Housewives in Wonderland: A Very Un-Merry Tea Party

Cast

Brandi as Alice

Adrienne as The Mad Hatter

Lisa as The Queen of Hearts

Taylor as The Drunken Door Mouse

Camille as The White Rabbit

Kyle as A Card

Faye as That Dead Thing in the Corner

Ok folks, bear with me here, I’m super hung over and I think I broke a toe last night.

Kyle visits Lisa so they can rehash last season’s reunion because, although the horse has been beaten to a bloody pulp, we’re still beating it with a Louisville slugger like Franky beat Nicky Santoro and his brother in the middle of that cornfield (“Casino” reference, had to happen).

Lisa’s house is named, “Villa Rosa.”  Really?  I mean, I guess, but really?  Your house needs a name?  And a sign? 

After some small talk the two ladies go upstairs for a serious heart to heart.  Lisa feels like Kyle never defends her.  Well that’s valid, since Kyle never defends her.  Kyle doesn’t think Lisa needs defending and says that’s why she didn’t defend her.  Then Lisa tells Kyle to apologize again, and using Lisa’s own words she’s feeding her.  So basically this conversation is straight out of the third grade cafeteria.  Kyle says she won’t apologize like that, and I wonder why Lisa would want a manufactured apology.  You would think she had quickly ODed on those after Adrienne’s apology where she appeared to be in the middle of an enema squeaking out, “I-m so—rr—y, BUT YOUSHOULDBESORRYTOO!” over a glass of pinot grigio that was wondering to itself, “Which bad decision did I make in life that landed me here?”

Anyway, there was no resolve which is perfect because now in a couple weeks we can have this same fight.  Yayyy!  Which reminds me, I’m taking recommendations on what new show I should blog about because I’m THISCLOSE to being over this mess.

Brandi visits Yolanda at the stables while Yo’s daughter Bella practices riding.  Yolanda points out that it’s kind of sad for Bella because most of the girls she rides with have two or three horses, and she can only afford Bella the one.  I’ll wait while you wipe the tears from your eyes so you can continue reading.  Gawd, I love Yolanda so much.

Anyway, Brandi’s stressed out over the Maloof lawsuit.  Yolanda says, “Oh vou know, dant vorry about Adriennz Maloofz, who is she in diz vorld?”  Have I mentioned I love Yolanda?

Onto the Tea Party from Hell….

Alice, ahem, Brandi arrives first, I think, because she’s Lisa’s new bestie.  She’s really nervous since this will be the first on-field battle between her and The Maloof Hoof.  The Drunken Door Mouse, ahem, Taylor arrives and gifts Lisa with a vibrator because….we don’t really know why.  She says it’s because of Ken’s hip surgery and the subsequent wait time until two-person sex, but since it is Ken who has the case of the inside-pants jollies in that relationship I fail to see the point.  But when you’re a drunk you tend to make silly, fly by the night decisions like bringing a vibrator as a hostess gift to a Tea Party and, by the way, I’m throwing a Tea Party next week… *hint hint*

Brandi and Taylor get along swimmingly (because Taylor’s already tipsy) as Brandi gives Taylor a tour of the house, including Ken’s closet where they find pictures of a naked Lisa and realized they may have over-stepped their touring boundaries.   

Meanwhile, in a pink kitchen, The Queen of Hearts, ahem, Lisa explains to Lupe (Is it Lupe?  I can’t remember) how to arrange tiny sandwiches on a platter.

More guests arrive, and we meet two hunks of grade-A idiot beef from that filthy STD of a show “Vanderpump Rules.”  No offense to anyone who watches it, but tons of offense to those who are on it.

Oh wonderful, The Dead Thing in the Corner, ahem, Faye I’ll-do-anything-to-be-on-TV Resnick is joining us.  She, The Card, ahem, Kyle, and The Mad Hatter hop in a limo, have their obligatory “This is going to be awkward” conversation, and arrive to “Villa Rosa” to wreak havoc.

At some point, Kim calls Lisa on her bathroom phone (?) and explains why she cannot make it.

“Hiiiii Lisa, it’s Kiiiiiim.  I got hit in the face.  I got hit in the face.  I was on my way to your house when I got hit in the face.  By who?  Ummm, my dog.  Yep, the dog delivered a clean upper cut to my new nose while I was driving to the party.  I think I’ll need a new one again.  I’ll wait until my pain pill prescription for this one runs out, and then I’ll go get another one.”

I have a theory that Kim got this dog solely to provide her with a whole new litany of excuses.

“My dog ate my homework.  My dog ate my Lexipro.  He ate my valium too.  And my passport.  And he ate my Christmas bow shirt.  And he ate my goddamn house!”

The ladies mingle a bit, gathered around the bare chests of the SUR man-whores.  Marisa mentions again how she would absolutely luuuurve to have sex with someone other than her husband.  I wonder if this woman understands this is going to be on TV.  Adrienne completely ignores Brandi which she is probably ok with because Adrienne’s voice sounds like the lady from the anti-smoking commercial who unfortunately lives with a hole in her throat.

Alright so the ladies sit down, and Lisa has gifted them each with a robe.  I freaking luuuurve robes.  Everything is just beautiful.  And actually, everyone is getting along quite nicely.  But things get normal again when a drunken Taylor brings up the hypocrisy that is Adrienne threatening Brandi with a lawsuit after she and Russell were ostracized from the group last season for doing the same thing.

Lisa not so subtly asks Taylor and Brandi to help her with something in the kitchen.  As soon as they’re out of earshot, Lisa tells Taylor to cool it because she doesn’t want World War III to happen at her tea party.  Taylor is so hammered.  Her eyes are rolling from side to side, and she can’t focus on the words.  She slurs out, “Did she or did she not send the letter?” to Brandi and Brandi replies that indeed she did.  Taylor gives a mischievous nod, and we all know she has no intention of keeping her enormous mouth shut.

This is when shit gets weird.

Taylor confronts Adrienne again pretty much immediately after they sit back down and Adrienne actually denies her attorney ever sent Brandi’s attorney a letter.  She denies any threat of a lawsuit.  You can smell the desperation through the TV screen like a scratch and sniff sticker as Adrienne begins hurling random, “You tweeted!  That was mean what you tweeted!  You tweeted about Bernie and that’s mean and not true!” 

Brandi and Adrienne go back and forth with “Shame on you!” and “No, shame on YOU!” and it’s just the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen.  You can tell Brandi is genuinely exacerbated by Adrienne’s denials. 

So The Mad Hatter, ahem Adrienne, tries to convince the group that in fact she never intended on suing Brandi even though she literally said at Mauricio’s commercial taping, “She’s gonna get slapped with a fat ol’ lawsuit!”  It’s funny because it’s like, umm, did Camille nor Kyle nor Faye ever talk to you about how Brandi has been shouting this threatened lawsuit business from the rooftops because you’re acting like this is the first you’ve ever heard of this, and I know it’s not.  So I call BULLSHIT on Maloof hard.  As Phaedra says folks, “Something in the buttermilk ain’t clean.”

Side note:  Don’t you love when The White Rabbit, ahem, Camille gets passionate about something and her eyes bug out to the point where they resemble her bubbies?

I think we find out more in next week’s episode when the shit hits the fan at the White Party.  But then again, Bravo might just string us along until the end of the season and never give us an actual resolution because that way we can talk about this all next season too.

Now if you all will excuse me, I’m due for an Advil fix.

Until next week my friends…

XO,

Barbs

The Surrogacy Secret That Did Not Shock a Nation

I’ll probably get sued by The Maloof for that title. 

Try to contain your excitement.  I’m back.  I don’t have any notes and like five episodes have gone by since I last blogged, so I’m just generally commenting.  Let’s dive right in (no pun intended for those who saw Kim and Kyle on “Celebrity Dive: Stars in Danger”or whatever the hell that mess was called) …

When life hands Yolanda thirty-nine orchards full of lemons, she bakes seven soufflés to see which comes out best.  Yolanda has garnered mixed feelings from the general viewing audience.  They don’t want to hear any more about how wonderful her life is or how much she luuuuurves her husband.  I respectfully disagree.  I love Yolanda because she is exactly what this show was originally supposed to be about.  Rich people being all rich doing super rich people things that no one else can do because we don’t all have time to color-coordinate our fridges.  Give me Yo-Yo’s 1,000 Hermes belts, her white pants, her blunt tongue, her lemon grove, her husband-luuuurving.  I will take it, and I will soak it in like the Malibu sun because that woman really does live the good life.  When she used Seal and Heidi as an example of friends getting divorced??  I can’t.  It’s too adorable.

Alright, so you all know what’s going on with this show.  Too much, that’s what.  Let me start by saying for those of you who do not know, the big Maloof secret is that she used a surrogate to carry her twins.  Let me know when you’ve come to, because that shocking scandal of a secret is just too much to deal with fully conscious, I know.  Hopefully you’ll awaken from your shock and dismay coma momentarily so you can continue relishing my thoughts and opinions.

I liked Brandi last season, a lot.  As you all know, she’s got a dirty sense of humor and a mouth like a sailor just like me, so of course I would like her.  This season, she seems a little too desperate.  I mean, you already beat Dana/Pam for a permanent spot on the show Kitty Kat, pump the brakes.  Brandi’s thong is in a butt-bunch because Adrienne did some mean stuff to her during the interim between seasons.  It supposedly all started when Adrienne wanted Brandi to back her up in last season’s reunion when she went after Lisa for allegedly selling stories.  Brandi refused, called her out on it, and subsequently Adrienne put some unflattering stories out in the press including but not limited to Brandi having sex with someone in the bathroom at Kyle’s White Party which, as it turns out, did not happen.

So you all know what happens next, I don’t want to beat an already decomposed horse.  And now the entire season revolves around this outed secret, this torrid rumor that was sooooo juicy (it wasn’t) that Bravo couldn’t even air the secret because Adrienne threatened both Bravo and Brandi with Cease and Desist letters.  Which leads me to Adrienne…

Although I do think it was wrong of Brandi to out a private Maloof family secret, evidently this was no secret and also BITCH IS ON TV.  Pretty much everyone knew, they just weren’t allow to say it out loud.  Of course everyone else was fine with that, but you know Brandi.  Now, while Brandi was probably in the wrong here, she was less wrong than the other party, and I’ll tell you why.  Because Adrienne Maloof is an awful person who deserves everything she gets so get ‘er Brandi.  Adrienne I would have to present with the Queen of Hypocrisy crown for A) Threatening to sue a cast mate after ostracizing the Armstrongs for doing the EXACT same thing last season and B) claiming she’s super private and never talks to the press while simultaneously doing two spreads in two different tabloid mags talking about how the surrogacy rumor tore apart her family and it’s Brandi’s fault she and Paul divorced.  Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight Cray Cray.

Onto the next…

How about Marisa’s mom? 

That was crazy, eh?  First of all, arrest her friends who are telling her to keep her hair style, they’re unjustly mean.  Second, don’t you love how mothers do not hesitate to tell you when you look like shit?  Mine will definitely call me out when I’m not wearing mascara.  Marisa’s mom hates every single clothing item Marisa owns and is not afraid to tell her.  “Your wardrobe is ghastly, so can I come with you to Vegas?”  For the record, moms are the best.  Is it me or are the mothers of the housewives becoming more interesting than the housewives themselves? #mamaelsa

Can we talk about Faye Resnick?  Something in Faye Resnick’s face has died.  It bit the dust, rode its last pony, signed the eternal waiver.  She looks like she smells of carcass.  Does Faye not have the most annoying air of self-importance?  Or is it just me?  She feels she has the right to berate a perfect stranger at a dinner party because that stranger supposedly wronged, outside of Faye’s presence, someone who she is close to because her nephew once dated Adrienne’s favorite manicurist or something.  If I were at that table there would have been more done to shut this woman up.  Not murder or anything, you can’t murder the undead.  Faye is really one to talk about betraying a friend.  I won’t mention Faye’s book detailing the cocaine habits of her “best friend” after she was brutally murdered, or her spread in Playboy while riding the publicity wave that was her “best friend’s” murder.  I don’t want to be tawdry.

How about that Mmmmauricio?  Not so yummmmy when he’s yelling at a woman huh?  The thing about this whole mess is if these idiots would have just sat back and not been complete assholes all over the map, Brandi probably would have come out of this looking like the bad guy.  But instead, e’rybody on the show gettin’ messy.  You’ve got Faye and Mauricio seeing dinner parties as fit times to rip Brandi a new one in front of a bunch of people over a “secret” that wouldn’t have been a big deal if everyone would have shut the fuck up about it to begin with.  I mean, Jesus Christ on a cracker folks, Brandi said it once, everyone else has said it thirteen times per episode.  You’ve got Kyle having lunch with Faye to discuss it, now Faye’s in this shit pile right where she luuuurves to be.  You’ve got Mauricio making a huge deal out of it at a party where half the people have no idea what he’s talking about and now he’s just a grown man who is cool with scolding a grown woman like she’s his four year old who colored all over the TV.  “What were your intentions??”  Really?  Do better Mo. 

How about when Paul and Adrienne came out guns a’blazin’ at Mauricio’s real estate commercial party calling Brandi a drug-addicted terrible mother?  I believe it was Paul who repeatedly and loudly called Brandi and “bitch” in her face, while Adrienne pointed her witchy finger at her accusing her of “sleeping until 3pm” while on drugs.  That sounds more slanderous than saying someone used a surrogate, but hey, that’s just my opinion.  Did you notice how Adrienne repeated in that episode multiple times that Brandi was “lying, a liar, you’re lying, you’re a liar!!!”?  But she’s now done two spreads in two different magazines about how Brandi ruined her family by outing the TRUTH about the surrogacy.  Ms. Maloof: as if it was not after you publicly and falsely accused your estranged husband of physically abusing you and his own children, you’re credibility is rotting in hell.

Boy, Kyle is sure walking on egg shells this season, eh?  Is she even on this show for anything besides hosting Bash Brandi parties and being indifferent?

Taylor is a lamp post this season.  A drunk, crying mess of a lamp post.

Ok guys, I like Marisa.  I know there are many mixed feelings, but hear me out.  What I liked so much about Brandi last season was that she seemed more “real” than the others in that she wasn’t as worried about the way she was perceived as she was about being herself for the viewers, faults and all.  Well, this season she has moments of “realness” and “fun Brandi” but she is also hyper-defensive and frankly just too aggressive for me.  I mean, I got it when she freaked out on Game Night because she really was ganged up on, but when Mauricio was making a total asshole of himself, it would have been great if she could have just calmly stated, “I think it’s inappropriate that you are talking to me like this about something you don’t know firsthand,” instead of going straight to, “GO FUCK YOURSELF!”  I mean for crying out loud woman, you have to round second and third base, you don’t just run straight home.  What I like about Marisa is that she reminds me a lot of Brandi in her “realness.”  She doesn’t seem to try to pretend her marriage is all peaches and sunshine.  She doesn’t have fake bubbies, which in this crowd is CRAY.  She seems to say whatever is on her mind but doesn’t shove it down our throats.  I really liked how she attempted to stand up to Faye at Kyle’s first Brandi Bashing party even though she didn’t know her very well by simply stating that no one should be telling Brandi when and how to apologize to someone.  Mostly though, I luuuuuurve her husband who, after Mauricio and Brandi’s confrontation came to a head with Brandi shouting, “SHUT THE FUCK UP, GO FUCK YOURSELF!” asked the group flatly, “Well, who’s ready for dessert?”  You win Dean.  You win the whooooole game.

I saved the best for last.  Kim.  Shining Christmas bow-wearing, no-sense-making, always-picture-hanging light of my blog life.  Kim is just as awesome sober as she is all ten different kinds of drugged up.  I mean honestly.

“I went with my friend to a plastic surgeon and then I decided, you know what?  I want a change.  How about my eyes? No?  Ok how about my neck?  No?  Ok what if we do my left ear?  No?  Right ear?  No?  How about taking in my forehead?  Oh you don’t do that?  Ok what if we attach my teeth to my nipples?  No?  How about my nose?  Really?!  You would do that?  I mean, I’ve never thought I’ve needed a new nose before, but now that you mentioned it, that is just the PERFECT thing I can change that won’t be a big change but just like a little change that can change me a little to go with my change.  Well, I for one am excited for change.  What kind of meds to they prescribe for someone who’s changing?....”

Can we talk about the atrocity that is “Vanderpump Rules” for five seconds?  WTF is this show?  It’s like if “The Hills” and “Melrose Place” had a love child and then that child and “The Bachelor” had a love child, and then that child and “Bad Girls Club” had a love child and then that child smoked crack.



Alright, those are my little plastic thoughts.  I’m completely over this week, so please excuse any extra snark I’m throwing out.  It’s Friday, and mama needs a cocktail.  Hopefully it won’t take two months before gaining the patience to write about these wild hyenas again.

XO,

Barbs

Beverly Hills 9021-OH NO SHE DI’N’T!

We could sit here all day talking about how I missed you, and how you of course missed me, but let’s just cut to the chase, as they say…

I trust you are all up to date on our Beverly Hills ladies.  Kim is back after she and her Christmas bow blouse got sober, and she seems to be doing well.  She’s not afraid to do things anymore like go on a girls’ trip to Ojai, openly rub her lady bits in a mud bath room on camera, make chicken salad, etc. 

We’ve welcomed Yolanda to the group, whose name I like to pronounce with what I call, “Fancy Accent.”  You have to say, “Yo-laaaaaah-ndha,” because she is cray fancy you guys.  Her hair does a bump-it without even needing a bump-it.  She color-coordinates her produce that she grows in one of her seven backyards.  She looks like she’s always riding a horse, but in a good way.  She is:  The Most Interesting Woman on the show right now. 

We also have new besties, Lisa and Brandi, who are fun to look at and listen to, if you like the color pink and the F-word.  Clearly I’m a huge fan.  Camille is making “guest appearances” but mainly only to give subtle “fuck-yous” to Kelsey Grammar along the way, mainly by saying his penis is tiny over and over again and showing off her new younger Greek boytoy, Dimitri?  Atreyu?  Odysseus?  Who cares, he makes a mean spanakopita, I hear. 

Of course Kyle and Taylor are still around, air kissing and ass kissing. 

And then there’s Adrienne Maloof, the victim of the infamous Maloof-Hoof joke.  The world’s most uptight and hungry rich person, and the center of all the drama this season, as it seems…

We open this episode with Kyle’s house getting egged (you’re welcome).  Mauricio takes his harem outside to see what the fuss is about and reveals to their newly sixteen-year-old daughter her brand-spankin’ new Mercedes!!  I’m sure giving your rich teenager who lives in Beverly Hills, whose cousin is Paris Hilton who is famous for a sex tape and being an idiot, a brand new $60,000 vehicle will turn out well in the end.

Lisa throws a little Tasting Lunch for all the ladies except Adrienne who she hates, and Yolanda who is doing something wayyyyy more fancy.  A couple of the husbands are there, the usual stowaways, Mauricio and Ken.  Everything is la-dee-da, as Lisa asks Kim about her recovery and small-talk is made over treats being served.  Oh, and somewhere in there Lisa scolds a blonde waitress named “Stassi,” for having gotten drunk on the job the evening before and for having told the host of the party she was working that his party “sucked” and that was why “everyone was leaving.”  But did Lisa fire this little wretch?  Nope, because she’ll be starring in Lisa’s new spin-off, “Days of Our SUR,” or “The Bold and the SUR,” or “The Young and the SUR,” I can’t remember the name of it which is funny because they promoted the shit out of it last night, and I thought it was burned into my plastic little brain for all eternity.  I’m dramatic.

Amidst all the pleasantries, Kyle asks if Lisa invited Adrienne.  Lisa says no, and Brandi facetiously says that maybe Adrienne’s too busy working on her new book deal.  Everyone’s like, “Whaaaaa?” and then Brandi says, “Just kidding, she has no book deal, she lied about that.”  And then Kyle (notice a trend here?) says, “So Brandi, what actually happened between you and Adrienne that caused so much tension?” and Brandi starts going into how Paul and Adrienne tried to get her to turn against Lisa, how they called and tried to intimidate her into retracting some tweets, and then to prove that Adrienne lies, she told them that she lied about __________________.  And everyone gasped, and we were all like “WTF?” because Bravo fucking cut out the thing that Brandi said that will be the center of the drama for the rest of the season.  Et tu, Bravo?  You’re really going to mess with us like that, aren’t you.  Ok fine, we’ll play that game.  Luckily I’m 99% sure I know what the secret was, and I’m about to tell all of you.

Basically, Adrienne used a surrogate to have her boys.  She didn’t actually birth them herself.  Why is this so controversial??  You got me, but clearly it was supposed to be a secret.  Apparently, there’s a chance her eggs weren’t used meaning the boys are only biologically Paul’s.  This would actually make a little more sense as to why Adrienne would try to allege that Paul physically abused the boys in order to get custody.  I wondered why she went into that custody battle with all shiny-hair strings a’blazin’, and that could be why.  At any rate, Brandi was irritated when, at the dinner table in Ojai, the ladies went around the table saying how they gave birth and Adrienne claimed c-sections.  To make her point that Adrienne lies, Brandi said something to the effect of, “And she didn’t even have her own kids!”  Now none of you go out and tell Adrienne that I spread this rumor any further because she will sue me, Mattel, Ken, Toys-R-Us, and pretty much everything and everyone else I am affiliated with.  Then I’ll have to be Lawyer BarbieTM, and let’s be honest, no one likes her.

So everyone’s like, “Buuuuuuurn,” but no one says anything to defend Adrienne.  Kim makes a tiny squeak noise that if you were to rewind the DVR and turn up the volume as high as it will go would sound like, “I feel like we shouldn’t be talking about Adrienne.”  But other than that, no one says a word about it, and the next thing we viewers know, everyone’s up and left, and we’ve just been SURed.

Lisa’s husband and Giggy’s man-slave, Ken, has to go in for a hip replacement, bless his little British heart.  Lisa is super nervous, but Ken has pretty much the same disposition he has when he can’t find their yard turtle.  He’s slightly on edge, but confident in a happy ending (which he kind of gets after it’s all said and done, doesn’t he).  The kids show up and everyone kisses Ken goodbye like he’s being wheeled to the electric chair. 

*I like to talk a big game and joke about this, but if my Ken were going into surgery for so much as an ingrown toe nail I would literally have to be sedated.  So they did well.

Meanwhile, back at the farm…

Kyle’s husband Mauricio has opened his own real estate agency called simply, “The Agency.”  Sounds like someone else is gearing up for their own spin-off…

So Mmmmmm-auricio is throwing a little client party on the roof of the Ritz Carlton residences which he is also conveniently trying to sell.  He intros by telling us how many homes he’s sold to date, how much each of those homes were worth, how much he made in 2010, how much that watch on his wrist cost, and how he was named “seventh” in Realtor Forbes Digest, whatever that means.

All the ladies are invited.  Camille brings her boyfriend d’Artagnan, Brandi brings a man who we do not know, Kim shows up on time (woot!) and Taylor’s there because she figures free food and booze for the afternoon so why not?  Lisa is with Ken and his new hip, and Yolanda is doing something wayyyyyy more fancy.

Adrienne and Paul are faking their marriage for the cameras -I MEAN- walking in together.  But, like a determined honey badger, Kim scurries over and pulls them aside.  She whips her ponytail in a dramatic fashion - first to the left, then to the right- to check for spies.  She then begins to fill them in on a dark, torrid tale of a Tasting Lunch gone awry, the only innocent left being a half a glass of rosé. 

Kim tells Adrienne and Paul how Brandi said she was a liar, and that got them pretty huffy.  Adrienne puffed out her 1980 Vegas-esque peacock feathers and began squawking, “She’s the liar!  She’s the liar!”  Kim interrupted the squawking by delivering the dreadful news that Brandi told that terrible no-good, very bad something that none of us are allowed to know because Adrienne will sue the pants off of Andy Cohen if Bravo so much as whispers it on our television sets.  That’s right Maloof/Nassifs.  We know.  Oh wait, no we don’t.  But those five or six people who were at the Tasting Lunch table know.  Oh wait, no they don’t.  They only heard it from Brandi, so really, if you wanted to squash this thing you could have just denied it.  Unless it’s true.  But it can’t be true because the next words out of Adrienne’s mouth were, “Let’s slap a big fat lawsuit on her for slander and libel and defamation!”  Can you sue for defamation and libel and slander about something that is true?  Newsflash: You can sue for anything if you have a good lawyer.

Side note: Remember last season when Camille outed Taylor’s domestic abuse allegations and Russell threatened to sue Camille and Adrienne said, “That’s not right, you don’t sue friends.  You don’t just sue people.”  Yeah, so do I.

So Paul and Adrienne have decided they are so pissed off at Brandi that they’re going to just leave and not cause a scene.  Just kidding!  They go in to the party and cause a huge scene.  As the Maloof-Hoofs are making their grand exit, within earshot of Ms. Glanville Paul tells Kyle they have to leave because of something, “That bitch,” said.  Brandi hears him and, after seeing Kim having a very serious conversation with the two of them, can pretty much establish he’s talking about her.  So then Brandi says, “Who, me?” and Paul goes, “Yeah, you, you bitch!!  You bitch!” 

Paul is clearly irate and pretty much out of control at this point.  He stutters, “You…you….you don’t even know what I want to do to you.”  Brandi, being the delicate wall flower she is, motions him to “bring it.” 

Paul is in her face at this point, spitting and sputtering, and no one’s really doing anything, even though he’s a grown man shouting “BITCH!” in a woman’s face.  Adrienne’s in there too with her finger pointing and her repetitious threats.  It’s quite the scene.  Meanwhile, Mmmmmauricio’s just trying to move up to “sixth” on Realtor’s Forbes Digest’s list of the most successful realtors in the US, not counting Alaska or Hawaii or Oregon.  How is he supposed to do that with this spectacle?  Kyle’s standing behind everyone, biting her nails in a panic and complaining to us in her interview about how embarrassing it all was.  Did anyone else want to jump through the TV, grab her shoulders and shake her while yelling, “THEN DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!!!”  I mean, helllllllo??  Kyle??  Are you in there behind those beautiful tresses?  I would have gotten right in between them, put MY finger/s in all of their faces, whisper-shouted, “WRONG TIME, WRONG PLACE!” and shooed them all the hell outta there.  I mean come on people, at the Ritz?  What are we, animals??  Instead, Kyle yells at Kim.  But that’s next week’s episode.

I missed you all.  There, I said it.

XO,

Barbs

Road Biking Barbie: Cuts, Bruises, Twigs & Pride Sold Separately

I thought I would tell you a personal story so we could get to know each other a little better.  Actually, I thought I would go ahead and tell you all, my dearest readers, because everyone I’ve told so far seems to think it’s hilarious.  I would totally find it hilarious if it happened to someone else.  It all started some months ago…

Ken was starting to get into all of these activities.  My activities consisted of watching trashy television and day-drinking outdoors with friends on the weekends.  When Ken asked if I wanted to try doing some activities I thought, “You mean you don’t consider watching trashy TV and day-drinking valid activities?”  But I take my relationship seriously and I thought, you know, it’s reasonable of him to want me to participate in at least some of these active things, as I have heard you are supposed to take interest in things you’re partner is interested in, and Ken always lets me watch whatever I want on TV (Keeper!) and he is always a willing day-drinking participant.  Also, I had sort of by accident tried scuba diving last summer and I ended up loving it so much we got certified in Belize in three days and conquered a 60 foot dive which was totally epic.  If I hadn’t gotten talked into trying, I would have missed out on one of the best experiences of my life!  So I put my irrational fear of trying new things aside, and I declared my resolution to get active.

First I started running.  That (shockingly) worked out rather well.  Next I tried skiing, which has its own story we’ll save for another time, but that actually worked out in the end too!  So a few weeks ago, after much talk on the subject, when Ken asked me if I would try road biking with him I said, “Sure!”

We went to our local bike shop that weekend.  If Ken knows one thing for sure, he knows his Barbie is way more happy and inclined to not throw fits if she looks pretty.  As long as I look like a pro, I don’t mind messing up every once in a while.  Because then when people see you fall about thirty-seven times all the way down a snow-covered mountain, at least they think to themselves, “Oh man, that poor girl is TERRIBLE at skiing, but damn she looks good.”  Ken’s mantra:  Happy wife, happy life.  So first things first, he had to get me geared up.

We walked in and ordered The Works.  We had no idea what that meant, but we wanted it.  Biking is EXPENSIVE you guys!  We had to get the special shoes, special pedals (“What on Earth are those for????” I wondered), helmets, socks, and of course Ken bought me a gorgeous fancy white jersey with turquoise trim (pretty athletes who want to pretend they’re being taken seriously don’t wear pink, they wear turquoise), and of course those weird diaper-like padded bike shorts.  All we needed were the bikes.

Because we’re both freakishly tall, they had to special order our demo bikes.  We had to wait two weeks to actually ride.  Ok, no biggie, we invited our close friends who are regular bike people for a get together on the planned demo day, which was last Saturday.  We were to meet at the bike shop, and ride from Sausalito, CA to Tiburon.  There and back it’s about twenty miles.  No big deal, right?

Saturday came, and Ken was excited.  I was, well, nervous.  But also excited.  But mostly about my cute outfit.  And we were planning on stopping at a Mexican food restaurant in Tiburon, and I love margaritas, so that was exciting. 

We started at the shop to get fitted on our demos.  I walked in with a certain swagger one has when they look like a pro.

“Oh, this way to my bike?  Ok, no problem.”  Swagger, swagger.

*Names have been changed to protect the totally guilty assholes of this story*

Bike guy, we’ll call him Toby, wanted me to get on my bike for my fitting.  I’m looking at the bike as he’s holding it up and I’m thinking, “You moron, just use the kick stand.”  FYI, real road bikes don’t have kick stands.  I should have run.  I should have run like the wind to my comfy spot on my couch and turned on the Oxygen network and never looked back.

Another thing you may not know about road bikes is that the seat are positioned so high you can’t touch the ground with your feet.  This is new to me.  In the last twenty years, the only bike riding I’ve done is when I lived in San Diego, and that was from one bar to the next on Ocean Walk in Pacific Beach.  The only challenge there is navigating around idiot tourists (mostly from Arizona, sorry Arizona), which I’d actually gotten pretty good at.  So I’m looking at this real bike and I’m looking at this dude and then I’m looking at my adoring husband’s face lighting up like a Christmas Tree at this whole biking nonsense.  I climb onto the bike.  All the way up on there, and I sit, wobbling and nervous.

Toby says, “How does that feel?”  I say, “Scary.”  He laughs.  Toby, I’m not joking. 

Toby then proceeds to tell me how those weird little nubbins on the bottom of my shoes will be clipping into the tiny uterus-shaped pedals, attaching me to my bike.  Now, let me just say, I sort of knew this was going to happen, but I didn’t really get it until this point.  Toby goes on to explain that all I need to do to un-clip out of the pedals is to very deliberately turn my heel out in an awkward fashion to the right.  He has me do it while he holds me there.  I mean, sure I can do it while he’s holding me, but what am I going to do when he lets go and I tip over like a freaking cow???

Toby senses my fear and asks how I’m doing.  I’m about to pee in my diaper pad shorts Toby, you? 

“Ummm, I’m nervous and scared and uncomfortable.”

Toby, the misogynistic asshole that he is, says, “Oh yeah, everyone’s nervous at first, you just gotta get out there and try it a couple times, then it will be second nature.”

Well, I mean, if Toby is that confident, then why aren’t I?  I sold myself short too many times.  I was ready to go out there and learn this!

Our friends congregated in the parking lot.  There were six of us altogether.  Three girls, three boys.  Please note the othes besides Ken and I are practically pros at this.  I walk my bike out and express my reservations to the crew.  Our friend Matt holds the bike so I can get on and tells me to ride around the parking lot a bit, and try to stop and start with the clip-in pedals.  These are the most alien things you guys.  Can you imagine?  You know the dreams where you’re running and running as hard as you can but you’re not going anywhere?  It’s kind of like that because, as much as you want to take your foot off the pedal and throw it to the ground to save your dear life, you can’t.  You can’t!  So I get going and, what do you know, beginner’s luck.  I successfully start and stop twice without falling.  Later we found out this was completely by accident, but at the time, it seemed like enough practice.  Of course Ken got it right away, he’s good at everything.  I both love and hate that about him. 

We begin our Tour de Marin County and the beautiful day is swishing by with every pedal pump.  The weather is gorgeous; we’re on a path along the Marina, the wind in our helmet hair, and the smell of activeness in the air.  Suddenly I feel something touching my leg.  I look down, and it’s my water bottle which had come loose and was hanging on just barely to my bike.  If it were to take a dive it would interrupt my perfect pedal flow and I would fall.  I had to stop.  I yelled for Ken who was a ways in front of me.  He stopped to wait so I could fix it.  Knowing I had to stop and under little pressure from outside elements (we were on a bike path and few people were on it at this point) I was able to stop successfully.  Woohoo!  I am sooooo good at this.  I fix my water bottle, in the middle of the path obviously because what’s my worry, this will only take a second.

I yell to Ken I’m ready to go, and place my left foot on my left pedal.  I clip in.  I push off and lift my right foot up, searching with it for the pedal.  Suddenly, I realize I did not get enough speed initially and I’m slowing to a stop.  I struggle to figure out what to do next as my balance shifts to the left, where my foot is attached to my bike.  My right foot is flailing around, seemingly shouting, “Pick me!  Pick me!”  It was too late.  My weight began to teeter, and the next thing I know I am falling straight over, on the left side where my foot is hooked in and helpless.  I tip right over you guys, in the middle of the path, like a cow.  Like a fucking cow you guys.  Just, boom.  Nothing I could do about it.

(Right leg)



Ken’s shouting, “Are you ok???” as I take inventory of each limb.  Ah, thank god they’re all still there.  Now how the hell do I get up?  Three bicyclists came at me and had to go around me as they chattered about my fall amongst one another.  I should have tripped them, but I couldn’t, as my feet were either attached to my bike or searching for solid ground.  When I finally finagled my way off the asphalt, I realized I was not that hurt.  I had a scraped elbow and a sore left butt cheek, but other than that I came out fairly unscathed.  With a new sense of invincibility, I threw my leg over the bike, told Ken I was fine, and set off on another attempt to start.  This time I got a good enough get-go and I was off.

After the easy path, we ended up on a street.  A real street with cars.  Folks, I was nervous up until this point but throw in the car element and suddenly I felt like I was in the Miami Vice video game, dodging AK-47s and dead hookers.  At this point, I am beyond over-stimulated.  There is no “Think before you _______.”  There is only, “SHITFUCKBITCHSHITIHAVETO______!!!!!”  Generally the blank was filled in by the action of stopping.  When not in a protected parking lot surrounded by my friends cheering me on, it turns out I was not so good at the stopping.  The group had congregated to the side of a tiny path to re-hydrate.  I could have killed them all.  Is your water drinking more important than me making it to my margaritas in one piece you selfish show-off bastards???  That was the nerves talking.  I try to pull myself together. 

“Ok breathe,” I repeat the mantra in my head, “Simply jerk your right ankle to the right side while simultaneously pedaling with the other foot while you pump the brakes to slow yourself but while still peddling so you can eventually stand up on the pedals and lean over to the correct side as you…”  CRASH.



Everyone gathered around to help me up.  Embarrassed, I do the natural embarrassed human thing and pop up as swiftly as I can, bike still attached to my left foot, and flippantly insist, “I’m fine!  No problem!” and then go on talking nonsense hoping my nonsense will make them forget I just ate shit, “Guess I didn’t quite make that, huh?  No biggie!  How ‘bout that water, eh?  Wet, isn’t it.  Well should we just go from here then??”  They saved me by wanting to take a moment to shoot some pictures with the nice scenery behind us.  The water in the bay gleamed in the sun, the mountains appeared majestic in their stability, and my body ached like a bitch.

(A shot of our group minus Keely who's taking the picture.  Is my smile convincing?)



I was able to successfully start going again, praise the lord, and we were on our way.  I hugged the curb as tightly as I could as I listened to drivers creep up behind me, take note of my complete lack of knowledge in bike riding, and follow me until they saw a chance to pass safely in the opposite lane.  I knew these drivers, they were me.  I’m the driver, not the bike rider!  I’m the one behind the wheel of a powerful automobile, safely tucked into my comfortable seat, surrounded by airbags, enclosed by glass.  I’m the one that takes note of the knowledgeable and non-knowledgeable bicyclists, the one that curses them as I pass, “Goddamn bicyclists take up half the goddamn road, think they own the goddamn world,” and now it’s me.  Karma’s a bitch.

We rode through a park filled with other people on bikes, runners (whose feet got to be on the ground, how I envied them so), dog walkers, women with strollers.  Each of my friends took turns hanging back with me, riding along side me, conversing with me to gage my level of tolerance, my level of sanity.  Bless all of their hearts.  I felt good when I was just riding.  Riding I can do!  The cars were nerve-wracking of course, but when I was riding, I knew they would go around me.  As I rode through the park, I took in my surroundings.  I was happy when I was moving.

We decided to ride a little past the restaurant where we were to stop for lunch.  There was a road that wound up along the water which nestled beautiful homes along its cliff, and we were to ride up that.  I was just happy we weren’t stopping.  Every one of my riding mates asked me if I was alright with going further.  I didn’t tell them, but I would have ridden Forrest Gump’s running trail straight through across the country if it meant I didn’t have to stop.  I said yes.  Yes please, let’s ride further.  Wait, are there any stops?  No?  Good.

This was the best part of the ride.  The two lane road was wide, and I never saw one car.  With the water on our right, and beautiful homes on our left, the canopy of trees overhead provided an oasis, perfect for flying through.  That’s what road biking really is you know.  It’s like flying when you do it correctly.

Up the hills I rode, pumping and breathing hard at certain points, but enjoying that I was good at this part.  Then I saw it.  My group had taken the opportunity to stop at the top of the winding road in a small area off the path.  I was going to have to stop going uphill?!?!?!?! 

I’m gonna die.  I’m gonna die.  I’m dead.  I’m gonna die.

But no!  Our friend Matt was off his bike and was calling out to me.  He was shouting, “Just ride to me!” and holding his arms out.  I got it!  He wanted me to ride to him and he would catch me and I wouldn’t die!!!  And that is what he did.  He caught me and held the bike steady and I was able to climb off of it with ease and without pain.  It was glorious.  I announced he was my hero.  He said, “Yeah we formed that plan on the way up.  I think we’ll do that at all of our planned stops from now on.”  Did my ego kick in you wonder?  They were planning how to help me not fall as surely I was going to fall??  The answer is no.  I lost my ego about three miles back. 

I actually rejoiced in this plan.  I was so happy, and I’ll tell you why.  I can tip over in front of other bicyclists on a bike path that are going to pass me in three seconds anyway, but I did NOT want to fall in front of the outdoor deck of the Mexican food restaurant and be known throughout lunch among the deck diners as “The Girl Who Fell.” 

Lunch was my happy place.  Finally I could give my nerves a rest.  I could sit down and take inventory of my internal and external injuries.  I could drink!  Drinking makes you better at everything, right?

(Jess, Myself and Keely before lunch)



After a pitcher of Skinny Girl Margaritas and an hour of what can only be described as ass resting, I felt ready to embark on the journey home.  With my new found liquid courage, I had hope that I could tackle this monster. 

For several miles I pedaled like I was Lance Armstrong on a joy ride.  I did a little zig-zagging, I tried to point out a nice home to Ken and nearly killed myself (but recovered), I waved at a police officer (so embarrassing looking back), I even came up to a stop light and pulled off a successful halt!  Could it be?  Could it be that I am owning this bike right now??  Have I made this bike ride my bitch???

Our group got separated at my successful stop light.  Three made the light, three did not.  Ken was in the group that made it, I was behind with our friends Keely and Jerry.  My group of three were headed for a left hand turn lane to turn onto a fairly busy road.  Just as I thought we were going to make it, the light turned yellow (SHIT) then red (DOUBLESHIT).  With all the love in my heart, I began the process.  I un-clipped, then placed my foot back on the pedal in order to get to my standing position.  I slowed.  I did everything right.  Except when I put my right foot back on the pedal, unbeknownst to me, I had accidentally clipped back in without knowing.  So when I gallantly threw my foot down to the ground to draw to a close my perfect stop, I threw my entire body weight and my bike straight onto the asphalt, clearing a cool two lanes as I skidded to what I thought was to be my death.  Jerry sprung into action, helping me to the sidewalk and out of the way of the danger of possible oncoming traffic.  My right hip felt like it had been hit square-on by a school bus.  My elbow was raw and bloody, and throbbed in the sunlight as we stared at the injury.  Jerry found the water bottle that was in my bike holder, which I had at some point thrown in a fit of frustrated rage (not sure when that happened, I think I blacked out momentarily) and squirted my gaping elbow wound with cold water.  I did not cry you guys.  I wept a little maybe, but I held off on crying.  I didn’t want Jerry and Keely to freak out, and I didn’t want to let go of the pride I had been trying to clutch onto so tightly all day.  I took a moment, got back on the bike, and we started off again. 

(Elbow and Hip)

We passed the other three who had stopped to wait for us.  I knew Ken would know it was me that something had happened to, that I was the cause of our tardiness.  He watched as I passed him.  I think he asked me if I was ok, and I just hissed at him.  I literally hissed at him, mouth open, like an angry Avatar.  We only had about two miles to go at this point.  With every movement all I could think was, “Just get there.  Almost there.  I just have to get there.”  That last fall had really done it for me.  It wasn’t fun anymore, there was no more bright side, I just wanted to get off this fucking piece of shit machinery and stay off.  I was so close I could practically touch the bike shop.  My hips throbbed, my elbow was pounding and burning, but I was almost there.

As we approach the bike shop, I realize there is a sharp left turn you have to take to get into the parking lot area.  I watch as my group, one by one, takes the left turn effortlessly.

Swish, there went Jess.  Swish, there went Jerry.  Swish.  Swish.  Swish.

And then it was my turn.  I knew I couldn’t do it.  I knew if I tried I would run straight into the pole located directly in the middle of the tiny entrance.  I knew I was either going to run into this pole, or I was going to have to try this stop thing one more time.  Having to make my decision in a split second, I went for the stopping. 

Again, taking my foot off the pedal, I concentrated on getting to a position where I could introduce my foot to the ground.  My feet so wanted to make sweet, sweet love to the ground. 

Once again folks, I accidentally clipped back in.  Once again folks, I threw my longing right foot to the ground to stop myself and, once again, I threw my entire body with my bike.  This time, I landed square into a tree-bush.  A bush-tree, if you’d rather.  This time, there was a fair amount of spectators, and bike people at that.  So the best part of this one was that I got that collective, “DOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH are you ok Lady???” 

As I lay in a dirt patch wearing my beautiful biking outfit now covered in blood and dirt and twigs and leaves, I thought, “Just leave me here.  Just let me die.”  I was officially defeated. 

One (ONE!) of those spectators came over and offered to help me up.  I was fighting back tears like they were tiny communists (“Get back, you beasts!”) and squeaked out an, “It’s my first time,” as I extended a shaky hand.  The kind citizen said to me as he tried to pull me out of what could have easily been my final resting place, “If it’s your first time, they should have loosened your clip-ins so it’s easier for you to clip in and out.”

[Where is that chauvinistic bastard Toby, I’m going to fucking kill this guy]

My savior witness then lifted my bike off of me as I twisted my ankles in that horrid move I had come to loathe in order to free myself from the brute that one last time.  As I clambered up onto my unsteady legs, I saw Ken run back as he had noticed I never made it to the final destination.  He asked me if I was ok (this is an awful question when you already know the answer) and I was able to squeeze out a, “Give me a minute,” as I hurled my bike at him.  Because Ken knows me well, he knew to give me the goddamn minute.  He told me he’d take my bike in for me.

I stood there, behind the bike shop.  I wiped the tears that had escaped.  I struggled to steady my bottom lip.  I tried to do a “do I have all my limbs” check, but saw my elbow and gagged a little so decided against that.  I collected myself to the best of my ability so I was at least somewhat presentable and could keep just an ounce of that pride I had tried so very hard to keep.

In my mind, I was semi-presentable.  In reality, it was Quasimoto after being thrown off a cliff limping into that bike shop.  I was hovered over- bleeding, covered in dirt and dried tears, with branches and burrs sticking out of my helmet and a bum right hip I was dragging behind me as I scanned the restaurant looking for weapons with which I could kill Toby.

Ken spotted me and quickly trotted my direction.  He came up waving his hands in a “don’t worry” fashion and as he approached he whispered quickly, “Oh you don’t have to be in here, I’ll take care of all of this…why don’t you go wait by the car…with the others….I’ve got this handled.”

He knew.  He knew I was looking for Toby.

I turned and gimped my way out.  By the looks on the faces of the other people in the bike shop, I knew I had no pride left.  I made it to the others who were by the car de-gearing.  They all looked so normal, so untouched.  Knowing I was with those who cared about me now, and knowing what little was left of my treasured pride was left in the tree-bush/bush-tree along with some hair and skin, when Keely asked me if I was ok this time I burst into an uncontrollable sob. 

I was gently tucked into the front seat.  The girls helped take my helmet off, and turned on the air conditioner and shut the door.  They let me cry and cry and heave and blubber and curse and wail.  Later, they brought me ointments and creams and bandages and booze. 

It should be noted that after my cry-session in the car, I did not cry again.  There was of course more cursing, and definitely wincing, and obvi a ton of bitching, but I didn’t cry again.  We all went back to our Ken and Barbie Dream House and ordered a Chinese feast and drank stiff cocktails and watched the Olympics.

Everyone has asked me if I will get back on a bike again.  When surfers get bitten by sharks, do they go back to their precious sport?  Don’t answer that.  Yes, I will get back on a bike again.  I will not be using the expert pedals, and I will not be speaking to Toby again, ever.  But the bike part was good.  The bike part I loved.  Plus if I take that same route without falling, I may just be able to pick up all of those pieces of my athletic pride, which I will undoubtedly need for scattering for the next sport I try.

XO,

Barbs