So did you know that there was a new episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills on last night? I had no idea. There was no corresponding episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta on Sunday night, so I thought that we were all free and clear until next week. Not so!

The show lacked any major fights or meltdowns, but it was pretty entertaining nonetheless. If I had my way, Brandi would go to every taping three cocktails deep and full of Xanax. That would probably be bad for her health, though, so I suppose I can include that in my nightly prayers. Oh well. A girl can dream. I bet the dreams are extra interesting on a klonopina colada.

We started back at Kyle’s White Party, where Taylor and Russell were pulling away to go home and the Party Police had gone back inside to discuss/reassure themselves that they had done the right thing. They had, obviously, and Russell and Taylor’s conversation in the car only demonstrated how screwed up the entire thing was. First Russell said that what Camille’s accusations were an exaggeration, but after a bit more conversation, he then decided they were a total lie. When Taylor chimed in to gently remind him that no, he had in fact hit her, he didn’t seem at all surprised by the correction. Still, a few seconds later, he again insisted that the abuse accusations were a fabrication. So…which one was it? Did Russell think that if he said it was all false enough times, it would actually become false? Even if he had seemingly admitted that at least some of it was true only a few seconds earlier?

Back inside the party, things mostly went back to normal – music played, drinks were imbibed, Kim’s sketchy-ass boyfriend loaded up his mouth with chewing tobacco. (Wait…what? That had to be what that was, right?) And then they kissed, a lot, which made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. In fairness, my reaction probably would have been the same even without the maybe-chew. Those two are just kind of gross and cracky and intense, and I have a very physical reaction to that.

The next day, we joined Lisa in her enormous closet, where she was wearing the biggest, fluffiest, palest pink fur coat that I’ve ever seen in my whole silly life. If I owned that coat, I’d never take it off. I’d wear it like a bath robe – I’d read in it, I’d blog in it, I’d wear it downstairs to check the mail. I’d be That Crazy Chick in the Pink Fur Coat. Life would be splendid. Anyway, the real point of that scene was to tell us that the entire group, minus Taylor and Russell, would be flying to Hawaii for Mauricio’s birthday. And that means only one thing – YAY MORE SHIRTLESS MAURICIO. OUR PLEAS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED, LADIES!

Well, it actually means two things – in order to get Kim to come on the trip, Kyle also had to promise that she could bring Troll Boyfriend Ken, which means we all have to endure that dramafest for the remainder of the Hawaii episodes. Even Ken couldn’t get Kim to the airport on time, though. While the rest of the group sat around at the terminal, eating greasy fast food just like real people who hate the airport, Kyle called Kim to find out where she was. Kim was at home, of course, trying to find her passport because she hadn’t bothered to get her driver’s license renewed (which, I suppose, is better than Kim thinking she needed a passport to fly to Hawaii). Kyle had reminded her to get a new license so that she could get on the plane, and Kim told her that she had, but oops, she lied. And then she couldn’t find her passport, so she couldn’t get on the plane at all. Double oops. Hey, maybe she’ll make the next flight! But let’s be real, she probably won’t! Addicts – they’re not great at time management.

Naturally, with everyone else getting on the plane to head to Hawaii, our next stop was Taylor. Because Russell doesn’t allow her to have friends (and let’s face it, she doesn’t really have the personality to have friends), her scene was with her therapist. Let me make one thing absolutely, stone-cold clear: If your therapist will let a reality TV crew film your session, you need a new therapist. No exceptions. They talked about how Russell didn’t take any ownership for causing the problems at the White Party and various other things, but mostly I was cringing too hard at the idea of a (second!) filmed therapy session to focus. Maybe Taylor and Dr. Drew get together for an ill-advised mental health reality TV extravaganza. I’d watch it! I’d hate myself, but I’d watch it.

At the airport, everyone had boarded the plane and they were all drinking their first class champagne and eating their first class tea sandwiches, which is way fancier than the Milano cookies and mix-your-own-Bloody Mary that they give you in AirTran business class (and it’s way, way fancier than the bag of pretzels that they sling at your head back in steerage). Kyle called Kim once again to find out if she actually intended to wander over to Hawaii any time that day, and at that point, Kim was still trying to book her ticket. If she actually managed to get on the 6:00 flight, she would get to fly with Paul, a revelation that seemed to cause Adrienne endless and barely controlled glee.

Once that flight landed, Brandi’s Xanax (she’s a nervous flyer!) and in-flight booze kicked in and she got real talkative. About her injured cankle, about the size of the puddle-jumping plane they were going to take to the island, about what red Ferrari’s say about a man, about everything. And then they all got together that evening for even more drinks and she talked EVEN MORE, this time mostly while draped all over Lisa’s husband. Brandi then called Troll Boyfriend Ken a gay bullmastif, and if you have any idea what that means, please tell me. In a reaction shot, Kim took a swipe at Mauricio’s attractiveness in return, which is just about the silliest damn thing I’ve ever heard. Kimmy, baby, play in your own league. If you want to talk smack about how someone else’s man looks, pick one who isn’t objectively the hottest guy on the entire network. It’s a losing battle.

The important upshot of the travel and cocktail party scenes was that Brandi needs to be drunk and on Xanax for at least 85% of the show. She didn’t say anything that was, like, shockingly inappropriate, but she did completely lose whatever filter she actually had in the first place and slur a bunch of hilarious things left and right. Did you know that she used to roofie herself before she flew? She did, but she can’t do it now because it’s illegal, and that’s really too bad. If you want to roofie yourself, by god, the American government shouldn’t stand in the way of that.

The next morning, Paul finally arrived from his two flights and indeed confirmed that Kim had been on the plane with him – on the first one, anyway. After that, she disappeared into the bathroom and he flew to the island by himself because she was apparently scheduled for a later puddle-jumper. So, for those who are keeping score: Kim is more than a day late to a Hawaiian vacation that she likely didn’t even have to pay for herself, and she’s late because she couldn’t spend an hour of her extremely busy schedule at the DMV to get her license renewed. While they waited for her to arrive, the group headed to the pool and beach, half of them in tiny bikinis and the other half in caftans and frowns. Mostly there was just a bunch of tut-tutting from the caftan crowd about the relative appropriateness of Brandi’s bikini, personality and existence, but once they all gathered together on the beach, something serious actually happened.

As you already knew if you had watched any of the commercials for this episode, Taylor called Kyle to tell her that her marriage to Russell had ended and that he was in the process of moving out of the house. Naturally, this bit of news got broadcast to everyone (including the cameras) on speakerphone, and then…the episode ended. Just poof, done! So Kim is nowhere to be found and Paul left her in a bathroom in some other part of Hawaii, Taylor finally grew a backbone when it comes to her relationship and the rest of the cast is in Hawaii, celebrating Mauricio’s birthday, which is now completely overshadowed.

Poor Mauricio. Come to mama, I’ll make it all better…

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