And Adrienne really wants Paul to listen to all of this, but let's face it. It took a couple rewinds for me to understand, and Paul's really just worried about the fine people of Sacramento throwing something at his face and messing up that plastic surgery he paid so much for, so he's having none of it.

Anywho, they get the the Maloof Entertainent Castle of Basketball and there's a smattering of (non-white) folks protesting the potential move out of Sacramento. And Adrienne's whining about how she feels bad about the move. In fact, her own kids ask her when they'll be going to Sacramento next. But rich lady, I gotta say: Your kid asking when you'll charter a private jet to sit in a luxury box and watch the game is a bit different than an already low-income city wondering how it'll handle having 10,000 more people out of work in a double-dip recession. But that's just me, spewing reason again. Adrienne doesn't get that her pain is not the same as the hot dog stand guy's pain and she moans her sad moan while Paul rubs her Louboutin-clad foot.

After a couple of sporatic yells and Paul getting hit in the ear by a guy who seemed to have accidentally bumped him while gesticulating his point, the Nassif-Maloofs and their pill-popping little Hilton friend find themselves in their luxury box. Kim is droning on and on about nipples and cigar bars and really anything but basketball. Paul is pissed. And I would be too. Why don't you just wear a pink jersey you no-game-watching blabber mouth. Adrienne and Paul, on the other hand, are ultra fans. They want to go down on the floor. But it's too dangerous, says Adrienne's personal bodyguard (yes, she has one of those), so they come up with a plan to stand in the team's tunnel. And there they go to attract lots of attention from a single lady who wants Adrienne's picture. She, too, should be wearing a pink jersey so as to be better identified as a lame by people like me.

The highlight of this scene, and those as they leave, is Kim. Delighted that someone is paying attention to her--even if that might mean getting a beer or two poured on her. She's blowing kisses and yelling that she loves people and cheering at a game that she clearly doesn't understand, but in the haze of the pills and limelight and the artificial love from a screaming crowd it almost feels like childhood. It almost feels like home.

Back in Beverly Hills the other girls are also providing us with ridiculous moments of rich people nonsense. Kyle is planning a charity event for kids with cancer but she's worried that no one is going to show up. Maybe it's because her "Ladysitter" Justin seems really incompetent. Maybe it's because she's a grown ass adult with something called a Ladysitter. At any rate she's still freaking when her friend comes over to ask who her MC is going to be. GASP! It's going to be Kyle, which apparently is hot mess city in Beverly Hills. Not hot mess city? Kyle's closet, which my Manhattanite ass wants to curl up and die in. It's a-mah-zing.

Mid-charity party planning Taylor comes over to discuss a recent story about her marriage that's been leaked to the press. She says it like it's some kind of real press, but it's, which is Willa Ford to US Weekly's Britney Spears. Not really even that good. Maybe the boyish one in Dream. Anywho, she's super flustered and refusing to eat (shocker!) because the content in the article is a direct reflection of the craziness that happened on Scary Mountain. And because it couldn't have been any of the other Housewives or any number of Bravo production staff that may have been privy to this bizarro behavior, Taylor is convinced it must have been Lisa.

The Vanderpumpstress is dealing with some drama all on her own. Over at Villa Blanca she's had to replace Cedric, who was so camera friendly with Steven, who is possibly more awkward than Camille fist-bumping a surf shop owner. Cedric this and Cedric that and Lisa still isn't over it.

Well, Kyle's charity event happens. She can't have it at her house for some reason so her friend who owns a restaurant at the back of a mall offers to hold it there. It's a kind gesture but it is followed by this comment from Lisa when she shows up: “It wasn’t the normal Beverly Hills charity event. It was at some godforsaken place at the back of a mall.” Kind and open heart, that one.

Kim's not there because she's "tired after her trip to Sacramento" and Camille is in Hawaii with the kids, but all of the other ladies show up--and more! Taylor's brought pal Dana Wilkey who seems to have big boobs without the help of a knife or surgery. Lisa won't stop pestering Taylor about her extreme weight loss and her fragile emotional state, and it may come out with all the grace of nancy Grace doing the Viennese Waltz, but I think it comes from the right place. Lisa's right, she's not Taylor's best friend. But if she's the only person around her who will ask the tough questions in order to look out for her overall well-being, maybe Taylor should start questioning the people she surrounds herself with. Real friends don't need to sign confidentiality agreements.

The big story is the introduction of Brandi Glanville, friend of Adrienne and ex-wife of "actor" Eddie Cibrian. You may know her from her bitter Twitter feud with new wife LeAnn Rimes, or perhaps from the RHOBH previews in which Kim calls her a slut pig. Either way, she's a true delight. She shows up to the party at least six inches taller than all of the other girls. She's wearing platform shoes on a leg with a cast on it--an injury that was the result of too-high heels. And she's just working the room like a girl who knows that fresh, young, tall, thin blood is really the last thing that these women need in their lives. Lisa automatically hates her because she's seen "photos in the press" of her hanging out with Cedric. This lady is too damn old to still care about such petty things. And the other girls hate her ostensively because she's hurting Lisa by being friends with Cedric (to which Paul sums up my feelings by saying "who gives a shit?") but more likely because she's tall and thin and blonde.

Guess what? I like Brandi so far. In talking about the divorce she delivered this line: “I was married to the #1 douchebag of all time, his name—I’m just kidding… no, not really—Eddie Cibrian. He’s an actor. 'Actor.' He’s really good looking, that’s what he does." And it's true, because I bothered to watch The Playboy Club this weekend. I love that she compelled the other girls to gossip and laugh at her in a corner. I love that sad, self-esteem barren Taylor immediately loved her because the two of them look like Skelator. And I love that she will provide a lot of drama for a lot of episodes to come.


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