Real Housewives of Orange County: Welcome Back To Coto de Cuckoo

He-aaaay, Hoes!
No, I’m not talking to you, Gasmii. What you do on your own time is your own damn business. I’m talking about the klassy ladies of Orange County- Crackie, Wretched Gretchen, Slurry McFuzzybrains, Mama Jeana and hot (only if you ignore the age spots and the gawd awful personality) housewife Tamra Barney. We’ll get to the newbie whore some time in the future.

I’ve missed them so much. The delusion, the illusion of wealth, the confusion in Slurry’s eyes and the profusion of Crackie and Tamra’s unappealing facial expressions. I’ve missed Mama Jeana’s sad life of ungrateful children and sinking McMansion prices and the resulting glasses of Chardonnay that don’t talk back or get felony DUIs. I’ve missed wretched Gretchen and…oh, wait. I haven’t missed her at all. She and her itty, by O.C. standards, bitty titties have been all over the internet. Thank you, Jay Photopoo or whatever your name is, for putting those images out there. Now Alex has some serious competition in the catagory of retinal destruction.

I am, however, at this very moment, missing Yenta. She’s the best. I can’t compare and I won’t even try. So, love it or leave it, I will do my best and try not to suck too much.

Onward, Ho!After the recap of the last season, you remember- naked wasted, drunk at Havasu, woo hoos and Don humiliation, etcetera, I am not prepared for my first startling revelation.
Holy crap, do not watch these chicks in HD. They have the skin of an 80 year old leper! And they show it off! Liver spots, saggy jowls, wrinkle after wrinkle from forehead to cleavage to toes. Their flesh is like a cheap book someone dropped in the bathtub and tried to dry out with a hair dryer.
Someone needs to slip them the number of RuPaul’s camera lens luber or at the very least a nice big tub of Vaseline because it’s a real pain in the ass trying to watch this show through cheesecloth and I can’t afford new glasses right now.
Bravo, are you listening?

There are new tag lines at the beginning too. Gone is Tamra bragging about being the hottest housewife. Instead we have her conceeding that there are younger ones out there (Hello, Gretchen. Hello, green eyed monster) but none of them are hotter. Really? Don’t confuse louder and flashier with hotter, my dear.

Crackie says something about loving family, life and work.

And Gretchen says that she is sexy and confident. I bet she says that into her bathroom mirror every morning.

Jeana says that money is a girl’s best friend and she looooooves having friends. With the way her so called housewife buddies treat her in this episode, money must be her only friend at this point and a bad one at that.

How many foreclosed homes does she have, Like 20 or something? I seem to remember her bragging about having four in Coto alone. So sad. I do have a soft spot for her. If you’ve ever had a bad drunk in your life like Matt Keough, chances are you do too. I just wish that she would get it together, get one of his old baseball bats and beat the living crap out of him. And throw that asswipe single-A minor league playing but major league douche son Shayne right in there with him. Call me, Jeana! We can get them drunk, that shouldn’t be hard, and I volunteer to hold them down while you swing away.

Lynne, oh Lynne. Looking good spending money?

We’ve all heard about their landlord evicting them and I have a simple question. If you own your own company, as her husband does, why are you renting a house? Will no one give you a loan for some reason? I know, I know. it’s hard to fill out all those forms when you can’t read or write. I’ll cut her a little slack. For now.

Coto hasn’t changed, at least not from the outside. Flashy cars, jewelry stores and the ubiquitous aerial view of a golf course. I wouldn’t mind living on a golf course. Mr. McSlore and I spent enough on golf this past summer to put a down payment on one of those foreclosed Coto de Crapa fairway view properties. But instead we used that dough for round after round, losing balls in lakes and developing pinched nerves. So if any of you are pissed at me for the lateness of this recap, now you know exactly what I was up to the past few days. And I’ll probably do it again tomorrow. I golf like these women shop. Only I’ll cut back before I lose my home. Oh, there is one more difference. I wear sunscreen.

We begin by catching up with Crackie and the kids. They’ve finally had enough and are going to throw her ass out of an airplane! Yay, so excited!

Oh, shucks. I was wrong. It turns out that Brianna jumped out of a plane once before and wants her mom to try it. There’s some talk about how Bri wanted to join the military and see the world (and get far, far away from Crackie) but between hits off the pipe, Crackie talked her out of it because of the very real possibility of seeing combat. Living with Crackie will prepare you for pretty much anything but Afghanistan? Not so much.

On the other hand, you may die from a roadside bombing in Kabul but at least your attacker won’t nag you into telling her how much you love her before you kick the bucket.

Michael is not so lucky. Crackie is still up his ass for affirmation and this time she’s using the possibility that she may plummet to the earth and die as her reason for mauling the love out of him.
Were you thinking what I was thinking? We are not five minutes into the first episode of the new season and we are already going to be exposed to a Crackie “Woo Hoo!!” moment. Michael wisely stays on the ground. No big deal. It’s a mother/daughter moment and I still give him props for getting into the car with that woman to drive to the airfield in the first place.

They get up in the air and she is on the verge of freaking out. We have a strange moment where Brianna calms her down, much like a mother would. But then we always knew who was the saner one in this family, the grounded and rational human being. Brianna, you are my hero. I was such a wild kid at her age that I cannot even imagine the level of maturity she has developed. Seriously, I am a wee bit older than her but she has me beat in the head-on-straight catagory. (okay, I’m a wee bit older than a wee bit older: older than Gretchen and probably older than Tamra, but Lynne has moles older than me so there)

Crackie jumps, the poor instructor who is attatched to her loses his ear drums and there are no woo-hoos, only tears and screams. Here we go again. I was waiting for the whole tirade about how Brianna should be so grateful for the lengths that mommy will go to for the love of her children and ‘don’t you love me?’ ‘Aren’t I the best mom ever?’ “Would Jenny’s mom do that? Hmmmm? No. Say it. I am the best mom ever, what would you do without me?’
You could lead a happier, more normal life. That’s what.

Oh well. That was anti-climactic. Let’s move on to another case of child-parent role reversal, shall we?
Casa Keough has gone through some major changes. Not visually as far as I know since we only see the kitchen, but the vibe is sooo lonely. But don’t be sad. I’m not. Cause Colton done turned his self into a man! Whoa. Is he eighteen yet? Does he like cougars?

He’ll never know. It’s not like Mr. McSlore’s a security expert or anything. Oh wait, yes he is. Never mind!
Poor Jeana, though. Remember all those workouts with Frankie last year? Methinks those two changed their schedule a bit. I’m sensing more hours with Rally’s and less hours at Bally’s. Once again, I like her so no biggie.

It turns out that she was being a nice mommy, took Colton’s car to the carwash and blew out the clutch. It’s going to cost $2,000 to repair it and Jeana is wondering where she is going to get the money. WTF? Sell one of your superfluous homes, woman! I know that the market is bad, I know that it’s hard out there for a Real Estate Pimp, I get it, but take a loss if you have to, or rent your houses out and lower your overhead. (Free tip- I hear that Slurry is looking)

I wish that she would take advantage of her reality fame and build her business but what do I know? The people that are attracted to fame can also be the worst kinds of clients so I’ll just shut up now.
Regardless, she is still living beyond her means, copping to $200 lunches at the St. Regis. Colton lectures her for it and once again we have a child who has to act as the parent. She cuts him off by telling him to clean his room. Not because it’s his responsibility to do so but because she is going to start showing the house to potential buyers. Thank goodness. I’m so happy to hear that she’s willing to downsize from 9,000 square feet to 5,000. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.
You know, it’s funny. Rarely do people get rich overnight but they sure seem to know how to get poor in a hurry. I’ll bet that she wasn’t charging five martini lunches when she was making peanuts modeling in the early eighties.

Boy, I hate feeling sorry for someone who has so much more than I do and blew it, but I do. But do you know who I do not feel sorry for? Ever? Tamra! Do I need to tell you why? No? Well, I’m going to anyway. She is a self centered loudmouth appearance obsessed judgemental hypocritical meanie. I so have this girl’s number. I could lie and say that I had friends like her in High School and that it how I am familiar with her type and yes, there were a couple, sure, but the truth is that I was like her when I was very young. I did some stupid stuff that makes me cringe with embarrassment to this day, but I grew out of it. Thankfully, I saw the light before I was a botoxed prune. Hell, I grew out of my mean girl stage before I could legally drink.

What’s her excuse? I don’t know what she was like before her forties but I can make an educated guess for why she’s such a hag today. Hint- it rhymes very closely with what most of these girls are suffering from- not getting paid. Long gone are the days of waking up to Simon’s raging desire, eh Tamra?

How did this come to be? She’s the hottest housewife in Orange County, dammit! Simon should be tearing her clothes off on the naked wasted patio, right? Banging her while she’s naked except for her obnoxiously expensive 40th birthday Rolex. He should be bragging to his friends about how his classy wife is a beast between the sheets…..oh, no. Too late. They’ve all seen her grab his junk, brag about their sex life and prance around in lingerie for no good reason. I’m sure that it was all fun and games until the backlash of last season started rolling in.

But if he thought that he’d seen the worst of it, he was wrong. How wrong? VERY wrong.
Let’s just say for the sake of argument that your ten year old daughter is in a play. You want to do something special for her, show how proud you are of her work and effort, encourage her in her endeavours in an appropriate way. Maybe you take her to see a local theater company’s production of “Mame,” and take all her friends to Pinkberry for ice cream afterwards. Maybe you go really big and plan a trip to New York to see the latest show on Broadway. Not Tamra. Nope, not tacky enough. She rents a red carpet for her (tiled) driveway and some velvet ropes, hires some fake Paparazzi and a limo for the kids to exit awkwardly, and holds a premiere on her driveway. In her cul-de-sac. While making jokes about tea bagging. In front of children.

Let’s put aside the fact that her ten year old sounds like Bea Arthur after a pack and a half and a tumbler or two of whiskey. Let’s forget that this isn’t a premiere but a wrap party, and ignore her choice to hire neighborhood kids to pretend to be screaming fans.

Seriously, she spends half her time hiking it over her breasts and almost splitting the kick pleat. Anyway, they bicker, bicker, bicker inside the house. The kind of exchange that encourages guests to leave early after making awkward excuses so as not to embarrass the child that the party was intended for in the first place.

All I can say is Boo Fucking Hoo! Poor Simon! You married the hot chick only to wake up one day to realize that she has the mottled skin of an Appaloosa and the personality of Joan Crawford crossed with Miley Cyrus. There is only one thing to do. Pour some Baileys into your coffee mug on your way to the bank and remember that the only reason you are receiving those checks from Bravo that you are cashing is your wife’s outrageous behaviour. So get over it. You aren’t getting any younger, either.

And another thing, Simon- don’t be so afraid that she’s going to shame you in some way with what she does in front of the camera. It can’t be any worse than our next gal.
Wretched Gretchen. It’s time to catch up with her phony ass and her even phonier laugh. She is having a garage sale, because there is such a premium on the leftovers of gold diggers these days. Who doesn’t want to own Gretch’s old curling iron or one of Jeff’s oxygen masks? It’s a small price to pay so that Gretchen can “re-evaluate herself and revamp her life.”

By the way, did you notice the huge pile of tabloid magazines in that garage? Mmmm hmmm. Say no more, the dame is a famewhore. Who knew? Florence Nightingale reads Us Weekly? What? Not this paragon of virtue! Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me that she’s dating Slade Smiley!
Slade- he who has dated Jo, the talentless beauty who couldn’t bake pre-mixed cookies or count to five on one hand. Slade- he who tried to date Lauri, only to be dumped for an even bigger douche but with the important distinction of being an even bigger douche with loads of money.

Gretchen acknowledges his past and tries to joke about it but I don’t get the attraction. Isn’t he gay? I swear that he seems gay to me but then again I’m like Ted Casablanca, I think that everyone’s gay. Especially if you don’t hit on me. Do that and you will wake up with white spooge drops drawn on your face in Perez Hilton’s blog. Just kidding. I don’t even know the guy! And if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t admit it.

Anyhoodle, Gretchen is all, “People are going to have an opinion,” about her dating Slade and all I can do is shout, “Can I paraphrase Nene here, people?!”
“Close your legs to dead beat dads, you idiot!” He owes a bunch of money in child support and one of his kids has freaking cancer who’s treatment he is not helping to pay for. Does he sound like a good catch? Does he sound like the guy that you “could marry and have kids with some day?”

Here’s hoping that you took that $2.5 million that Jeff left you and spent it on some common sense.
Speaking of Jeff, did she sell the Harley that was such a special gift from him at the garage sale? It wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing about her surprises me anymore, especially after she says that Jeff brought Slade to her. Excuse me? Didn’t she say that she knew him for YEARS last season? Ugh. I don’t need to do anything to convince any of you that these two are vile. They do it all by themselves. They sell douchiness so well they should be working for Ed Hardy.

I need some comic relief right about now and who should enter the frame but Slurry! Oh, grrl!! I love you! I love your freckle spackled chest and your Herve Villiachaize hands with their spatula french manicure. I love the fact that your eyes say meth but your mouth says valium. I am in awe of the unbelievable shape you are in considering the copious amount of narcotics that are in your system.
Write a book! Spill your secrets! Your Twunty will ghostwrite and we’ll have you out of rentals and into a mansion of your own in no time.

Joy of joys, Lynne has become an entrepreneur in her own right! She’s found someone to help her sell her ‘stoner with a glue gun’ cuff bracelets! She’s becoming a savvy business woman, I tell you!
I love how she hired some dudewith a digital camera to take pictures of them on a white paper backdrop.

It’s a huge relief that she went with a professional because who knows what could have happened in less experienced hands. Just ask Bandit, my friend’s newly neutered and completely stoned cat. I gave her my Fuji and this is what she came up with:

Slurry is well on her way to being the next David Yurman or the newest goldtone impressario at Monet. She’s been selling those bee-youteefull cuffs in “bow-teaks,” for goodness sakes and now she’s ready for Bloomingdales! Or Macy’s! Or Claire’s, if she’s realistic. But she’s not, of course. A lifetime supply of Xanax will do that to a girl. One day you’re making hippie bracelets with your teenage daughter and the next day you’re Cartier.

She makes a trip to her bead *cough, pot* supplier and then some very important busines calls in the Beemer. She exchanges pleasantries with the other girl on the line where they exclaim how “excited” they are with Slurry’s designs so convincingly back and forth and back and forth, that I keep waiting to hear the thump from the other girl’s head as it hits her desk and she slips into a coma. Andy must have had them edit out the snores. Damn it, Andy! This is reality, for Chrissakes!

Side note and mini rant; women of the O.C. and all women in general- cease and desist with the spatula shaped french manicures! They are only good for two things.

Neither is particularly attractive, and neither is particularly constructive when your husband’s construction business is going under and you have two teenage work impaired daughters to support.

At the Crackie Den, long suffering Don is out on the patio cleaning up. Everything is a bit worse for wear so I’m guessing that there were a few Michael parties or Crackie got a little too woo-hooey and broke the outdoor dishwasher.

It’s bonding time for the two of them and Crackie promises not to treat Don like shit this season. No more ‘love tank’ tirades or embarrassing him at Lake Havasu.

We’ll see. I am not holding my breath. It could happen, though, since they won’t be seeing each other for three weeks.
Crackie compares their relationship to Simon and Tamra’s again only this time she’s not complaining. Instead, she’s glad that Don isn’t as controlling as Simon is, otherwise she’d have to go lesbian. That’s right, you heard her. She’s would have to give all her boobie tops with their built-in sun dial sized spangly appliques and all her sky high heels to Goodwill and start wearing plaid shirts from Orvis up on the porch of her new cabin in Big Bear. She’s going to trade in her Pinot Grigio for Sierra Nevada and start a Bed and Breakfast with Dr. Sue, the nice orthopedist she met on Rosie’s cruise. Ha!

Wait a minute. This statement came from one of the most controlling women on the planet. So, if I were to follow her logic, shouldn’t Don be hanging out with Neil Patrick Harris by now? That would be a serious upgrade, by the way. Like going from canned beans to cassoulet.

Crackie and Tamra haven’t spilled enough venom on this week’s show yet so they decide to meet for lunch. I wonder how much time they actually spend together when the cameras aren’t rolling. Not much, I’m sure.

Tamra notices Crackie’s new bling and it turns out that she bullied Don into paying for a 6 carat ring that she picked out for herself. Way to go, Don! Tamra shows no where near the jealousy that Crackie did over the $40,000 Rolex Tamra got for crossing the threshold into her 40s with such grace on that yacht two seasons ago. You know she’s really dying a little inside and it’s taking all her power not to wrench it off of Crackie’s hand. Bummer that Beemers aren’t selling like they used to

.

They start talking about how Simon is too controlling which segues right into Crackie spilling to Tamra and the whole entire world that Jeana asked her for a loan. Which she said no to. And guess what? They haven’t spoken since.

I do not know what to say. This is simply appalling. It is bad enough that Jeana had to ask that bitch for a loan but to announce the fact on TV? I cringe. It had to be excruiciating to work up the nerve to ask her for a couple thou in the first place. I’m going to guess it took at least one full bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and a good sized handfull of pills just to get through the first couple minutes of small talk. But what choice did she have? Who else could she ask? It’s not like Matt’s getting paid to dry out in drunk tanks.

It gets even better later. Not only did Crackie refuse to loan starving (I jest) Jeana any money but she dropped her as her real estate agent as well. Nice to see that in these hard times you can still count on your friends. I’m sure that if you asked Crackie she’d justify it with some crap about family being first and Jeana isn’t family so why should she help her? Here’s a notion: they probably aren’t friends any more.

Let’s move on to another victim, one a little more deserving. They start up with the Gretchen nudie photos that went viral this past spring and Tamra is relishing every moment of her envy fueled holier than thou meanness. She even makes fun of her for having a vibrator with a cord. She’s right about that part. It is kind of strange. I’ve never seen one before. One with a cord, that is. I’m too busy getting pounded by Mr. McSlore while Tamra’s jumping on her rabbit for the tenth time this week while Simon plans out his next prostitute filled weekend in Vegas.

Yes, the pictures are kind of skeezy, but they are no worse than half the stuff that college girls do these days. I take it that Jay Photopoo, the mystery man Gretchen was meeting at Bass Lake while she was taking a breather from changing Jeff’s diapers, took these. She was obviously drunk.

Gretchen is in her thirties, is not in college and has no kids, so who cares? Really. Who cares that you two old hags were raising children at her age. Get off your high horse. That was your choice. If Gretchen wants to pose for pictures on the toilet, let her.

It isn’t really about morality anyway. It’s all about how their husbands look at her when she’s in the room. It’s encoded in their Southern California DNA to gang up on the newer, younger, hotter chick out of fear that she’s going to steal their husbands. Fear, baby. It’s a powerful motivator. It also keeps plastic surgeons in Beverly Hills filthy rich.

They also bash Slade, wondering which housewife will be the next notch on his bedpost after he’s done milking Gretchen. I’d say bring back that cougar lady but she was a crashing bore so I won’t.

They finish their meal and head back to their lives of not posing topless with vibrators but spending time with them nonetheless. And then it’s time for the gymn to head off Father Time just a little longer for Tamra and Slurry. I love how they can’t pay their mortgage but they sure make certain that the pilates instructor is paid in full. Priorities, people.

They chat afterwards and Slurry mentions that she might be getting her jowls removed, but not to tell anyone.

Slurry also invites her to a showing of her stoner cuffs at the St. Regis. She invited all the other ladies so we will be getting our first confrontation very soon. Let’s hope that Gretchen defends herself better than she did at the reunion show.

Instead of ignoring the internet picture debacle, Gretchen decides to face it head on. By blaming all the bad people she surrounded herself with. Oh honey, embrace your inner whore! There’s nothing wrong with it and don’t let jealous spinsters tell you any different!

She takes the dogs to the beach…

….where they reminisce about dead sugar daddy and she thanks him for bringing Slade into her life again. Am I missing something here? Please let me know, Gasmii. I don’t get it so I’m going to assume that she’s thanking him for dying, leaving her free to boink losers.

She dries her tears, applies five hundred coats of mascara and meets Slurry to talk about her little soiree at the St. Regis. Gretchie is not happy that Tamra is invited. The stupid hippie thinks that she’s going to bring everybody together and Vishnu will drop out of the sky and make everything all better. I know that this was planned by the producers and Slurry is just going along with it but I hope she’s packing a taser in with her glue gun because she’s going to need it.

Genius moment of the episode- there’s a little minute long vignette where Slurry takes her daughter Alexa to a bow-teak to wear her swimsuits and prance around on the street in front of said bow-teak like a ten dollar hooker. She pays her exactly that amount per hour and then comliments her on figuring out how much she made after two hours of work. High fives all around.

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Back at the St. Regis, Slurry is setting up her cuffs. This brings back memories. Have you ever gone to work stoned? I did, once. It was hilarious. It took me literally four hours to unpack six boxes of new black light posters and bathroom humor mini books at Spencer Gifts. I was mesmerized. So kadooz to you, stoner Slurry. You set up the whole room before the ladies arrive.
We get to see Tamra getting ready and they throw in an added bonus of a close up of her calves. Billions and billions of freckles, just gorgeous. It’s official. She has turned into one giant bitter age spot.

Simon is ragging on her about showing class again. Class, class, class. That’s right, all of a sudden she’s not tasteful enough for him. He’s all mad that she’s in a cute little black dress and heels. Be glad that she’s not in sweats on the couch on her third tub of Ben & Jerry’s, buddy.
He wants taste and class? He’s about to see exactly how tasteful and classy she truly can be.
Gretchen arrives last to the cuff show so let’s do the math real quick. Slurry invited only the housewives. No one else. She invited two women that can’t afford to buy groceries next week, one who hates her and her “biker” cuffs (Crackie) and only one who might buy something but you invited her mortal enemy. Once again, operating on all cylinders.

Gretchen and Tamra avoid each other until Crackie decides to break the tension by faux introducing them to each other. Gretchen said something about kicking Tamra’s ass if she so much as looked at her funny and all I can say is, what are you waiting for?! This is a dare to be great moment! Do not waste it!

They move their botoxed asses over to the dining room to eat food paid for with money that is not going towards rent or a mortgage and the good times start to roll. This is the most awkward meal ever. Half of the table isn’t speaking to the other half and it’s all being presided over by Charlie from Flowers for Algernon.

Somebody brings up apologies being taken care of to break the ice. Yeah, when hell freezes over. Or Tamra buys some klass.

The whole Wretched Gretchen cheating on Jeff is rehashed, and everyone puts their hypocritical two cents in except for Jeana who wonders aloud what kind of wax she should get. This confuses and distracts the table for a moment which surprises me since I often wonder the exact same thing while I am eating dinner. I just don’t say it out loud.

The harpies keep harping over crap said behind each other’s backs, it’s a veritable smorgasbord of she said- she said and I am beginning to understand why men fuck their secretaries and take extra days on business trips. At least Jeana has her priorities straight. She asks Gretchen if she’s going to finish her macaroni and then digs right into it.

Throughout all this mess, all the yelling, lying and accusing, one thing stands out above evrything else. Tamra is a cunt. Yep, I said it. She’s a cunt. She yells over everyone, listens to no one and proves herself completely unable to mind her own business. Gretchen keeps asking her why she even cares about what goes on in other people’s lives and her only defence is that she can’t be associated with her kind.

She should just admit that she always has to be right, that being right is all she has left as her world crashes down around her and Simon starts going elsewhere for those morning blow jobs. So, we should feel sorry for her, she’s just acting out. Really, I mean it. BWHa ha ha ha!!!!
Gretchen calls her a “whore with no money.”
Zing!
Tamra calls her the “hooker of the O.C.”
She should know. Her husband is probably in a room below them digging through his wallet to pay one at this very moment.

Do you remember when Tamra was fun? When she was just another pampered househo throwing parties by the pool and making off color jokes? Well now she’s regressed into a bully. Who knew how ugly she was inside? Talk about some nasty true colors. If I were Simon I’d be on the horn to a really good lawyer that I’d pay for by pawning that tacky Rolex. No need to put it off any longer. The whole world has seen this pretty little display, not just the O.C. and I doubt that it’s going to get any better.

Anyway, Jeana keeps eating, poor Slurry didn’t sell enough cuffs to pay for the salad course and Tamra can’t stop her mouth from moving and making sounds. Crackie enjoys this, no doubt, especially when Gretchen interrupts Tamra’s Tourrettes tirade with a nice little “Shut the fuck up.”

I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted. And that’s just the first episode! I need the number of Crackie’s dealer, stat! Or Yenta’s cheesecake! Help!
Nah, you know I love it.

Love and kisses,
Twunty McSlore