Was last night’s episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta any good? Well, that’s hard to say. It was largely bereft of the sort of fireworks for which one hopes in an installment of this series, but I found myself entertained nonetheless. Perhaps shamefully so. Not that I’m capable of feeling shame at this point in my Real Housewives fandom…
Anyway, the highlight of the episode was clearly Kim’s crazypants gay romp, which looked like a fantastic party in its own right, regardless of Kim’s random acts of housewifery. Everyone was so tanned and fit and beautiful…does anyone know how to find a party like that where the men are straight and interested in entertaining the affections of a fashion blogger? Because I think a, uh, friend of mine would be interested.
How much of a nightmare would it be to go on a trip with Kim Zolciak? Not only would she need bags and bags of wardrobe and face spackle, obviously, but the wigs. How do you even pack a wig wardrobe? How do you check that at the airport? Do they all go in one case, or do they have separate cases? If they have separate cases, do you have to pay the $25 fee for each checked wig? Does Louis Vuitton make a wig case? The questions, they’re just…endless. Kim still managed to make it to the airport on time to head to the White Party, which is kind of a miracle. The Atlanta airport DOES NOT PLAY. In fact, everyone have a moment of silence for me, I’m traveling through it today.
Nene, meanwhile, has a new dog and the same old problems. Her Yorkie (“Playa”) is just about as well-behaved as her son Bryson, which is to say that he basically poops on the floor, but the rumors that her younger son was hearing at school about his brother’s legal problems weren’t true. Bryson didn’t get arrested for anything interesting like gang activity or intimidation, he got arrested for bringing weed into a prison because he forgot it in his pocket. If I were Nene, I might rather let me son believe that his older brother is a hardened criminal than an utter and complete moron, but that’s probably also why I shouldn’t have kids.
Over in Sheree’s neck of the woods, Dwight showed up in a white Hummer to have a producer-coordinated confrontation over $30,000 of fashion show expenses that he claimed to have spent on last year’s She by Sheree debacle. With a totally straight face, he said that he spent that money on…uh…Kinkos. He didn’t appear to have any sort of documentation of the expenses or even a reasonable explanation of what might have cost $30,000 for that little goat rodeo, as another Housewife in another city might have called it, but damn if he didn’t want his money. And so did the random dude who came with him, presumably to protect Dwight’s very fragile nose from any potential Sheree-involved violence.
The next thing we knew, we saw Kim gunning it down the highway in a Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder (thanks Vlad for the car ID), which is yellow, because of course it’s yellow. In stark contrast to her ultra-expensive rental, she had to pull of the highway for an emergency pee in a roadside outhouse. If I were more creative, I’d say something profound about how the Lambo/outhouse juxtaposition is a perfect metaphor for Kim as a person, but I’m not, so feel free to contemplate that on your own time.
Kim eventually arrived at the hotel in Palm Springs to meet up with Kandi, who she had convinced to appear as her backup singer at the concert. When Kandi questioned her about why a limo full of luggage was required, in addition to the yellow Lambo (Gucci Mane would approve), Kim cited her need for face wash and hair product. I know it must be hard to chip the spackle off of your face when you wear that much, but a limo full of face wash was probably unnecessary. And also, those bags were not full of face wash. They were full of fake hair.
Back in Atlanta, Cynthia was trying to figure out her very busy model schedule with her sister, who is “almost her twin” in everything except the looks department, which seems like it would be important to consider when referring to someone as your twin. After paying some lip service to her career, Cynthia got back to talking about her maybe-impending wedding and why she’s just not geeked up about it, and she thought that maybe it was because her parents had a bad relationship. That’s all fine and good as an excuse to make people stop asking, but when you don’t want to get married, it seems like it’s usually because you’re just not all that in to your significant other. Thankfully, we got to leave this already-tired story alone for the rest of the episode.
Let’s talk about Phaedra for a second. Not only was she frying fish for her ex-con husband for our viewing pleasure, but she was doing so in lingerie and a mesh robe. Sure Phaedra, that’s just what you walk around in when the cameras aren’t there! You serve your man! Except when you’re lecturing him about proper black upbringing (since he’s only half black) and the importance of beating your children, which is not violence, just in case anyone was concerned. I think my eye-roll-per-minute rate is at its highest when Phaedra’s around, which is simultaneously nauseating and fantastic.
We weren’t quite done with Phaedra, though. Later in the episode, she and Apollo met with a mentor couple from church to discuss their love languages. I don’t know what love languages are, exactly, except that Phaedra prefers to have love shown to her via gifts. Apollo doesn’t think that’s such a good idea, but Phaedra made sure to explain to us that “Apollo doesn’t like fancy dishes,” which seemed to be code for “Apollo is a moron.” But even so, he’s a moron with nice biceps and a BS detector refined enough to know that buying things doesn’t take the place of having an emotional relationship. Phaedra would rather just have her stylist (Sidebar: she doesn’t have a stylist. OR an interior decorator. There’s just no way.) tell him which shoes to buy, presumably with her money. What’s the over-under on Phaedra’s divorce? A year?
In Palm Springs, Kim was meeting with a stylist to pick an outfit for her performance, which means that nothing Kim brought in the mountain of luggage for her weekend trip was actually meant for the show. We didn’t even get to think about how ridiculous THAT was, though, because the party’s promoter showed up with a hot, waxed, oiled-up assistant who Kim was sure liked her. In that way. Kim might be delusional or she just might not have any gaydar of which to speak, but I prefer to believe that it’s a combination of the two. And somehow, it makes me like her more.
Next thing we knew, Sheree was visiting her oldest daughter, who has graduated from college and moved in with her boyfriend. Sheree is one of my least favorite housewives, but I’ll give credit where credit is due – she does NOT look old enough to have a child who has graduated from college. Apparently she had her as a teenager, but if she raised her and got her a college education, I guess you have to give Sheree some credit there as well. I don’t know how anyone raised by Sheree could go on to become a functional human being, but it looks like it’s possible.
Anyway, back to the important part of this show – the big, half-naked gay party in Palm Springs. Kim’s insistence that some of those guys HAD to be straight was almost charmingly dim, but there’s probably something to be said for an occasional bout of delusional confidence. Most women don’t walk in to a regular club assuming they’ll find anyone with whom they click, and yet Kim can roll up to the gayest party to ever gay and still seem sure that if need be, she could turn someone straight. I kind of respect that sort of insanity.
The next day, it was time for Kim to perform instead of just dry hump hot gay guys. Well, sort of – her backup dancers were just as hot (if not hotter and more hairless) than the guys from the night before, and for the performance, they were walking her around the stage, yanking her out of a martini glass, all kinds of stuff. As you would expect, Kim is not smart enough or a good enough listener to learn simple choreography, and when they added in the addition of hundeds of pounds of hot man beef, all hope was lost. This was going to be a disaster.
Except it sort of wasn’t. The entire crowd was probably drunk and/or on ecstasy anyway, and I’m pretty sure that none of them expected that Kim would come out and suddenly shape-shift into Cher. She managed to keep her dress on, descend a few stairs in heels and sing all of the words to her song at approximately the time she was supposed to sing them, so I think that counts as a success. Kandi came out and played Flavor Flav to Kim’s Chuck D because Kim didn’t know how to interact with the crowd, and nothing absolutely cringe-worthy happened. Well, except for the entire performance. But in the context of what we all knew it was going to be, it was sort of…fine.
And I guess that’s a fitting way to categorize this episode as a whole. It was fine, but I still very much appreciate that the ladies of Atlanta have managed to remain gleefully awful, instead of just joylessly, hopelessly bad like the second-season Jersey broads. Who knows if this season will have any fireworks, but I can’t help enjoying these crazy people anyway.