There are no gloriously tacky social climbers tonight but there are two things that made this episode sublime: Kim’s ginormous vat of chicken salad for no one, and everything Yolanda. Seriously. Everything. She restored herself in my eyes here, even though I will always side-eye her for potential racism.
Kim, who is living out in freaking Englewood now, or something, has a stylist show up for her 16 year old daughter. It’s Prom night, and what self-respecting California Girl doesn’t have a personal stylist to make her a princess fit enough to sway under crepe paper in a Holiday Inn Express ballroom? This is evidently the last prom for Kim. Er, for her children. So to make it special, she takes herself into the kitchen, finds a toddler-sized bathtub and begins filling it with ingredients for chicken salad.
With both arms wrapped around the huge ceramic bowl, she carries it out to the family room where her daughter is getting done up, goes back to grab an industrial sized jar of Mayo, and sits down with a wooden spoon. She stares confusedly into the dish (“Why am I making so much? Did I cash my residual check from Escape From Witch Mountain this week? Use mayo? Or Hellman’s?”).
THEN she tells her daughter (who has her eyes closed, getting eye make up applied) to lookit. Kimberly? Kimberly, look at what Mama is doing. KIMBERLY. Mama is making chicken salad. You like chicken salad, don’t you? Remember how I used to make chicken salad in the golden family days? Because I made some just now, you know, if you’re hungry. Kimberly, lookit lookit LOOKIT. Will you love me if I have cupcakes for you? Because I bought, like, way too many for two bird-sized women. Or I can throw it all out? KIMBERLY LOOKIT MAMA.
Kim? I just don’t know what to do with you.
Her daughter’s date shows up and he looks like an Ed Hardy d-bag that’s about 28 and has a part-time managerial job at Spencer’s. Kim says he has a ‘baby face’ and I don’t think she knows what that means. The couple leaves (it looks like it’s three in the afternoon) and Kim peers out of the blinds at them leaving. She then sighs into her vat of chicken salad before tuning out completely and rubbing it into her face. It’s such a good moisturizer, as long as you used the tangy zip of Miracle Whip, that is.
Yolanda has a butler/manservant arrive, and he came equipped with wit, charm, grace, and recipes for madcap adventures. She’s planning a dinner party for the ladies of the show (and I love that she only socializes with Lisa in Real Life) and has Jeeves help create a menu. There is some serious name dropping going on, but then again, her husband is a huge name in the music world, so it makes sense that they’re friends with, you know, Barbra Streisand and Oprah Winfrey.
I can think of nothing for several minutes because the camera cuts to a view of the back of the house where there is a huge infinity pool – it’s Junior Olympic-size at least – and a completely unobstructed view of the ocean beyond that. It’s stunning. She really has the most beautiful home and gardens of all the housewives, I have to say.
She tells the camera that she’s warm and inviting, loves hosting and making people happy, and Jeeves asks her when ever shall she and David open the ’45 Mouton from Ms. Winfrey? You will open that when I am there for dinner, that is when. These people live a life that is very different from mine, good lord. (That’s a 1945 Rothschild Mouton, in case you didn’t know, the most expensive, desirable wine in existence.)
Slumming it off the hill is Kyle’s house (a house I like, but Kyle? You need some landscaping up against the back of your home. It’s stark white, and you don’t have a modern house that can stand on its own. Call me, girlfriend.), and Kyle is taking her daughter out for a practice drive. Now, I have two teens learning to drive at the moment, and it’s a real frustration, let me tell you. And even with all of her money, Kyle and I are both just two moms with a daughter that needs to learn how to parallel park.
Except her daughter practices in her Porsche. A Panamera Porsche (and dear god, if it’s a Turbo I will tear my hair out. Um, I’m kind of into cars, you might have picked up on that.) Her daughter Alexa takes about twenty minutes to pull off the parking job, which is cute. And unnecessary, because as Cher once said about learning to park in Beverly Hills, “Why? Everyone uses valet.”
Lisa comes for a visit, and I wish that everyone had perfectly smooth and poured cement walks for her, because watching her toddle on her 6” Louboutins across a cobbled walk is giving me agita. Kyle again tries to force a reconciliation with Lisa and Adrienne, and Lisa again says that she’s not interested in that – not unless Adrienne apologizes for accusing her of horrible things. But mostly she’s just over it. Me too, Lisa, me too.
Yolanda wanders out to her cutting garden (I’m currently sobbing, I want you all to know, because it is everything I would want in life) to find just the right accents for some floral arrangements she’s “whipping up.” She’s Beverly Hills’ Martha Stewart, basically, and I want to sit in her lap and play with her things. Meanwhile, her manservant Jeeves (the best of the best, who has also been hired by Camille Grammar in the past) is attending to every exquisite detail in the background.
Kim gets picked up in a stretch limo, already filled with Adrienne, Paul, and all of their Lisa baggage. Adrienne starts in on wanting to dish about Lisa and how mean she is, then Paul joins in, and I am so over the Bickersons, I can’t even. So petty and small, and they are over 40! Act like some damn adults, would you?
The Party of All Parties is underway (well, it’s a casual dinner party, but still, it’s gorgeous and the food is gorgeous and the house is gorgeous) and Taylor, Kyle and Delectable Maricio – who is wearing horrible jeans, I have to admit – arrive. They get a mini-tour, and let’s all just marvel at the 20 foot high wall of glass that is actually a refrigerator. There are mahogany shelves laden with color-coordinated fruits and vegetables inside and it looks like an art installation. Nope, that’s Yolanda’s fridge. Gimmie a Yoohoo while you got that thing open, sugar.
Lisa and Ken arrive and quietly melt into the background anytime Paul and Adrienne come near. See, that’s what you do, you don’t antagonize. Yolanda’s husband comes to greet everyone, and I laughed at him not remembering Taylor’s name, even though he was once married to one of her ‘closest friends.’ (He’s warm and friendly with Lisa, but then, they’re actual friends in real life.)
They all sit for dinner, and I love that the table is designed for both Yolanda and David to sit at the head side-by-side. Taylor gets sloppy fast, and starts drunk-talking all over her table-mate, Chris Botti who I’m told is a “world famous trumpeter.” He looks uncomfortable, but is a polite guest and smiles through her drunken tirade against Brandi, who isn’t there. Wow, Taylor. You are being awful.
Yolanda says later to the camera, “There’s nothing more ugly than a drunk woman.” Ahahaha. BURN.
David catches Taylor’s horrid behavior and keeps trying to steer things away from her. We also learn how David and Yolanda met. Yolanda was once married to Mohammed, he of the camels and 60,000 square foot castle on the hill fame. David is friends with him, he arranged an introduction, and it was love at first sight. Aww.
David explains after dinner that there’s a tradition of music at all of their dinner parties (they have an American Idol winner there that I don’t know, and a studio singer that does the work-up demos for people like Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey – so she’s good, is what I’m saying) and for everyone to gather around the piano.
The piano laden with 16 Grammys. Those are all that would fit; he has more. David Foster = musically significant. He knows his stuff. And he knows that Taylor needs to shut up singing, because he brought singers to entertain his guests. (There’s a horrible moment of Kyle and Taylor singing a warbly opening to Amazing Grace before David says “You don’t sing. You listen.” DAMN. He’s mock-serious, but he’s serious.) The professional singers take over from there and after I am totally uncomfortable with Taylor being tipsy and not shutting up, the party comes to a close in the most magnificent way ever.
Yolanda, her arms around her husband, gives him a kiss and then says to the small crowd, “Thank you for coming to dinner, we have enjoyed having you! But now it’s time for ‘nite ‘nite.”
And… that’s pretty awesome. There will be no drunken lingering here. Taylor says “Well you got me in a bad mood. Pfft, thanks for dinner,” in a sarcastic and shitty way and I am so over you, Oklahoma, I can’t even.
Highlights of squirm-worthy moments: Chris Botti playing “When The Saints Come Marching In” on his trumpet – jfc – and Kyle, Kim, Adrienne, etc. forming a congo line. Lisa, I noticed, did not participate because she is awesome and an adult. WHO DOES THIS AT A PARTY. Sorry, I hate “manufactured fun” like a freaking CONGO LINE. Can’t we just drink and talk to each other? Oy.
A few days later we see Lisa getting ready for something. Ken wants to know what’s what and we learn that she’s going to bite the bullet and have lunch with Adrienne. Ken wants nothing to do with the Bickersons, and I don’t blame him. Lisa’s reasoning is that the dinner party was awkward, constantly dodging them, and she wants to at least get to where they can be in the same room and it not be totally uncomfortable. She is good people, guys.
Adrienne waits at a restaurant, expecting an apology right out of the box (why would you think this, crazy person?) and Lisa arrives, expecting an apology right out of the box (and she actually is the one that deserves it.) and this is going to go smoothly, don’t you think?
Unfortunately we have to wait until next week to find out. Meanwhile, I’m going to stare at pictures of Yolanda’s gorgeous house. Seriously, it’s flawless. Oh! And Brandi tries to apologize to Kim again. Let’s see if everyone continues to be awful to poor Brandi. Man, she just can’t catch a break with these broads.