Real Housewives of Beverly Hills 3.4 – Uh Oh Somebody’s Crying

Who could it be?

I’m just messing with you, it’s Kim. Also, someone pissed off the lighting crew from the looks of things.

Let’s just go ahead and accept that because these people are partially human (look at all the plastic in their skin!) and live almost unbelievable lives that we’re just going to get a little cray over here, okay?  Okay.  But first: to Mulholland!  Nothing bad ever happened there…


Adrienne sits perfectly still, unable to move the muscles in her face to show displeasure even if she was capable of feeling that anymore, as she waits for Lisa to show up.  They have staged an Apology Lunch Meeting, you see.

Lisa comes in, clearly having been forced by the production staff to play along, and sits down, murmuring a hello.  Adrienne tells Lisa that she loves her hair, loves her dress, loves her shoes, everything is gorgeous and she hoped Lisa enjoyed the very large arrangement of poop-tower flowers she had delivered in the middle of a god damn party.  DID YOU LIKE THEM LISA TELL ME YOU LIKED THEM.

Lisa rolls her eyes silently and over enunciates as she tells Adrienne that goodness, it was quite a large floral arrangement, wasn’t it?  Lisa is quite sure that she’s never seen its equal.

Adrienne doesn’t pick up on the insult and instead spends exactly seventeen minutes saying exactly the opposite of an apology by dancing around the words “I’m sorry for calling you a skeeze on national television,” until the electric sensor in her chair buzzes, shocking her into saying, “And…I’m sorry.”  But it’s the kind of apology like, “Well, I’m sorry that you were offended by me calling you a fat, moley troll.”

Lisa sips her Pinot Grigio and counts down the appropriate number of minutes that are required for accepting an apology; Adrienne says she’s too busy to be so immature as to carry a grudge.  Clearly the electric shock wiped her mind of every moment of the season so far where she and Paul have bitched about Lisa.

Lisa levels her gaze at Adrienne, wondering just how much Paul must hate her to make her face that plasticene, and says, “Apology accepted.  You’ll get the check, won’t you dear?” and Adrienne tells herself that she won that round because she’s still at the table. She’s playing Full Italian Rules, I see.  (Lisa?  Don’t start your car.)

Yolanda pretends that she does her own laundry as her housemaid stands by wondering how much of her check will be docked as a result, when Kim arrives. Kim is there to absorb some of Yolanda’s life force.  (Yolanda’s lemon grove is actually a doorway to Cockagnie – the Dutch land of plenty – so it’s fine. She can recharge easily there.)

Jesus, what a rat-trap. [brb, sobbing with want]

They’re talking about an upcoming “girl trip!” to Ojai that Kim is planning.  It’s supposed to be a way for the girls to “mend fences” and “let bygones be bygones” and “not devolve into screaming, shrewish harpies” and all I know is that I want Camille to show up with Alison, because she makes all the parties the worst, by which I mean the best.  Also, it would be fun to watch Alison cower under Yolanda’s gaze.  I think it would be like the Nazi melting at the end of Indiana Jones.

Yolanda is going to pop on over to Washington DC for a little concert with her husband (The freaking Kennedy Center Honors bor-ing!) and then slip on into the party later that day.  She thinks it will be fun to mingle with actual human ladies as she’s never done that, only supped their life essence from their dying bodies, brought to her in sacrifice so that the crops will return.

We slide on over to Compton where Brandi lives (I’m just saying, they try to make it look like Brandi ain’t doing well) and the camera men put on their Kevlar and turn down all of the drug dealers and hookers on her block to go inside with Brandi’s new literary agent.  Yep, Brandi wrote a book and this is why I drink a shit ton.  Seriously, universe?  SERIOUSLY?  I’m just saying, you won’t need so much “ghost writing” if you buy a book from me, Literary Types.

Also, let’s talk about how Brandi wrote a book about the process she went through with her divorce because it might “help someone,” and while I’m sure that’s true, she got all up in Taylor’s grill (I hear the grill alone cost five grand! Five grand! Do you have five grand?  I don’t have five grand.  Please tell me you know the movie Sixteen Candles, or this joke is dropping like a brick. Ho ho, don’t hit anybody!) dissing her for putting her business out there for the world to see.  I’m just saying, don’t put people down for making an honest buck because you never know.

I do appreciate that Brandi is coming clean about drinking herself through her divorce, and that it’s not a bashing all the bitches that slept with her skeevy soap opera husband type of book.  Good for you, B.  And I won’t lie, I still love this chick.

Kyle, in shoes that cost more than the worker’s monthly salary, takes her daughter to the DMV to get her learner’s permit.  This is her kid’s third time to take the test. Oh, honey.  Maybe she just doesn’t test well?  Nope, she passes (third time’s the charm!) and Kyle lets her drive home in their FREAKIN’ MASERATI and I officially hate these people for their massive disconnect to what is healthy and normal for children, because driving a MASERATI with a LEARNER’S PERMIT is not the right thing to do.  She needs to be driving around in a beat down Dodge Stratus and learning how to change the oil.

Lisa has arranged for Brandi to shoot a photo spread for some magazine that is strictly for the women of Beverly Hills with the hope that it will drum up some more modeling work for her, getting her another source of income.  Oh, that’s nice! And Brandi is stunning in the shots.  Of course, having a husband that cheated on her for years with lots of low rent ladies (he has a type) destroyed her self confidence, so she only sees the flaws when she looks at herself.  Like…a wrinkle in her thumb.  Lisa rolls her eyes and thumps her head and tells everyone to wrap it up, they have a trip to make to Ojai.

Highlights: Brandi calling her former friend (and the person who brought her onto the show in the first place) Adrienne “selfish and manipulative.”  But how do you feel about her, B?

Over at Kyle’s house, Taylor is already three sheets to the wind (and actually looks nice, soft, and mostly human.  Probably because she’s not wearing so much makeup and missed a Botox/Juvederm appointment?), along with Kim and Camille.  If you just look to the right in the shrubbery you can see Friend For Hire Didi clutching an Hermes bag from Camille’s “divorce sell-off” waiting for a chance to slip into the trunk of the car so she can stay close to Master.

Adrienne pulls up in her favorite traveling vehicle, a stretch Hummer limo because Adrienne basically wants to watch the world burn. They all pile in and Camille immediately starts trashing Kelsey, talking about his dick tat and how small it is.  Long after the laughter subsides you can hear a strange thumping and wheezing from the trunk, followed by, “Good one, Camille!”

Those three black dots to the left of Adrienne’s head are actually fingerprints from Didi, clinging to the vehicle like a barnacle.

They arrive in Ojai (which is really pretty if you’re into open spaces and smallish mountains and sunshine) and the property manager gives them a tour.  It’s a private house at a hotel and spa, so basically it’s a dump.  A dump with a stocked fridge, multiple lounging rooms, five bedrooms (the girls all hike up their skirts and kick off their Jimmy Choos, ready to race to the rooms and claim the ones that won’t require sharing), a heated pool and spa, and expansive private grounds.

These bitches and their first world problems…

Lisa and Brandi drive up together, and Brandi is really nervous because the last time she was with these people, Taylor – drunk – fashioned a shiv out of some Waterford crystal and leapt off a balcony onto Brandi’s shoulders, shouting about how “the Bruja doesn’t know what she’s done to me!”  That was when Didi was actually openly invited somewhere and let her little mice friends sew her Nana’s Yoyos into a dress.

Yolanda, fresh from the Kennedy Center on her private jet, hops in a limo to hang out with “the girls.”  First, I have to say this woman is flawless.  Even “casual” she looks amazing.  When she pulls up to the house (and it’s a Mediterranean mansion, make no bones about it) she says how “cute” the house is.  Ahaha.  Oh, she and Lisa are the ladies with the big bucks and the actual class.

When she sees that the others are in dresses and full makeup and jewelry, she’s confused because she was led to believe there would be horseback riding and “camping?”  Seriously, I love this woman.  Tall, fierce, and actually enjoys being outside and not just for a photo op?  (Lisa also arrives in jeans, I want to add.  $500 jeans, but that’s because she’s slumming.)

Lisa finds out that they have to share rooms, rolls her eyes, and gets one with Brandi.  Twin beds, sure, but it’s also a private suite with a mini kitchen, so who’s laughing now?  Camille is.  Camille is laughing, and I can’t figure out why until I spotted Didi under her chair, her proboscis fully extended as she sucks the road dirt from Camille’s bared ankles.  If there were night vision goggles, I bet we’d see Didi on the ceiling of Camille’s room that night, clinging to the rafters with her red, red eyes, hissing at everyone for disturbing her Mistress’s slumber.

They go to dinner, and it’s a restaurant, not a private affair (uh oh); Brandi and Kim sort of bury the hatchet.  Brandi, to her credit, is really trying to show that there are no hard feelings, and Kim just looks like she’s ready to burst into tears at any point.  Then again, Kim always looks like that.  Or like she’s lost in the mall and can’t find Mama.

Kyle teases Lisa for her accent (I know what Kyle’s doing, she’s an “actress” and she wants to practice the accent, but Lisa feels like she’s constantly being twitted about it).  Lisa looks over her menu and says, “There’s another accent at the table, you can have a go at her,” with a head tilt towards Yolanda.

Yolanda seems to grow to about seven foot nine in her chair as she stares imperiously at Kyle, trying to make sense of this human’s vocalization.  Golden fire emanates from her eyes as she realizes that the puny dark haired one means to mock her, and Kyle shrinks back. Das Nachtmerrie is not one to be trifled with, Kyle!

When Brandi continues to show how much they have in common, how hard it was to go through the divorce and how dark her world got, Kim shakes her head in that “I told myself I wasn’t going to do this…” way that some women have before sobbing.

And freakin’ Adrienne Maloof-hoof creaks her face into a smirk (it sounds like someone wiping off a mirror) and says loudly, “Uh oh! Somebody’s crying!” Why the hell would you do that, Adrienne?  Oh, right, because you are actually the worst.

Brandi calls her out, “Why are you saying that?”

Adrienne: ‘Cause she’s crying. She feels bad. [this is actually what she said.]

Brandi: But you don’t scream it. You don’t call it out.

Adrienne: Call it out? What are you talking about? Do you see how my face is trying to crease? The doctors say that means I’m confused.

Brandi: That means shut the fuck up.

And of course everyone looks at Brandi like she’s the bad guy here, just because she doesn’t know how to tell people off with class.  Everyone acts like dinner is about to be RUINED you guys, and please, if someone isn’t told to STFU at a dinner table in my house, then it’s not dinner time.

Camille sits stone faced, but that’s because Didi has slipped her proboscis up under the back of Camille’s shirt, suckling the lymph from behind Camille’ ears. It’s all a part of her nightly health regimen   Cleans the blood, keeps the skin young and taut.

Taylor tips back her fourteenth glass of pure grain alcohol and says delightedly how Brandi ruins everything. Pinche bruja!

Next Week! Yolanda calls them all out for being idiots, and I cannot wait.  “Don’t you ever just discuss things like normal women?” Haha, someone has clearly never watched the show!