Tamra is trying to organize a trip for Eddie’s birthday, except none of her fancy pants (or wannabe fancy pants) friends are willing to spend three days riding ATVS around sand dunes and living in trailers. How is Shannon Beador going to manage in a place with no crystals embedded in the walls. Or without “hospital-grade air”!?
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Shannon can’t even pack for an overnight without several bags full of hormone pellets, lemon atomizers, cryogenic chambers to freeze David’s libido, night vision goggles, her PacMan arcade game, 16 different hair brushes – never making that mistake again! – boobs to flash, a selfie stick, four stacks of days of the week pill cases filled with various vitamins and anti-neurosis spirochetes, lotion for dry skin, lotion for oily skin, lotion for after the colonic, organic lube for colonics, her fuzzy bunny slippers, that missing negligee she may have seen four years ago, and a cell phone which doesn’t use Wi-Fi. Anyway, Glamis is not for the faint of luxury.
Shannon considered the trip, but as soon as she hears the words “Kelly Dodd” and “Vicki Gunvalson” she’s all, ‘I have lung issues from breathing in too much BS and can’t go.’ Meghan Edmonds claims that since she felt a baby implant, Jimmy doesn’t want her to ride an ATV. A likely story. “People run marathons pregnant,” snipes Tamra, who calls out the phony excuses from these “pussies.”
Shannon has something else to hyperventilate over besides Vicki – her realtor informs her that she has only 13 days to move because their house is finally in escrow. It takes many moons to unload the crystal emporium of bad love juju – which is why I don’t understand how Shannon has NOTHING packed when the house has been on the market for months?
The buyer wants all of Shannon’s furnishings – even the knickknacks. But do they also want her nine lemons in a bowl? Probably. Since Shannon will now henceforth be high-class homeless (and affliction for only the Bravolebrities among us), she must scramble to rent month-to-month while looking to buy her new “much smaller home.” All the better to monitor David’s activities in my dear… Shannon’s rental must-haves are purified water, a pool, and three washing machines. THREE? What is this lady washing… never mind (she does a lot of at-home colonics).
Instead of using her precious time resources to pack, Shannon puts on a cliche golf costume and drives to La Quinta to putt around with Meghan and Jimmy. That is definitely a person desperate to procrastinate, because I’d rather gouge myself with a golf club than spend the weekend with Jimmy Dad Jean’s monotone voice and Meghan’s dead-eyed stare.
Before leaving, Meghan goes to the doctor – again – to get blood drawn to see if she’s pregnant. Luckily she leaves her histrionics over needles at home and brings Jimmy Dad Jeans with her instead! He stares despondently at the floor while she trembles and grimaces.
Awaiting the results, Meghan finally receives a much-needed reality check deposit: She’s Jim’s THIRD wife, and he’s more interested in candles and Fox Sports than he is in her uterus and all the paths to reach it. Meghan may want Jim to be there “emotionally and physically” but it suddenly dawns on her that she could very well be raising this baby (or babies!) alone. The scent her candle is wafting through the air is Eau de Reckoning.
Also, I just realized Jim’s head is square. JimmyBlob Square Pants!
Meanwhile, Kelly has never been outside, unless you count the keggers she attended in college, so she has nothing to wear to Glamis. She and Michael go shopping where Kelly, who has whined that Michael wouldn’t divorce her, now whines that he won’t renew their vows with her. Over windbreakers, Michael reminds Kelly that every couple has their own path – and theirs is rocky. And, according to my Magic Hate Ball, about to end in another separation.
Across town, Heather Dubrow is on a mad hunt for the world’s most luxurious RV. Maybe the next time Mariah Carey has a yard sale Heather can snag her former tour bus?
Poor Heather is disappointed that instead of getting an A-list rock star pad on wheels, all that’s to be had is some “low-budget movie trailer”. Considering her acting career, she would know! Heather blames Tamra for recommending some janky establishment. I mean – consider the source!
Since Heather “doesn’t cook” (and “doesn’t understand” why Terry is working all the time – $$$), she has her personal chef pre-make meals for the weekend, all individually stashed in plastic packages labeled with instructions. “Private chef, rolling castle, I want to be a princess like Heather,” snarks Vicki, “I’ll have to work til I die…” scary premonition for what comes soon!
While Tamra is packing all her “fancy white trash” goods in a giant blue Ikea bag and waiting for Heather’s trailer to pick her up, Meghan gets the call that changes her life forever: she’s pregnant. Meghan waxes poetic that being called mommy means her life will never be the same. Jim dozed off.
In the competition of Baby vs. Golf – I say Jim was more excited about golfing in La Quinta. Even with Shannon and David coming along. (I can’t handle those two – Shannon and David either ruin every trip with sulking and crying, or they are annoyingly fake-overly-happy).
Speaking of long drives, Heather, with her son Nicky in tow, picks up the ladies at Tamra’s for Glamis. The guys went up a day early with all the stuff. So it’s an RV to the desert with Heather, Vicki, Tamra, and Kelly. And the permanent smell of Kelly’s vomit after she nearly ralphs in Heather’s lap, then clogs the toilet. To make matters worse, the bus driver gets lost, adding hours to the trip. To Glamis We Shall Go! To Glamis We Shall Go! Hopefully we don’t kill anyone and bury them in the desert on the way!
If you were marveling that this was the one adventure that didn’t feature Vicki’s whooping puke sounds – just wait!
When they finally arrive at Glamis, Eddie has turned the desert into a magical white trash fairy tale with Christmas lights, beer coolers, campers all lined up in a row, and the soothing sounds of ATVs rushing over the dunes in the night.
Vicki rushes out into the mountains of sand, expecting to find an ocean on the other side, but it’s all a mirage – as glorious as Heather’s vision of a sleek platinum and diamond RV purring gently into Dubai where there in the desert is all the Chanel her heart can handle.
Heather shatters the syrupy sweetness of Boone’s Farms paradise with the crisp pop of her champagne, and then, by trying to figure out how to work the hibachi grill. Does she put the food on there in the plastic box? Or out of it? Quandaries Of A Fancy Pants!
Nicky jokes with Kelly that she now has her own trailer to puke in. Something tells me she always has – and is name is Michael.
The next day, Eddie patiently teaches Nicky how to ride a dirt bike and Tamra implores Nicky to beg Heather for a desert for Christmas. Too bad Eddie didn’t patiently teach Tamra how to drive an ATV. Even though she boasts that she’s got this, she doesn’t. At all.
Soon, the ladies are rolling over the dune, upside down, and all around, totaling the ATV. I guess Jesus forgot to take the wheel that day!
Kelly‘s helmet flies off as the sand whips across their faces. Shockingly, Kelly is fine! Thankfully, so is Heather, who manages to keep everyone calm until rescue personnel arrives – proving she’s the doctor’s wife, not Principal Dubrow. She ordered everyone not to move the injured Tamra and Vicki.
Vicki starts vomiting into Kelly’s lap, which is not karma, but the signs of serious distress, and then is put in a neck brace because her back and shoulder hurt. They airlift Vicki to the hospital, and take Tamra in an ambulance. Eddie goes with Tamra, but Vicki is all alone since they wouldn’t let Kelly accompany her.
Back at camp, Heather remains composed while Kelly soothes Tamra’s mom and chugs champagne. Out of nowhere, Kelly then grabs a beer and slams it. Heather is aghast.
Since she is in Palm Springs, where Vicki and Tamra are being taken, Heather calls Meghan and implies she should go check on Vicki, who is at the hospital all alone. Briana is two hours away, at home with both boys and ill. Despite Heather heavily dropping hints, Meghan monotones that she’s sorry Vicki is hurt, then hangs up and complains that she is NOT going to check on Vicki because Vicki is NOT her friend. Duh!
Meghan grouses that Vicki is “so dramatic,” implying she’s probably exaggerating her injuries. Meghan can drop by Vicki’s birthday party, but she can’t check in at the hospital? Too busy with her eggs I guess! In today’s tale of Meghan’s eggs, she struggled to peel a hard-boiled one while Jimmy looked on with barely-restrained contempt as she warbled about her sister finding two yolks in an egg, which Meghan decided is a sign she’s pregnant with twins.
And Meghan is 12. I guess impending motherhood didn’t up her maturity level at all! I don’t see what the big deal is about driving to Palm Springs for an hour to see if Vicki is doing okay. That doesn’t mean they’re BFF – it’s called compassion, miss cancer crusader. It’s also called being a decent person. One would think that Meghan would know what it feels like to be all by herself dealing with a medical situation given that Jimmy Dad Jeans has been Jimmy Dad Absent through her “baby baby baby” travails.
TELL US – WHICH HOUSEWIFE WOULD YOU WANT BY YOUR SIDE IN A CRISIS? SHOULD MEGHAN HAVE GONE TO CHECK ON VICKI?
[Photo Credits: Bravo]