REAL HOUSEWIVES OF ORANGE COUNTY – 2/22/12

We’re back on Catalina, or at least what they are saying is Catalina because all we’re going to see of this supposedly scenic bed-and-breakfastes destination is a bakery storefront that really looks oddly like New Orleans Square at Disneyland. Tamra and Eddie have deposited their booze-soaked bags-of-bones on the bench outside to discuss what’s just transpired aboard the mighty seafaring vessel that brought them here. Tamra is mad at Eddie for “touching Vicki”. I think he touched her hand. But who knows what she does with that hand! Eddie, for his part, is very calm. Oddly calm, like he’s dealing with a toddler tantrum, or attempting to hypnotize her. “I love Vicki like a friend,” he soothes. “I don’t like another man’s hand on your boooobbbbbbzzzz.” Tamra, who is now fully under his spell, tonelessly responds that she was only trying to get Eddie’s attention. “I only see Vicki as your friend,” Eddie replies. “There is no reason to be jealous and act like this.” “Yes, master,” says Tamra. And that’s that. Well alright then!

Crisis averted, Tamra and Eddie join Vicki and Donn2 at their restaurant, where Vicki has been playing all naïve and virginal about the wine like she’s never shouted “WAHOOO!!!” and flashed her boobies at strangers after tequila shots before. Does she not think Donn2 has watched seasons 1 through 6? Good grief. All of a sudden, Tamra bursts into tears – the spell was short-lived, and she’s drunk again. “I’ve never loved anyone like Eddie!” she wails. “No touching!” “Aries like to touch,” replies Vicki. “NO TOUCHING!” shouts Tamra. This is back to weird. Are we all talking about the same incident? Because I still don’t think Eddie did anything. And is astrological signage commonly accepted as a mitigating factor? Donn2, who upon probing from Tamra proclaims himself an “ass AND tits man”, loves Tamra and Eddie, and he’s totally okay about the boob thing (“No problem! It was terrific for me!”). As long as Vicki keeps her mitts off Eddie’s tamrahandlers T’s going to be okay, too. “We’re over it!” she announces. “Let’s do body shots!” Oh yes, let’s! There’s still a wheel attached to this wagon!

Back on the mainland, Heather and her husband, silly Dr. Terry, are dining chez Wildfish this evening. Tonight they will be seated on the patio alone, because they brought a camera crew. It seems Heather is a bit persnickety about dining out: she likes to receive her menu closed, not open; she’s not interested in the Chandon; she doesn’t like to have to cook her own food when at a restaurant; and she doesn’t like thick fish. I’ve never really thought about the menu question but otherwise I’m in general agreement with our Heather, and once she’s ordered the same cocktail I prefer (Grey Goose, soda, lime, tall, on the rocks) it’s clear to me that we were meant to be friends, Heather Paige Kent Dubrow and I.

While I am sure HPKD and I have a future together, she still can’t seem to figure out how she ended up with Dr. Terry. He’s part husband, part little brother she never wanted, she tells us. I think Olivia calls that a “little bother”. Terry’s kind of dorky and has he had a nose job? But he seems like a fun, devoted dad and easy to get along with, which counts for a lot.

Heather, who claims she has never seen RHOC, is going to slip into the narrative by pretending this is all her real life that somehow was just accidentally captured for basic cable. She tells Terry that she likes Tamra (“remember that girl who took me to the party?”) and would like to return the gracious invitation Vicki extended to the “kitschy southern food” thing by inviting the ladies over for her own gathering. However, because she doesn’t actually know any of these b*tches Bravo has set her up with, she doesn’t want them to know where she lives, so they’ll be having a painting party at a studio called Timree. Terry is not sure about this plan, because they might get drunk and start throwing paint. “Why would they do that?” asks Heather. Oh, you’d be surprised, my new friend. Looks like maybe Dr. Terry has been watching RHOC marathons in between facelifts and nose jobs.

Morning has broken, and it’s time for Gretchen and Slippery Slade to walk the wieners. Gretchen is talking baby talk to her dogs and is wearing a pink fuzzy turtleneck, white volleyball panties, pink striped kneesocks, and silver moon boot tennies. With drag style makeup and a Hello Kitty barrette in her wig. She looks like an anime stripper. Slade’s attire is unremarkable, his laugh Beavislike. As the happy couple strolls along, Slade presents their newest self-promotion opportunity: some dumb comedy club wants Gretchen to host a comedy showcase, and Slade to do a set. What? Gretchen quickly pooh-poohs this idea but Slade is sure it’s a brilliant chance for him to launch a new career. It is going.to.happen. I can’t wait to see this. That Slade is determined to make it in entertainment of some form, come hell or high water.