Real Housewives of Orange County: The Barbie Dolls of Boogieville

Dear Gasmii,

At long last, the one and only, Original Housewife docuwreck is back!!! And, this time the producers are doing it right. No more of these random non-blond, mail order type cougars for the cast. Nope, with the exception of Jeana, we’re going all blond and plastic. You can bet good money that carpets don’t match the drapes on any of these blond shiksas, and with this crowd there’s a pretty good chance that we’ll get at least a flash this season to prove it.

Finally a line of Barbie dolls that even Grandpa can get behind.

Join me after the jump to catch up with life in the recession proof fantasy land that is Coto de Caza…

For those of you that have somehow been deprived of the cultural event that this show has become, allow me to take a moment to introduce you to our ladies.

Jeanna Keough; former actress/playmate; recently separated from her loser husband; and all around good egg.

Laurie Waring; possible drag queen; greatest gold-digger, ever; recently married to realtor/developer George Peterson.

Vicki Gunvalson; owner of a small insurance empire; pathologically interested in accumulating power and money.

Tamra Barney, wonderfully obsessed with her outer, as opposed to inner, beauty.

Gretchen Rossi; loves old men and dirty, shiny, pretty, things.

We start this season with who other than our resident obsessive/compulsive, workaholic, forever blond, boozehound, Vicki Gunvalson. Yay, Vicki!! Like a good little workaholic, Vicki is seated at her command terminal hooked into her phone and computer hard at work selling insurance policies to the recently unemployed, homeless masses. Her daughter, Briana, sits close by and watches in awe as her mother snorts entire lines of coke without breaking the rhythm of her sales pitch. However, the coke not withstanding, Brianna isn’t too sure about a job that keeps you tied to a seat all day and asks if Vicki doesn’t get a little bored. Assuming the mannerisms of a cracked out chipmunk, Vicky expresses total shock that Brianna could possibly think that her work is boring when every minute of it is spent “thinking, thinking, thinking, finagling, thinking, thinking, thinking, finagling.” And, of course, there’s the snorting as well. It’s so good to be back in Orange County.

It’s summer time in the Coto des Caza and the kids are home from college bringing joy and light to all of the bereft parents. Vicki, for one, is so happy that her kids are home for the summer to fill her empty nest. Surprise, surprise, Michael even brings home the dog he gave his girlfriend for Christmas. Which begs the question of why he has the dog. Have they in fact split up? Was Jeana correct, if slightly premature, last season when she called his girlfriend his “future ex-wife”? And, is it now accepted practice to return all canine gifts when a relationship ends? But, before we can get too bogged down in the drama of whether or not the dog will pee in the house, and more specifically on their satin sheets, the editors whisk us away to go shopping with Vicki and her son Michael.

Of course, the ladies on this show will have the good taste to tone down their conspicuous over the top consumption in the face of the economy going belly up, right? Wrong. We’re going shopping for a yacht. Well, the yacht’s on sale, so I guess that shows a tad bit of sensitivity to the rest of the population facing foreclosures and homelessness. After all, it’s marked down from an even million to a measly $950,000.

It’s heartwarming to see Vicki buying on sale. I’m personally blown away by her restrained frugal lifestyle in these difficult times.

Just because it’s on sale, Bravo wouldn’t want us to get the idea that this is cheap bargain basement yacht. Nope. This is the yacht that not only finally kicks the Jones’ collective asses, but it makes them empty their liquor cabinet, down their extensive pill collection, and then shoot themselves out of jealous desperation, as well. Life is hard in boogieville. Of course, there’s always the question of how to pay for the yacht. Vicki’s plan is to sell the vacation home that her husband still loves, but she is soooo over. If that plan doesn’t work out, she can try for a discount on the yacht by whoring herself in advertising like she did for her Rolex watch. Click here for the world’s most uncomfortable e-commercial(The video will open in a different window. Close it to return to the recap.)

Vicki loves the boat. The salesman loves Vicki, and everybody is getting all friggin wound up and excited. I think it’s safe to say that, with Vicki’s workaholic tendencies, things might be a little dry in the love department, if you get my drift. A girl’s got to get what a girl can get, be it boats or salesmen. Spending money is Vicki’s favorite form of foreplay, and this salesman just said the magic words, “Honey, I can help you spend all the money you want…” Toss out the vibrators, ditch the husband, we have a winner.

“This is like the biggest ever, right? Love that!!”

Luckily, before my fingers start to curl into the claws that Vicki invariably inspires, we have a Jeana segment. I generally love Jeana, she’s level-headed, funny, not blond, and honest about her plastic parts. What’s more, she gives the impression that at some point in his life Hugh Hefner actually appreciated woman who didn’t puncuate their sentences with drool and vapid gurgling noises. Oh, and on a side note, Hef’s latest FWB’s, the Ikki twins are going to be replacing Tila Tequila on this season’s “shot of love.” Totally, icky and nauseau inspiring.

Today, Jeana has invited a friend/designer over to redecorate her family room as part of her reclaiming her life post-husband. She tells us that she’s legally separated from Matt and she feels great.

Jeana, darling, you totally deserve a man who’s never been restricted to orange jumpsuits.

I am completely behind Jeana’s dumping that sack of alcoholic, major league, jerkwad, blubber. And, if she’s not going to move homes to start her new life then re-decorating her house makes perfect sense to me. Except that the family room décor is a little weird. Kind of like a tribute to Jeana the playmate. Nothing like being surrounded by what was, so you can feel really bad about what is, and then spend every night drowning your depression in tubs of Ben and Jerry’s cherry Garcia ice cream with cherry brandy poured over the top. Really, it only takes like cough syrup for the first few spoonfuls.

The decorator is a wee bit concerned about all of the homage paid to Jeana’s youth and wants to make sure that she’s not living in the past. But before she can share her vision for the newly designed room, they’re interrupted by a drunken delivery guy ranting into the intercom. No, that’s not a delivery guy? That’s Matt? You mean the ex husband that you’re now legally separated from? Note to Jeana: Has your lawyer explained that you don’t have to live with him anymore?

Jeana and her friend look at each other and roll their eyes in unison at the sound of Matt’s chihuahua like complaining before Jeana explains that she takes in all sorts of people. So, why wouldn’t she take in the father of her children? Well, because he’s an abusive, alcoholic, loser, but that’s just me. Jeanna adds that they’re all looking forward to Matt becoming independent and moving away from them. Jeanna, honey, I bet you are, but just like those pesky rodents he’ll keep coming back, if you keep feeding him.

Well, Matt or no Matt, their bedroom is going to be redecorated as well and thank God for that. This is Orange County people; tacky is okay, but butt ugly, not so much. And that bedroom is definitely ooglie. There should be an ordinance against moose portraits in Orange County. Jeana’s decorator, knowing that a true friend does not let friends sleep under portraits of moose, confiscates the portrait and marches out the door. Take that Matt.

While Jeana is coping with her legally separated, yet sadly resident, spouse, the self-proclaimed “Hottest Housewife” in Orange County, Tamra of the bodacious ta-tas, is spending some quality time with her Mom. And, by quality time, I mean bringing her mom to a plastic surgeon for a facelift. Nothing says Hallmark moment quite like telling your mom her face is sagging. Never one to repress personal details, Tamra happily reminds us that last year she had her breast implants removed and reduced to a smaller size.

Because every time she went on vacation entire villages of small children would follow her around begging for a drink.

Really, these are things that most sensible women would not share on national TV. Thank God, Tamra’s not sensible. Not content at spilling the intimate details of her own life, she goes on to whore out her mother’s personal difficulties. Reality TV is great, the poor woman has been on the camera for a mere three minutes and we already know that she and Tamra’s father have been divorced for 15 years and she’s never recovered from the divorce.

Tamra, being a loving daughter, is determined to help her mother in the only way she knows how; plastic surgery. Yay! Facelift! Yay!! Because pulling that sagging skin up into a few tight little scars and lifting her eyebrows into a permanent expression of horried shock is a surefire way of giving her the extra boost she needs to go out there and get a man. The answers to all of life’s problems are simple: tight skin, bodacious ta-tas, rich men, and lots of diamonds.

I have a dream for the future of humanity.

The plastic surgeon happily promises that, when he’s done, her mom will look fifteen years younger. And, instantly and awesomely, the wheels in Tamra’s peroxide brain begin to grind, proving that she does have the ability to perform basic math functions. If my mom is only 17 years older than me, and she looks fifteen years younger than she is now…OMG, mom’s going to be competition.

Shaken by the possible “improvement” in her mother’s looks, Tamra does what any reasonable boogieville princess would do. She jumps on to the treatment table and begs for botox injections. Of course, Tamra reassures us, she wants to grow older gracefully (read without grotesquely obvious plastic surgery), but a little botox never hurt anybody.

The editors now judge it to be the time to once again bring us into the presence of American royalty, the Queen of all gold-diggers, Laurie Waring. Perhaps in homage to her royal status, Lauri still manages to closely resemble one of my favorite drag queen hookers that used to strut her stuff in the West Village.

I’m so pretty, and witty, and gaaaayyyyy!!!

George and Laurie have been married just nine months. It’s hard to imagine that in the space of nine months the extended families and connections of any couple could have generated the steady stream of gossip, sound bites, and drama that surrounds these two. There is, of course, George’s ex-wife, Gina, whose unfortunate relationship with Dennis Rodman has been keeping the editors at TMZ more than a little happy. And, then, there’s the unfortunate custody battle being waged between George and his ex-wife that earned it’s own column in the OC register. Of course, just to keep things even between them, there’s Laurie’s son, Josh, who after shacking up with George’s ex-wife was recently arrested for the possession of large amounts drugs with intent to sell. Apparently, at the time of the arrest, Josh was comfortably booked in to a Comfort Inn. Everything would have been fine and an arrest avoided if Josh had just avoided running off in a complete hysterical panic when the police cruiser pulled into the parking lot. Perhaps on sober reflection Josh might have realized that the cruiser probably contained no greater threat than hungry police officers in search of free donuts. Sadly, Josh was not sober, and when police officers notice people running away from them they tend to chase after them. The rest is tabloid history and more jail time for Josh.

Now carries donuts with him wherever he goes.

Tonight, none of these pesky details are going to weigh on our happy couple still in the throes of wedded bliss. Laurie tells us that being married hasn’t changed the way that George treats her one little bit, because she still gets treated like a princess. So, maybe those rumors about George’s realty company’s financial woes are just rumors, or maybe Laurie just hasn’t found out about them yet. After all, wives are always the last to know. Ask, Gina, George’s last wife who he left for his secretary.

And, so, the conversation commences with Laurie asking George where they’re going on their honeymoon because she wants to go somewhere romantic. George’s romantic suggestion, Dubai. Personally, I’m thinking George isn’t too serious, but Laurie is willing to go work with the suggestion and says that she wouldn’t mind stopping over in Dubai. You know, just for the shopping, because Dubai is sooooooo commercial. But, what she really wants is some exotic abandoned beach with miles of white sand. George mumbles that she should talk to a certain billionaire, because he has his own island, and he’s always in the market to entertain other men’s wives.

Nine months is just long enough to give birth to whole new kind of dysfunctional marriage.

Determined to see George’s attitude as both interested and helpful, at least in front of the cameras, Laurie goes with the assumption that, if George is introducing this billionaire into the conversation, it must be because George knows him and can arrange the use of his island. George’s expression when Lauri asks him to contact this guy and fix things for her is priceless. But, me thinks that Laurie has noticed more than she is letting on, because she’s sounding awfully insecure when she asks, “Are you still in love with me, babe?”

George chews, swallows, and nods, “Absolutely.” Well, at least he didn’t answer her with his mouth full.

Not content, or secure enough, to accept her future ex’s answer, Laurie asks that pathetic question that all men love so much, “Why are you still in love with me?” You know, I’ve got to wonder if perhaps George doesn’t have a new secretary?

Thank God for Jeana’s more astringent, down-to-earth, personality. Today, she’s busy showing the house to Coto’s newest housewife/paid companion/best nurse ever, Gretchen Rossi, and, of course, Gretchen’s fiancé and personal bank, Jeff. Jeff is a frail looking older fellow that looks like Kenny Rogers about nine months after he signed on as a spokemodel for Nutrasystems weight loss system. Gretchen, on the other hand, looks like the physical embodiment of a straight man’s wet dream.

Jeana thinks that Gretchen looks just like Tamra, but I actually think that Tamra is prettier than Gretchen in less perfect kind of way. And, Tamra has an honest, completely self-indulgent, bitchiness that I can’t help admiring. I’m a little worried that Gretchen is going to try and convince me that she’s only inspired by noble ambitions in life.

I just want to live with lepers, but rich old men keep giving me diamonds.

Jeana’s take on Gretchen and Jeff’s relationship is that Jeff looks too old for her. But, speaking with the tolerance of an experienced woman, she shrugs, noting that she did the same thing when she was Gretchen’s age. Beside, Jo did it with Slade, and we all know how well that worked out. Jo got the ultimate prize, a reality TV spinoff of her own. Woohoo!!!

After watching Gretchen go “yay!” over a big closet and learning that the house was listed at a mere $3.2 million, when it was really worth 4 million, we get to go jewelry shopping. Gretchen likey sparkly, shiny things, and she has no trouble in making her wants known. I have to admire a woman who so unselfconsciously demonstrates pure unadulterated greed. But, when she says “I want you to give me a new set like that,” in the voice of an immature two year-old brat, I have to pause the tape and pour out a little whiskey. I’m telling you, a double shot of whiskey straight up, no ice, just a splash of ginger ale, and a twist of lemon, might be enough to get me through the Gretchen segments. Note to Flipit: I’ll take payment in the form of intravenous booze for the next 6 weeks.

Pretty please Daddy, can I have that and that and that.

Jeff proposed to Gretchen about a year after they started dating. Strangely enough, Gretchen wasn’t attracted to her fiancé when she first met him. In fact, she thought he looked like Santa Claus, and when was the last time Santa Clause landed on one of the lists for the top 50 most boffable guys? Still, for all you unsexy Santa Claus look-alikes, desperately searching through the pages of Match.com, there’s hope. You see, Jeff has something more than looks. He has a kind loving heart and a generous streak that just doesn’t quit. In fact, he is so generous that his looks just didn’t matter. So, don’t worry about your looks, just make a shitload of money and you’ll get all the baby-talking booty you want. Sighing happily, Gretchen tells us that she’s never met a man that’s loved her as unconditionally as Jeff has. Not even her father, and he’s only four years older than Jeff. And, excuse me. EEEEEEEWWWWWW!!!!!

As a testament to his boundless generosity, Jeff surprises Gretchen with a bigger better diamond for her engagement ring. Gretchen is ecstatic that she found such a great guy, managed to fall in love, and just by chance he has the added benefit of being rich. How lucky is that?

Remember guys, all you need is this:

To get this:

In contrast to Gretchen, Tamra and her dysfunctional brood are a happy relief. In the upcoming and predictable war between the blond bombshells for the title of “Hottest Housewife” I am squarely on Tamra’s side, but first she has to get rid of that hideous outfit. Seriously, a black top and skirt worn over black leggings, is not helping her cause.

Last season’s drama for Tamra’s family chiefly centered around her douchebag son, Ryan. But it seems that Ryan is getting his act together and finally moving out. Whats more, Tamra’s husband,Simon, is helping Ryan move into new apartment. This in itself is not surprising, since Simon would have gone a long way to get Ryan out of his house. But what is surprising and kind of nice to see, is that Ryan and Simon are getting along as they attempt to carry an enormous wide screen TV into the house. Seriously, the thing’s bigger than my first New York apartment.

Do you think he’s going to hurt himself carrying that thing? There’s a life insurance policy, right?

A quick swing by Jeana’s place reveals that “Uncle Richie”, Jeana’s daughter, Cara, and Jeana are out back by the pool. I’m sorry, but calling someone Uncle Richie totally makes me thinking of dirty old men with candy. I know, gross, but true. It turns out that Kara has spent the last year of school at UC Berkely, which is an awesome school and I’m psyched for Cara. But, Uncle Richie knows Cara better than I do. He asks her the home question, “What’s it like to be a republican in Berkely?” Cara says it’s her best kept secret, and she’s like totally in the closet about it. Besides, she doesn’t want to fit in there anyway. Because to fit in at Berkely she would either have to live in a tree, or smoke trees, or maybe grass. Yeah, grass would work better. And, she’d have to eat out of a garbage can, too. And, can you believe that all those tree hugging, grass smoking, garbage eating, hippies keep saying that the economy sucks, and it’s the presidents fault. Poor Kara, life out of Coto is hard.

There’s not enough

Xanax in Orange County to get me through this summer.

Then, just as we’re about to leave, we get a quick shot of Jeana’s son, Shane, visiting. Over the past seasons, Shane has become one of my least favorite reality stars, but I believe in fresh starts. I’m just going to be grateful that he doesn’t do anything overtly racist, or mysoginist, and move on.

And, we’re back to Gretchen. But this is a down-to-earth, sans makeup, Gretchen, who’s visiting her fiance’s family and children in Detroit, Michigan. Believe me, this is a woman that definitely benefits from makeup. Of course, when Gretchen’s in a little bikini, nobody’s really looking at her face.

My heads up here, dammit!!

Jeff has two children. A son named Jake who Gretchen describes as being just like every 17 year old out there, full of hormones. Which I take to mean that he has a perpetual boner whenever she’s around flaunting her au natural boobies. And, a girl named, Jill, who Jeff “affectionately” calls his material girl.

During this segment, we find out that Jeff and Gretchen had been dating almost a year when he was diagnosed with acute leukemia. In fact, Jeff proposed to her in the hospital right before he was diagnosed with the cancer. Sadly, since the filming of the show, Jeff has passed away. Leukemia is an awful, awful sickness. Thank the good Lord he could afford such a special home nurse. Just in case I pass away first, I’m opening up a special savings account so my hubby can find himself a fiancé just like Gretchen to take care of him on his deathbed. Of course, I hope my hubby’s fiancé doesn’t decide to film his last days on reality TV, but that’s just me. I tend to think of death and dying as personal family matters.

Gretchen is fully aware of how much work is involved taking care of sick person. Why, when material girl gets in her face and demands to know what job Gretchen has. Gretchen’s all like, you know what my job is? Why don’t you come see what it’s like taking care of your father all day. The really touching element to this scene is that Jeff is seated about four feet away listening to the entire exchange. Maybe my hubby’s nurse/fiance can have her voice box removed?

Jeff has been married five times before, and he’s pretty philosophical about his relationship with Gretchen. He’s very clear that being with Gretchen is what he needs in his life RIGHT NOW, She’s the person he loves taking care of RIGHT NOW. It’s a fun loving relationship, RIGHT NOW. As the saying goes, timing is everything.

I think it’s safe to say that Jeff and Hef share similar tastes and a similar philosophy toward relationships.

In a sadistic move, the editors decide to take us straight from Gretchen to Vicki. Note to editors: please don’t give me these two back to back. I definitely need Tamra or Jeana to break these woman up, before I become an all out paperbag, squatting on the street corner, pill popping, lush.

Vicki is taking her daughter, Briana, out to dinner, and she’s especially psyched because Briana is now old enough to legally drink. Woohoo, a whole new generation to watch Vicki get drunk with.

Vicki tells Briana about her plot to sell their vacation home and buy the yacht. Briana, unlike Michael, is not dazzled by the thoughts of owning a yacht and firmly puts her foot down telling her mother, ‘No!’ Out of all the kids on this show, I totally love Briana. Balked at plan A, Vicki immediately dials down to plan B; working more. But Brianna’s not having it, and she tells her mother flat out to work less and spend more time with her family. And, she should probably stop doing these stupid reality shows as well, but, if she insists on doing them, then maybe she could go on Dr. Drew’s rehab and get off the coke.

We end this episode with an evening out with the girls at Jeana’s house. Jeana is having a friend give a trunk show at her house, and basically turns her house into a high end boutique.

Sure as hell beats the moose portrait.

Gretchen’s arrival sparks a variety of reactions from out golden girls. Vicki threatens to claw her eyes out for being so pretty. But you know I’m thinking that, while Vickie’s mouth may be spewing jealous hate, her hands are signaling a different kinder, gentler message.

I could squeeze those babies like two roles of Charmin.

Meanwhile, Tamra is working hard at squeezing her own inflated mammary glands into the slingshot straps of a dress. Jeana comments that they look like she had them reinflated, which, of course, Tamra immediately denies.

They just swell in the heat.

Gretchen, not wanting to be left out, uses her words and vocalizes a bizarre wish for clothes for “real” boobs. I’m personally thinking that maybe Gretchen is playing a little fast and loose with the definition of “real”. And, I’m not alone, Jeana takes a look at Gretchen’s boobs and bets her $8000 that they’re not real.

Remember, the first touch is free.

Gretchen goes on to say that she wants to get implants so that her breasts become so big she can no longer stand upright for extended periods and she can become eligible for handicapped parking spaces. Deciding that Gretchen’s enormous mammary glands are natural endowments, possibly bordering on a physical deformation, Jeana offers her own cycnical commentary suggesting that new boobs will be Gretchen’s first purchase after the house. LOL. I love Jeana.

For the most part, our “ladies” play nicely together. After all, it is the first episode. Vicki, apparently confused between the problems with wearing animal furs and animal prints, has a hysterical breakdown as the woman collectively try on dresses from Roberto Cavalli’s collection.

I’m sooo telling PITA. I mean PEATA, I mean…Oh, hell, whatever that animal loving group calls itself.

Meanwhile, Gretchen is proving to be one of the worst judges of character. Ever. She chooses Tamra as her favorite woman of the evening. Honey, next to Vicki, I’m thinking that Tamra is the wife most likely to slit your pretty little throat. On the other hand, Gretchen shows some sense when she tells us that Vicki wasn’t her favorite. This isn’t too surprising. Above all else, Vicky can be a complete beyotch.

Just to show who’s still the ultimate in Gold Digging Queens, Lori tosses down Boy George’s latest gift, a centurion card. Everybody ooohs and aaahhs over it’s black titanium beauty. Seriously, though, these cards are not as exclusive as the show makes them sound. The one major caveat to them, beside the fact that they are issued by invitation only, based on spending and credit rating, is that the holder must maintain a $250,000 spending minimum for the year. So, while the rest of us reign in our budgets, we can sleep peacefully knowing that Laurie is out there spending away. That is if George hasn’t declared bankruptcy by now.

So, Gasmii, what do you think of our lovely ladies? And, more importantly, our newest addition? I hope everybody had wonderful Thanksgiving meals and ate way too much.

Hugs,

Yenta