Aboard the Catalina ferry back to civilization, Tamra (wearing the official OC uniform of gray bustier with crochet interboob medallion) isn’t feeling too well. Too many body shots? Eddie looks a bit green, too, so much so that he wants them both to quit drinking. Never. Ever. Again. The pair agree that it’s okay for Eddie to touch Vicki on the hand, but there will be no more man hands on Tamra’s bazooms. “I am the owner of the hot dog stand,” announces Tamra. “I am a taco stand,” replies Eddie. “No, I am a taco stand,” argues Tamra. “You are a pink taco stand,” asserts Eddie. EEEEEYOW! Gynecological sweet nothings? Oh Jesus Christo El Hombre, what is WRONG with these people? If anyone, let alone my sex partner, ever called me his little pink taco, that would be The END. No more piñata for you, senor. EVAH. I have just taken one firm step toward Team Simon with that. T shares with the camera that they are no longer in the honeymoon phase – this is real life. For the love of God, please, GO BACK! Back! From whence you came! God, I feel all itchy. Tamra thinks she’s going to throw up, and I might, too. Mortifying, all of it.
After a long, hot, disinfecting shower let’s go over to Heather’s, because she would never utter the word “tit”, let alone the foul phrase “pink taco”, so I’d feel much safer there. Awful lot happening in this front “yard” – topiaries, planters, varying levels and heights. Not your basic container gardening, that’s for sure. I’ve got petunias and sweet potato vine, myself. Heather’s making her calls to see if everyone can come on down to Timree for her last-minute painting party tomorrow. Can you believe it? Everyone is free! That’s just amazing. I have to schedule things weeks in advance and then it almost always falls apart anyway. Vicki is free, but not too sure about painting. She doesn’t paint. She cooks, she decorates – brown is here, brown is there, how about this shade of brown to set off the brownness? – but she doesn’t paint. Alexass gets all sputttery and snorty. She just doesn’t get it. She’s lost. Butthead, it’s PAINTING. For some, it’s a hobby. A leisure pursuit. Whatever, forget her. Gretchen, of course, gets all tawdry and makes a bunch of cracks about painting each other. Like-minded Tamra says she has no talents outside the bedroom, which we knew. But they are going to come, because Bravo put it on the call sheet!
Moving on to more naturally-suited recreational activities, our two hookers Tamra and Gretch are going to get together and go sex-toy shopping now that they are such good friends. Because that’s what new friends do, go test drive vibrators. The store is owned by a girl named CJ who is a friend of Tamra’s, and she’s all too happy to explain what all these rubbery pink and purple gadgets are. I’m so glad someone’s there to help, because I’d be worried about something jumping out and attacking me. And one that’s some sort of tongue actually does leap out at Tamra, who beats it back and kicks it under the cabinet! There it will lie in wait for another unsuspecting housewife seeking marital enhancement. The most curious device CJ has is some clear rubbery thing that somehow assists in fellatio – takes the work out of it so you don’t have to stretch your jaw or get wrinkles. Gretch and Tamra declare it to be “preventative maintenance”. I declare it will soon become a bestseller.
Enough of that seedy detour, it’s time for Heather’s party at Timree. A funny thing about Timree: I visited her Facebook page, and the very first comment happened to be from a person I know from Chicago about arranging her kid’s birthday party. It’s a small world after all. Heather’s caterer, Brian, who seems to be the slightly-more-socially-adept-and-hair-controlled version of Bethenny Frankel’s foodie friend Nick, has spent all week putting together a selection of carbless nibbles, because Tamra doesn’t eat carbs. That was nice of Heather! There’s also “ice wine”, which is high alcohol, low sugar. Uh oh.
Vicki arrives first in an ill-fitting grey tank with inadequate support and a spray of bird feathers on one shoulder. Vicki really needs to get a bra, and really needs to get a shirt with wide enough straps to cover said bra. She cannot, CANNOT, get away with a cami with built in shelf bra. Dear God, the woman claims to be 49 even though she’s actually 57 if she’s a day. This is what we call mutton dressed as lamb.
Alexass hops in the limo with Gretch and shares that her McKid thinks she stinks. I am sure she does, too. Alexass is wearing skintight red jeans and leopard hooker heels. Klassy is as klassy does. Gretch has on a poo brown leather jacket and long feather earrings. What is with the avian accessories tonight? Alexass instantly starts bitching about Peggy again, having strategically waited to address this subject until AFTER Peggy’s last film date, so that she is certain to have the Very. Last. Word. Ever. Alexass remains mad that Peggy didn’t tell her about having given Jumbo the boots. She doesn’t care that Jumbo begged her not to spill the beans for the sake of marital harmony, if Alexass had been in that position she would have decided spilling her guts was more important than her friend’s marriage and just told her, to hell with everyone else.
All the housewives are ridiculous people and your recaps are SO funny–which makes the housewives seem even MORE ridiculous. Thoroughly enjoy your recaps, Elizabeth!