I’m so confused.
I’m so gangstah.
I’m so wasted.
I’m so done.
May I have your attention please?
This is the Final Boarding Call for all Pretty People:
Pack your Speedos, Spanks and SPF 35 and get ready to be uncomfortably spritzed by a pudgy Island Boy… because The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills are heading to Hawaii.
Hawaii. The Island Paradise where both the surf and Brandi’s swollen ankles are always up and ready to welcome anyone brave enough to hold their breath and take the plunge.
But before the Wives can strut their Louboutins on Lanai, there’s a little unfinished business back at one of the worst downer parties in the history of parties.
This week picked up right where we left everyone last time…standing in Kyle’s front yard as Taylor and Russell got their White Party invite revoked and were sent scurrying back to the limo before they even set one foot in the door. Seems that Russell’s email threatening Camille with a lawsuit was enough to get the majority vote that prevented them from crossing party lines. (Politically trendy, and gossipy at the same time…it’s a gift, thank you.)
Every time Russell is on screen it gets uncomfortable, given that we all know how this one is gonna end. And even though Bravo has finally gotten the nerve to stop leaving all his scenes on the editing room floor, it still feels surreal to see him walking and talking, knowing that all his sulking is soon going to take its toll.
Having Russell in the hazy moonlight surrounded by too many people dressed in all white was starting to feel like the last act of a Broadway show. I was expecting someone to break into a ballad about Heaven or something. It was weirding me out. The dry ice swirling around the pool didn’t help, either.
At the same time, the scene felt like a season finale of Dynasty or Dallas, with everyone crying and running in circles, complete with big hair and limos and expensive jewelry.
Having the front of Kyle’s house look like Samantha and Darren’s house from Bewitched didn’t help either, and had me so messed up that I didn’t know what show I was watching. I had to click the DVR info screen twice to come back to reality as Taylor and Russell drove off into the darkness.
Inside the limo Taylor looked trapped, and Russell had that empty behind the eyes look that he always had. The last glimpse of the limo on the highway…a creepy combination of the O.J. Simpson Bronco and the Kennedy Dallas motorcade…said all that needed to be said.
Back at Kyle’s, everyone was trying to regroup and get their party on.
Adrienne and Lisa gave their two cents on the matter while none too subtle social climber Dana “Don’t you love it? It’s Versace! And only 4 Bazillion Dollars!” Wilkey just tried to get in every camera shot.
Mark my words, by the end of this season she is going to be wearing her dress inside out so we can all see the label. You heard it here first.
Proper California etiquette dictates that after you eject your friend from the party, the only thing left to do is…well…party. So they do. Nothing takes the edge off guilt like Mariachi bands and greasy burgers.
Brandi was still struggling to walk on her newly bootless foot while keeping her boobs inside their spaghetti straps, while Camille did her now infamous “F*** you Kelsey Grammer” bump and grind dance. Kyle also took to the dance floor, and somehow managed to go the entire rest of the evening without doing her signature split.
By the time Kim weaved onto the parquet floor with her blue collar Ken doll, the party was back on track. They shook their groove thang and made out like nerdy kids in high school who just hooked up on the last song of the night while the rest of Beverly Hills looked on in disbelief. Even white can look dirty sometimes, I guess.
Then it was time to pack and hit the road.
Since people in Beverly Hills don’t go to Ground Round (where the good times are found…) for birthdays anymore, the next best thing is Hawaii. So the gang was headed to Lanai to celebrate Mauricio being born.
Lisa was a little traumatized because WunderPooch Giggy couldn’t go with them on vacation, so she dressed him up in a special Hawaiian floral onesie just for pretendsie.
I think it worked, because Giggy had no clue where he was. I actually don’t think he has ever really snapped back from that hyper chair spaz out at the Bridal Shoppe when he buzzed around like a spinning top. It seems to have messed up his balance and depth perception, not to mention his reality perception.
Luckily Dog Walker/Husband Ken was there to hold Giggy like a fuzzy tote bag from the Diane von Furstenberg Summer 2012 line while Lisa overpacked. She was a little concerned that Brandi had been invited, since TMZ had been reporting that Brandi was previously seen sniffing around Lisa’s former live in mooch Cedric. Since taking his Louis ManBag, six pack abs and complete lack of any marketable skills and heading out on his own, Lisa has kept a very cougarish eye on Cedric’s whereabouts.
You totally know that she kept his room exactly the same, like some Stepford Mom who keeps telling herself that her baby will come home someday. Can’t you picture it?
Naturally when they all converge on the airport, Kim is not there. Again she reaches into her seemingly bottomless Bag of Excuses and comes up with another doozie as to why she is a no show.
This time she rambles on and on over Kyle’s cell phone about an expired drivers license and the alarm not going off and a missing passport and and Elvis impersonator riding a unicorn on her front yard.
Let’s just put it out there. Kim is a hot mess.
Hopefully she can get her act together, and get all the flying monkeys off the roof in time to make the next flight, which poor Paul also has to be on due to business issues. When Adrienne called to drop that bomb on him you know he momentarily contemplated a parachute jump mid flight over the ocean.
Turns out the only thing Brandi hates more than wearing a bra is flying, so she tanked herself up on Xanax. I guess the pills are pretty big, because it seemed to take a lot of booze to get them down her gullet.
Google the side effects, and there you have it.
Sloppy, horny Brandi terrorizing our nation’s air space. She played every travel game that you can imagine, from making simple words sound dirty to trying to force Lisa and Ken to knock boots like Kyle and Mauricio do every night. Brandi also let everyone know that she used to give herself a Roofy just to get through a flight, before the FDA ruled that those silly little date rape drugs should be illegal.
Sometime around then the pilot considered a nose dive.
But with no guarantee of death on impact…can you imagine being trapped on an island with all of these people like the passengers on Oceanic Air Flight 815?…the pilot chose to land safely and just get them off his plane and out of his hair.
The fresh ocean air did nothing to sober up Brandi as they all unpacked and met for cocktails. Knowing full well that Ken hadn’t gotten any british bootie since at least last Christmas, she draped herself over him like a cheap pashmina from the Outlet Mall until Lisa made a loud noise and sent her scurrying like a cat in heat.
If the Four Seasons had outdoor garden hoses Lisa would have totally hosed that bitch down. With Giggy MIA, this was the first time in months that Ken had full use of both hands and he wasn’t quite sure how to handle it as he bumbled his way around Brandi’s advances until Lisa pulled him across the deck by his ear.
The next day was Beach Day, and I’m pretty certain that some of the images are still burned into my plasma.
Brandi and Camille were first to the lounge chairs. Camille was squished into a seriously “F*** you Kelsey Grammer” bikini that clearly got her point across. Sam Malone would have been proud. (Cheers reference…Google it right after you check out Xanax.)
But at least she had a bathing suit on.
Brandi just had some stuff stuck to her stuff from what I could tell, which she probably brought onto the plane in one of those tiny 3 ounce carry-on containers. There was nothing left to the imagination. The whole thing had “Ken’s heart attack” written all over it.
The tiny suit also got the attention of some random doughy Pool Boy who seemed to drop from the balcony and immediately offered to spritz them both down with Evian water. If you rewind your DVR, put on some Luther and play the scene back in slow motion, you have yourself some inexpensive soft porn for your next Frat party.
Check it out. I swear. Bow Chicka Wow Wow.
As a matter of fact, when Lisa and Ken arrived at the beach (…looking like the BBC version of Thurston Howell III and Lovey by the way…) Ken almost flipped his slightly askew chapeau.
While Brandi flaunted her lady parts and Camille flaunted her bare ring finger, Lisa and Kyle received a call from Taylor who was back home licking her wounds from the White Party.
Taylor had finally printed and read the email that Russell sent Camille. She also had another session with her No Sock Doc who pretty much implied that it was time to get her act together and take it on the road. She finally realized that she was in a toxic marriage and that maybe black eyes don’t fall under the “for better or worse” category.
Read between the lines: I’m tired of Russell smacking me up.
(Allegedly, Bravo…geez…)
Taylor announced that her marriage was over and Lisa’s false eyelashes almost flipped off in the wind.
Seems like Taylor finally got spritzed in the face with some reality.
