Real Housewives of Orange County Recap – 8/3/15

August 4th, 2015 | No Comments | Posted in Uncategorized

There was a time – I think maybe it was a Thursday – when I truly believed that an original storyline and complex and compelling characters were essential when it came to getting a television show on the air and allowing it to be renewed for about eight seasons.

I also used to believe that a monster lived in the back of my closet.

I got over the monster fear eventually, but I’m not certain that my subconscious has because sometimes in the very dead of the night I find myself picturing the most horrifying hybrid creature ever seen outside of a James Cameron movie. It’s vivid, this image. It has the hardened eyes of Tamra and the pursed and ever-angry mouth of Shannon and it sounds exactly like Vicki and it wears Meghan’s headband. It is nothing short of terrifying and I shake and tremble when I think about that blonde creature, so I sometimes try to calm myself by remembering the days when things on television brought me comfort, like the Smoke Monster from Lost and Scott Baio singing saccharine pop songs off-key on Joanie Loves Chachi.

Those were such innocent days and they were bracketed by nights where I slept and never stared out the window at the bright stars while contemplating how someone like Kim Zolciak was given her very own television show. Those were nights when I didn’t feel a grip of panic settle into my stomach as I wondered which of these Housewives might get a spinoff next.

If it’s Shannon Beador, I’m ripping my television from the wall, selling it on eBay, and moving to the wilderness where I will undoubtedly be eaten by a bear, but at least I’ll never have to hear anything resembling a whoo-hoo ever again until I land with a thud in purgatory and have to explain to the gatekeeper there that sure, I watched The Real Housewives of F*cking Everywhere, but I did it mostly as a writing exercise and so I could test my limits as to how much idiocy and superficiality I could take and I think I should (we all should) be applauded for bravery. I’m not at all religious so I don’t know exactly how purgatory works, but I think that if there’s a screening room down there and I can run, say, the episode of The Real Housewives of New York where Kelly speaks to a gummy bear and then tells Bethenny that knives live in her mouth or show a clip of Nene lunging to strangle Kim on a bus on The Real Housewives of Atlanta or play a bit of when Vicki described herself proudly as a milf from the first season of Orange County, I think there’s a chance I could make it to heaven.

But I’m not in heaven yet. Instead I am on my couch watching a group of women get on a ferry and head to a gorgeous island and, since it wasn’t in the coming attractions (and you know if it happened, Bravo would promote the f*ck out of such an event), I already know that none of these people will wind up overboard being eaten by a shark or a flounder whose dietary restrictions doesn’t negate assh*les with implants.

The boat they all clomp aboard is actually filled with other passengers, and I’m absolutely sending all of those random people my strongest mental telepathy powers that might possibly exist in my mind so that they may band together on that large ferry and begin a mutiny that ends with Vicki tossed off the boat and into the abyss, though since becoming a regular viewer of these shows, I’m willing to concede that I’ve lost several trillion brain cells and I should probably outsource my future mental telepathy needs to yield any sort of success. On a happy note, I actually giggled when the women sat down at a table together and someone made sure to ask Vicki if the table is okay because studies have shown that if Vicki’s not happy about a meal, a person, a table placement, or life in general that dark things can transpire like an enema in a kitchen. But really, thank goodness Ms. Gunvalson is aboard because she has already ordered some champagne because the only thing that’s worse than these people who loathe each other having to be together in the middle of an ocean is having to do it sober.

I was wrong. The only thing worse than being anywhere with Vicki is being with Vicki pre-vomit, while she makes gagging and retching sounds because she is the kind of unevolved human being who can only face forward. I’m guessing that means she’s never done the reverse cowgirl, a thought that actually brings me a great sense of comfort. At any rate, first Vicki adorably almost pukes into the champagne bucket – which could personally haunt Heather for all of eternity – before running towards the ship’s bathroom, making revolting sounds all the way there. It’s taken me many seasons to be able to say this with utter certainty but I’m ready: the only Vicki that doesn’t make me want to punch something (like the face of a Vicki) is a Vicki who is sleeping, and I’m talking a sleeping-pill kind of slumber because if she’s just in a normal REM cycle not caused by medication, she could wake up at any time and want to say something which is just not okay.

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