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The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills recap: What Happens in Vegas...

The ladies head to Sin City, where they (gulp) making manicured ‘gun fingers’ during a Jay-Z concert

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Camille Grammer Housewives

The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills

TV Show
Reality TV
run date:
Current Status:
In Season

Camille was born to dance. She was born to paddle board. She was born to talk about the gorgeousness of her breasts and her tennis partner’s balls. I’m guessing she was not born with that strange accent—a little bit snooty, a little irritated—which only gets worse when people dare suggest she stand in the shadow of Kelsey Grammer. “Dohn’t thwow jahbs at me becuz I wull stahnd up four mysulfuh,” she warned. And by standing up for herself she means she will either get a pinched look on her face and leave a party early, swearing that guy friends are so much better than girls, or she will bump and grind until your husband’s face goes slack. Stay classy Paul. While Adrienne’s eyes narrowed as much as her botox would allow, her flushed husband gave Camille a five dollar bill for her butt-to-the-floor moves.

Yes, it was Vegas time. The Maloofs own that town, or so says Lisa. And the Real World. Adrienne wanted to show her ladies a good time and what better way than with gratis suites and killer seats to a Jay Z concert. Obviously, these women are way back fans and have all pre-ordered their advance copies of Decoded. “Do you even know one song?” Kyle’s daughter wondered. “No, but I know that he’s cool. And that he’s married to Beyoncé.” If that wasn’t enough to bruise a rap fan’s heart, then it surely crumpled at the sight of the women wagging their heads and making manicured gun fingers during the show.

Most people don’t look good dancing. The fact that they get up and shake what they’ve got anyways is usually something to be commended. Go for it, have fun, who cares if you look like a weeny. And then there’s Russell, the least fun man ever to glower his way through the Housewives franchise. Is Taylor’s marriage straight out of a Danielle Steele novel? The venture capitalist cold billionaire who thinks his black shirt makes him look cool. The Oklahoma girl driven to unnecessary plastic surgery. “Let’s find the mini bar and get naked,” he said in a cold monotone when he and Taylor got to their luxurious suite. But first he would need to take a call. And have some virgins pour hot wax on his back. And crush a Mom and Pop store on Main Street. And get in an intense workout. It’s good to know that I’m not alone in finding Russell a creepo supremo. “Taylor loves to talk about her big sexy Texas cowboy and then in walks Russell,” said Lisa, pausing to snort with disbelief. “Sorry.”

Kim was feeling particularly tender in Vegas. She wanted a husband that Camille could flirt with too, dammit. There were several scenes of her clomping around her large empty hotel suite and one of her staring listlessly outside her floor-to-ceiling window. Don’t jump, woman! That meant lots of phone calls to Kyle with bleated messages of “I love you” and “what are you wearing?”

NEXT: A funky chicken pushes Camille to the background.