The second to last episode of Season Six RHOC started and ended with the pitiful misery that has become Vicki and Donn Gunvalson's marriage. Not fun. Not funny. Hard to mock and a little bit of a challenge to satire. It's pathetic and a little sad--because as I've said before, even assholes can be sad. I'm an equal opportunity pity-er. I don't like
anything much about Vicki, but I don't have such a short and selective memory that I can't recall a time when she was the kind-of normal one. When all this madness began, she seemed okay. Not my bag, but still "okay". Obviously that ship has sailed, along with her marriage to Donn.
Most of us have always liked Donn--and the nuttier she got the easier he was to like. And the easier it was to understand why they would crash and burn...in the midst of all this rare Brassy-pity let's not lose sight of the fact that Vicki is self-serving, grating, vapid, and ignorant. Not exactly the headlining traits of a successful marriage partner. Really, we all want Donn to be able to wash his cars in peace and hang out on Lake Havasu (what a shit hole) with an adult lady-friend who appreciates his simple, yet seemingly sweet ways. But this season he's been a little dick-y, hasn't he? A sign of how shitty things are at home? Probably.
And as I've said before, Vicki's obnoxious, nails-on-a-chalkboard WOOO-WHOOO's have seemed desperate, forced, and lackluster. That's what we're dealing with here folks: Vicki Gunvalson's emotional barometer is easiest to gage by the intangible oomph and chutzpah she puts into her after-hours, party-time, battle cry. Sad (in a very different way than divorce), but SO true. And revealing. What a simpleton.
Of course with the delay of filming, editing, and production, we've known for quite some time that the Gunvalsons were on the express train to Divorce City. Woot woot, all aboard. But let's dig into the final footage of their doomed union. And all the other extraneous crap that defines this bat-shit-show...can you tell I'm way over OC? Truth be told I'm ready to rip into NJ with the ferocity of two hunnert [holla at'choo SGM] table-flippers, and all the critical snark my Brassy self can muster...god I can't wait. Those Jersey girls are the low hanging fruit, if you know what I mean...
Anywife, we start the OC with another quasi-generic shot of Donn and Vicki bickering about god knows what. Folding laundry maybe? It doesn't matter. Snot-nosed Michael chimes in with some mediocre commentary about his mother and step-father's relationship....time together...blah blah blah. Vicki is sad...[she] wants to be wanted...to be engaged...it's like [they're] strangers. Well Vick, more often than not you get what you give. But that's not a narcissist-friendly concept, now is it?
There are only so many of Vicki's sad, generic marriage-analogies we can take, so it's off to another doomed relationship: Sletchen. I know, I know... lame name-combo, but I'm keeping it. It amuses me; it sounds like a poisonous reptilian shapeshifter, don't you agree? AnySletch, she's home from Texas and happy to see Slade...so he can help her with her bags and she can call him Tubba Wubba. The monotony. She talks about her ass-ugly sweat-shop handbags and Slade's broke self. The monstrous support payments he owes for his terminally ill child are really bringing her down. Aaaaand, I'm done.
Peggy and Micah pack up their "MATCHING OUTFITS" for Micah's birthday trip to Las Vegas. Of course these two coordinate. Douche. I note that Peggy's tits are
glandular saline behemoths. Micah got his wish: I'm pretty sure her bolt-ons really could hold a wine glass...or in the Tanous's case a wine cooler is a more likely beverage. Or a spritzer at best. I'm seeing good things in the future for these two: they are astoundingly tacky people, even by OC standards, they could get pretty trashtastic with a few seasons.
I lost track of how many times Peggy said Vegas baby! and What happens in Vegas...
Such a clever girl. Boobs and brains. So rare.
And guess who's joining them in 'Vegas?
|Let's get to hookin'|
Three whole sets of tits that could definitely act as some sort of alcoholic beverage koozie. Micah looks pleased. This is shaping up to be quite a burfday.
They chat about the withdrawing from Iraq without a secure political infrastructure in position, and consequently touch on Pakistan's obvious allegiance to the Taliban as a safeguard against the looming boarder war with India. If only Benazir Bhutto wasn't assassinated before she could make a real difference in the geo-political climate of the Middle East. When they've beaten that dead horse they move on to the Bellinos and the no-brainer that is OC money management...Peggy is pretty sure Alexis is jelly belly of Pegster's up and coming position within the OC organization....who could blame her? Peggy is a force. And then the golden nugget: Micah spews a bunch of piss shit about less savvy OC couples failing to live within their means...keeping up with the Joneses...being something they're not. Of course he could be talking about himself, but he's not. And there's the gift. He's on the brink of foreclosure, spends money he doesn't have, and talks like he could teach Warren Buffet a thing or two about fiscal responsibility. Forget Alexis versus Peggy; I think Micah is going to give Jim a real run for his money as resident OC donkey.
Next is more of this:
|What part of EARN YOUR KEEP don't you understand?|
Sletchen sitting by the fire pit sussing out their relationship. Shut the fuck up you two. Gretchen's at a crossroads because Slade's broke and she's a gold digger. He's served his purpose as a controversy-catcher and got her more airtime than she now knows what to do with. Nice ROI. He's turned out to be a really great bellhop too...a role Gretchen didn't see coming and will now make it that much harder for her to let him go. By the way, what's the going severance pay for a Bi-atch? She's running her sweatshops on a shoe string, so she's thinking one day of pay for every year served. Sounds fair. Moving on.
Oh, and she cries about wanting a kid with Slade, but reminds us that although she's madly in love...she's not madly in love AND stupid. That's some quality word-smithing Rossi, someday when you do find Mr.
Right Rich I'd be sure to get that engraved on the inside of your wedding band if I were you. Words to love by. Truly.
Back in Sin City (Peggy coined that term herself and is looking to trademark it), Micah receives a custom made wack-off book filled with pictures of his lingerie clad wife.
|Will you look at that, the pages are laminated so my spunk won't stick.|
But soon it's time to bring it down a notch, or 20, with a Bravo produced video montage of why the Gunvalson marriage is a big, fat, saggy-faced FAIL. It's narrated by interview-Vicki and accompanied a super-sad instrumental...just in case some of us didn't grasp the gravity. There's no life in here...it's not there anymore. Can you imagine anything more...I don't know...HORRIBLE than watching basic cable fast forward through your marriage to the get to the juicy meat of your divorce?
Now it's this one's turn:
|Look at the jaunty angle of my hat Frenchie. Look!|
I know style, and I know delicatessency...delicatel...delicatcy? What?
Unamused and shellshocked.
Classic. And painful.
Next we go out to dinner with Vicki and Tamra. It's a real departure, because for the first time all season we see Tamra driving herself --instead of bombing around the OC in the back of limo while she humps Eddie on the fine Corinthian leather bench seats. And it becomes painfully clear as to why Tamra usually opts for the limo: she can't drive for shit. She's a legit menace to society. I never thought about it before, but of course she's a horrific driver. It just makes sense, doesn't it?
Anyroadrage, the besties go out to dinner and Vicki drops the long awaited bomb: Donn and I are having problems. Tamra isn't surprised. Vicki starts to ugly cry and spills her guts. This is it folks, the moment from which one can not turn back. This isn't some Love Tank running on E bullshit. Here's what she shared...with Tamra...and the rest of the world:
- Donn called her once in four weeks when he went out of town. I didn't know Donn traveled too.
- They don't fight because they don't speak. At all. Like bad room mates...which sucks because living with a silent room mate is rully rully awkward. At least with a fight you get make-up sex.
- She's not completely miserable, she can continue to exist. Like if there were kids involved they'd tough it out? Yuck.
- She wants to be touched...IT'S BEEN TWO YEARS SINCE THEY'VE BUMPED GUNVALSONS!!!! Two years. No sex. Quick question: not even anal? Because some people don't count that... (Too soon? Too graphic? TOUGH.)
- She wants to pray with her husband and have a biblical man in her life. Tamra, who can not be a church-goer, doesn't know what to say to that. And to be quite honest, neither do I.
- She doesn't want to live a lie anymore. You don't have to worry about that Vicki, you just outed your shit marriage on national television. The band-aid has officially been riiiiiiiiiiped of the Gunvalson union. They're done.
Oh by the way, this all went down in a very crowded bar. Gold stars for style.
Moving on, and speaking of style, the big night has arrived: THEPREMIEROFMYDRESSLINE!! is here! Alexis is bubbly and excited, and even kind of...cute? Whatever. She wants it to be an event void of evil eyes and mace, and I can't say I blame her. All the usual bitchez arrive, and then some. Lynne Curtin is there too. Sidebar: in one of the episodes that I didn't recap (bratty Brassy!) Lynne showed up and revealed that her sad sack of a pushover husband, Frank, now works for her...making her cuff jewelry. And they've decided to disown their daughters, Alexa and Raquel. That last bit about the daughters is a lie, but since we're on the subject...Lovely girls, remember them?
|The reason Britney Spears thanks the|
that she didn't give birth to daughters.
Anyway, the stage is set for Alexis's big night (or mid-afternoon, but whatever). She makes a speech. Tells Cavali to move over! and rolls out her dresses. It doesn't matter that Vicki isn't there yet, the show must go on. After all, this is the high stakes world of sweatshop couture. Of course it's ugly and all the housewives make passive aggressive remarks in their interviews. Tamra crassly but correctly wonders who can wear this without your cooter falling out?! Raaawwwwk! Even Gretchen comments that Jim might be mad about that one when a non-existent bikini, that would make even Leann Rimes blush, saunters by.
Oh, and each dress has a name...such as: Walk in The Park, Cinderella's Slippers, Slip It On, Sex In The City, Dancing With The Stars, and my most favorite name for anything ever: Paparazzi Love It.
Paparazzi. Love. It. This woman really does have a way with words, doesn't she?
But guess what? There's an undercurrent of tension that builds and builds and builds, until it crescendos and we learn from Tamra that her Vick is in the hospital. Vicki! No! Don't go to the light! It's all a little mysterious and uncertain; of course Tamra goes on and on about it...and of course it's right in the middle of thepremierofmydressline!! so now these housedogs in drag have a bone to fight over.
Anyass, the issue at hand becomes the fact that thepremierofmydressline!! is being upstaged by Vicki Gunvalson's bleeding anus. Alexis doesn't like it, but keeps quiet because she's a good Christian. But you know who doesn't keep quiet? Gretchen-fucking-Rossi. On and on and on she goes about the irony of Vicki finding a way to upstage Alexis's event. If she's hemorrhaging I'm sad, but the timing? I'm so sick of those two's shenanigans. Lord, I love her trashy grammar. Tamra whips out her phone and show everyone a photo of Vicki's IV...which is of course so strange and laughable and bizarre it just adds to the genius of the moment.
So here's my take: of course Tamra was tacky about getting the news her friend was in the hospital--we all know she should've left the room discretely and gone to the hospital if she was so worried. But that's in the real world, and this is Housewife-akstan. And Tamra is the tackiest broad I know so that makes her the ruling warlord of Housewife-akstan. She is dripping in tacky gold-stars. Vicki sending texts and pics from her death bed? Totally predictable; I wouldn't expect anything less from ma'Vick even if she was dealing with an emergency triple bypass. Alexis's reaction? Spot on...in her immature, space-cadet world she was sorry any one of the Lord Father Jesus's children was bleeding from the rectum, but she had a mediocre, home-made fashion show to put on so she and her family could fall further into debt, and...it! just! wasn't! fair!! (stomp foot now).
Now Gretchen--who by the way looked more over-the-hill-showgirl-tranny than ever.
Here's a close-up of her make-up:
The outside matches the insides on this one folks. Ugly.
Gretchen was a straight up spiteful, spoiled, nasty, shit stirrer. Smirking, smiling and gloating all over thepremierofmydressline!! like a grade-A mean girl. At one point Tamra's phone rang (for the umpteenth time) and Gretchen cracks Is it Vicki calling from the ER? Ha! Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Apparently she felt totally justified because none of the Housewives visited her in the hospital when she was there with Jeff. Good logic fuckface. Gretchen even asked Tamra if she thought Vicki was purposely bleeding from her asshole at the exact moment in time Alexis opted to reveal Dancing With The Stars and Paparazzi Love It.
Bravo ladies, well played. All of you. You are the Pinocchios to Andy Cohen's Gepetto. You are the basic cable ratings gift that keeps on giving. And thank GAWD I am almost through with you. All of you.