The Real Housewives of Orange County recap: Let Me Paint You a Picture...
Happy Birthday Gretchen, you darling, gracious creature, you. Slade had big plans for her special day and if she played her cards right they might involve extra packets of hoisin from Hunan Wok. Off they went, into a nest of LA traffic, to celebrate on a poor man’s nickel. Recently Gretchen had stumbled down the stairs looking for her boyfriend, and found him painting naked in the garage. Call the exterminator! Ever since Gretchen has been gently encouraging her man to pursue his flippin’ passion. And by encouraging I mean taking one of her Gretchen Christine Beaute powder brushes, dipping it in acid, and jamming it over and over into his heart. “It’s a way to make money right now babe,” she said. (Whenever she says babe, duck.) Slade sad-glared at her. “It’s not a consistent way to take care of my family,” he said. Oh dude, you’re so in for it. “Right now it’s better than the other way,” she said, pausing to let her words fizz on his skin. “Nothing right now, right?” Slade wallowed at the wheel, the traffic mounted, Gretchen sighed and then sighed again. Look for that dramatic sigh to be auto-tuned and dropped into her next single.
She sighed again at the art gallery, and then when presented with styrofoam trays of take-out, and then when she opened a box of white painter pants, and then again when she was forced for the cameras to pretend she thought smearing some pink paint on a canvas was amusing. Throughout Slade’s birthday surprise, which was actually kinda dear, her eyes maintained that look of frozen disbelief. In her private interview, she went for levity, yammering on about how she pictured the night ending with her rolling in paint, her top coming off, and her nipples leaving their bullet-sized marks on the canvas. But in realite, she was only able to show any good humor to Slade’s friend, who gifted her with a Cadillac-sized portrait of Season 3 Gretchen, the one who hadn’t yet turned cold and mean.
Hey, she never claimed she was perfect. And neither did Vicki. (Ha!) Vicki apparently got home from work one night at 1 a.m. and decided it was time to bury the Mace with Alexis. So both women suited up in black, draped themselves in heavy crosses and chandelier earrings, and agreed to meet for a Skinny Girl margarita. (What would Jesus do in this situation? Head for the hills.) Alexis tried to impress upon Vicki that she too was now an accomplished business woman what with her dress line. Oh really? Vicki used to sew a lot, before she decided her hobby was life. Vicki, who had just promised to only talk bad to Alexis’ face, promptly snickered to the camera about a fitness instructor-turned-fashion designer hooking up with a former hair and makeup stylist. All I know is that Alexis might have at least googled the word “couture” before deciding her label’s name was Alexis Couture. That said, just because she has a body made for sin doesn’t mean she’s a dummy. After all she has an older husband who’s had a lot of life lessons. Squint. Squint. Would a Barbie doll have had the good sense to take a scissors to that bat sleeve that looked cut-and-pasted from an old Katarina Witt skating costume? Well, probably, yes.
NEXT: Cats on the cat walk. Tamra and Jeana face off in resort wear.
Peggy and Micah were deep in preparation for their annual dinner party. They had two concerns: Peggy wanted a celebrity chef, someone her friends may have heard of even if she hadn’t, to cater the party. And Micah wanted at all costs to humiliate said chef and serve fried oreos for dessert. Also, nothing Mexican. Not that he has a problem with Mexicans. It’s just that he thinks pool parties are low class. Cut to celebrity chef Susan Feniger’s increasingly astonished face, as she started wondering whether she would whip, puree, or sous vide the spit in Micah’s dishes. Lighten up guys! Peggy doesn’t care about the food, it’s the word “celebrity” that tastes good going down.
This was the episode where Peggy finally got her groove back. Her breasts seemed to steadily inflate throughout the hour, in parallel with her blooming mojo. Walking down that runway, her ropy arm pumping like a George Jefferson rubber doll, girl was in the zone. She was born to host! (I’m still uncertain what that means.) Tamra had a little tougher time getting ready for the runway, what with Jeana waiting in the wings to tamper with her heels. Ugh, Jeana. I don’t trust that woman. She walks into every room looking like an overfed Cheshire cat. She’s not witty enough to be biting, or angry enough to be hysterical. But she will always stir it up. And no matter what the issue between a man and woman, she will always take the dude’s side. So of course she thinks Tamra is a tramp and Simon the righteous, wronged party. Get tossed in a pool, Jeana.
Sensing that the Bravo producers had given up on her, Fernanda made a hail-mary pass for camera time. And her leaden football clunked right off of poor Lynne’s head. Lynne has had a very busy year, really digging in deep to her cuff wear. But she had squeezed together some time for a Fernanda special work-out. This seemed like the perfect time for the trainer to worry over the state of her friendship with Tamra. Something was amiss between the two and the only thing Fernanda could think…. of course, that drunken bathroom alley smooch Tamra and Fernanda engaged in over a year ago! Are you kidding me? More importantly, are you kidding your hulking Martina Navratilova-esque ex? “Maybe it was a friendship kiss you took wrong?” wondered Lynne. Fernanda looked hopefully at the Bravo team. Is this what you want from me? her eyes begged. The exes glowered at one another before stomping off to their respective Dasani vending machines. Lynne looked anxious and confused. Way to go lesbians (and I don’t mean you Tamra).
Meanwhile, Brianna appears to have roofied herself in Las Vegas. (This one’s for you Uncle Bill!) And her buddy hit the hookah pipe hard, desperate to cloud out visions of being spanked.
Well OC watchers: Are you stunned by the shamelessness of Fernanda? Are you more sympathetic to Jeana and if yes, is it more because of her semi-abusive sons or her appearance on Thintervention? Does a shot of Lynne always leave you feeling a little high? Kind of like the reality TV’s version of whippets? Did the close-ups of Peggy’s boobs give you a sense of phantom pain?
Bravo turns its cameras on California's ladies who lunch (and shop, and tan, and get plastic surgery, and bicker…)