Well, here we are again. Bravo was nice enough to give as a new episode of Real Housewives of Orange County on Easter (and during Passover!), just in case we had built up enough faith and/or warm fuzzies from spending holidays with our families to think for a moment that humanity isn’t actually doomed. And it is, obviously, based on the mere existence of Peggy and Micah. I suppose you could count the reminder as a public service.
So, what did we learn last night? Well, lots of stuff, but most of it wasn’t a surprise. Gretchen only wants gifts that involve diamonds, Alexis doesn’t know what couture means, and Vicki thinks that her 23-year-old daughter should check in with her nightly while she’s on vacation in Las Vegas. But really, Peggy and her husband were too cringe-inducingly embarrassing for me to even contemplate most of the rest of our Housewives.
We started with Slade and Gretchen, who are speaking to each other once again and on their way to LA for Gretchen’s birthday. The only interesting thing they talked about on the drive was that Slade paints naked in the garage, which is only interesting if you use an extremely broad definition of the word. Gretchen thinks that Slade should do it to make money because he can’t get a real job, which once again brings into question whether or not Gretchen really knows what a job is. She doesn’t appear to have one either, so I’d say that her knowledge of the subject is limited at best.
Next were Vicki and Alexis, who got together to bury the hatchet and both disown the whole mace incident. Once they stopped talking about Tamra and her inappropriateness and started talking about business, Vicki got a little bit holier-than-thou about how successful she is and how Alexis will surely fail, and while I agree that Alexis Couture (yes, it’s called that) will probably never get off the ground, what Vicki does isn’t really rocket science. She sells insurance. And that’s fine! A lot of people are very successful in that industry, but let’s not pretend that she’s Warren Buffett or anything. She has a normal job.
But let’s talk about the name of Alexis’ clothing line, which is really the best part of the whole conversation. Not only is it the most mind-numbingly obvious name she could have chosen, but her clothing line now shares a moniker with a plus-size hardcore porn star. Yep, ladies, I Googled so that you don’t have to. And trust me, you’d rather not. Too bad Alexis didn’t bother to hop on the computer for a second before she named the line. But she couldn’t even be bothered to look up the definition of “couture,” so I’m not surprised. And, I mean, that would have required literacy. I’ve still seen no evidence that Alexis can read.
In other news, Gretchen and Slade finally got to Los Angeles and Slade’s birthday surprise for Gretchen was…painter pants. High-waisted, white Dickies. Because they’re going to paint together, an activity in which Gretchen has never shown a single ounce of interest. As much as I think that Gretchen is a total tool, it was a nice reminder that when Gretchen shuts up for long enough, Slade fills the silence by being a total tool as well. Except…maybe not! Or at least not this time.
Slade conned his artist friend in LA to paint a portrait of Gretchen, which was way better than the portrait of Sonja that we saw on Real Housewives of New York last week. And that one was painted by a guy who was sleeping with her, which makes it extra insulting that the freebie was better. Slade actually getting a job would have been even better, but I guess when you’re dating a deadbeat Real Househusband, a free painting is all you can hope for. In the end, it was actually pretty sweet. Plus, he got a haircut. Its the gift that keeps on giving!
We then accompanied Pegatha and Micah to check out catering options for their pool party, and they visited famous chef Susan Feniger at Border Grill to talk about food. Except…they don’t want Mexican food. THE RESTAURANT IS CALLED BORDER GRILL, PEGATHA. What did you expect, Chinese? Does California have any international borders besides Mexico? Have I somehow forgotten where California is? Is having a “celebrity chef” more important than actually having any idea what food you’re serving at a party? (Well, the answer to that last one is easy. Yes. YES. When the word “celebrity” is involved with these broads, the answer is always “yes.”)
Pegatha actually wasn’t the embarrassing person during most of the interaction, mostly because she doesn’t eat food, just vitamins and air, so she didn’t care what kind of catering they had as long as a famous chef was attached to it. Her husband was the real jackass, complaining that Mexican food is just for backyard barbecues, that skirt steak is fattier than filet, and that flan is…flan. And flan is icky, according to him, and more importantly, it is not the same as the fried Oreos that he had in Vegas one time. He wanted Susan Feniger to make him fried Oreos because Mexican food is just not classy enough for his delicate palate. I had a boyfriend like him when I was 19. No matter where we went, he ordered a grilled chicken sandwich. I could have taken that asshole to La Bernardin, and he would have ordered a grilled chicken sandwich. Being attached to That Guy got old really quickly; Peggy married That Guy.
At Vicki’s house, Brianna was getting ready to go to Vegas and her mom was giving her the rufie lecture for what I’m sure was the 487th time in her life. She had an uncle who got rufied (do men really get rufied?), so, you know, watch out! Don’t drink alcohol! Don’t have sex! Don’t get a tattoo! Don’t be an adult in any way! And surely don’t date a firefighter, which Brianna is doing. He called while Vicki was in the middle of her lecture, and she had no idea why Brianna wasn’t ready to bring him home to meet her yet. Apparently no one has bothered to tell Vicki that she’s the kind of mother whose kids end up getting married in Vegas and moving to a fundamentalist compound in Utah, never to be seen or heard from again, just so they never have to bring their boyfriends home to meet mom.
Then we caught up with Tamra and Peggy, who had been asked to walk in an alter-ego fashion show for some OC designer who was looking to get her name on TV. At first, the biggest problem was that Peggy’s brand new fake titties look incredibly painful and obvious and that Tamra is unable to walk on command, but then Jeanna arrived and things got…weird. Really weird. I’ve always been a fan of Jeanna, but she’s apparently close friends with Simon and said some incredibly nasty things about Tamra’s divorce. Maybe if she likes Simon so much she should marry him. You’d think that someone who spent so much time in an emotionally abusive relationship would be more sensitive.
Things quickly moved on to Alexis and Alexis Couture, the clothing line whose owner does not know what “couture” means. Literally, they asked her and she had no idea. That didn’t stop her from sticking her name on it, naturally, because it was someone else’s work anyway, so why would something like a pesky little word get in the way? What did it matter? In fact, just to prove how much it didn’t matter, Alexis took a pair of office scissors to the arm of one of her sample dresses to cut off the big sleeves (cutting off sleeves is how Alexis shows dominance), which were the one detail that even made the design vaguely interesting. Other than that, it was just a sequin minidress. Not that it was particularly brilliant with the sleeves, but I guess what we’re dealing with here is degrees of awfulness. When asked to pick between “regular awful” and “circus awful,” I’ll choose “circus awful” every day of the week.
Next, let’s all collectively mark off “fashion show” on our Official Real Housewives Bingo Cards, because it was time for the main event. Peggy was super excited to pretend to be a model again, Jeanna was busy trying to scope out the competition and find out the dirt about everyone’s lives, and Tamra was so scared to be in front of a room of people that she looked like she might wet herself. This, from the woman who practically had bathtub sex on camera a few weeks ago.
True to form, though, once Tamra got out there in front of the crowd, she was a total ham, down to flashing the Lindsay Lohan peace sign at the end of the runway. Peggy was the real runway story, though, with what Tamra accurately described as a runway pimp walk. It looked as though she had a limp, but not a regular limp. An arm limp. Is that even a thing? As Gay Uncle Andy helpfully suggested on Watch What Happens Live, perhaps Peggy’s new boobs have thrown off her center of gravity.
While all of this was going on in the OC, Brianna was in Vegas trying to piss off her mother by smoking hookah, drinking a few cocktails and getting hit on by a couple of girls. She then took off her shoes and walked back to her room a little toasty and didn’t answer her mom’s phone call. If this is Vegas-style scandal, Vicki would have popped a vein in her forehead over the average Saturday night activities at my college. And just for the record, hookah is not a scandalous activity. Hookah is actually kind of lame, in that it doesn’t get you drunk or noticeably high or cause you to lose all your money or sleep with a hooker, so it’s actually just about the most harmless thing you can do in Vegas.
We finished up the show with Fernanda, who owns her own gym with her ex-wife, and Lynn, who had limited her Quaalude intake enough that day so that she could stand up straight and form full thoughts. And all of those full thoughts were about Tamra, who was supposed to show up to work out with them but flaked. Apparently Fernanda and Tamra had shared some sort of sapphic makeout moment a year and a half prior while both of them were married, and Fernanda thought that they kind of had a moment. I would have assumed that Fernanda had been around the lesbian block enough times to know that some married woman who wants to kiss you when she’s drunk does not a meaningful moment make, but I guess everyone has a different learning curve.
Fernanda’s ex-wife was predictably upset to find that she had been cheated on, since this was the first time she was hearing about it, which apparently means that we’re now announcing infidelity on Real Housewives. So, you know, make a new spot on the bingo card for that one. It’ll surely come up later; these things always do.
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