(Okay, so it was mostly doom and gloom.)
The year of our lord 2016 was a quagmire of despair. We lost Bowie. We lost Prince. We lost all faith in mankind and elected an unhinged orangutan whose only policy seems to be scorching all life from planet Earth. Continue reading
What a long, strange trip it’s been.
Well, guys. We made it. After 18 weeks (EIGHTEEN. WEEKS.), we’ve come to the end. The finale. The last hurrah. There are no pages left to turn, no trips left to take. There is only darkness. There is only pain. Continue reading
If Vicki Gunvalson is still your favorite housewife, please remove me from your friend list.
I love to revisit old seasons of Housewives. No matter what kind of mood I’m in, I always feel better after I fire up the classics and spend a little time with the ghosts of Housewives past.
There have been so many moments worth reliving. The table flip. Chateau Shereé. Scary Island. These are iconic Housewives moments. They are the reasons why we watch. Continue reading
This Ireland trip is a fucking disaster.
I didn’t write last week for a few reasons. Mostly because I was spiritually and emotionally preparing to see Beyoncé (ALL HAIL), but also because last week’s episode was an easy one to phone in. You could skip it and pick up right where you left off, having missed no crucial “plot” details. The main points of interest were meeting Vicki’s new man and the Tori Spelling Psychic Source commercial that aired about halfway through. Oh, and Kelly’s husband got super drunk and embarrassed her in front of all the people who hate her, aka her closest friends. Continue reading
Do we feel sorry for Kelly?
If it’s a little muffled in here, it’s because I’m writing this recap from the inside of a paper bag—I now need one in order to breathe. I snuck into one of Vicki’s many suitcases and made the voyage to Ireland with the Real Harpies of Orange County. What I saw on the Emerald Isle was a shock and awe campaign of drama—a mess of unprecedented proportions. Continue reading
How can I download “Dream Catcher”?
Remember Monster-in-Law, the 2005 “comedy” starring Jennifer Lopez and the guy from Alias? For those of you that didn’t see it (i.e. all of you), let me quickly summarize the plot.
Our heroine meets this super hunky dude. He’s everything she could ever want: rich, loving, down to fuck after a Def Leppard show. He finds her wacky new-age rituals endearing, and he always keeps his sense of humor when administering her weekly filtered-water enema. They marry. They have children. And just when things are at their height, his crazy mom shows up to the bar and starts telling all her friends about how she drove him into an affair. Continue reading
Vicki, take a percocet and leave us alone.
Pregnant women can get away with so much. They can eat straight from the garbage can. They can cry during pet food commercials without anyone making fun of them. They can skip any party and stay home instead to watch Bring it On. They can say they aren’t friends with Vicki Gunvalson, then show up to her house with a Jim Edmonds signature candle and cry about how they’re just so so glad she’s okay.
No matter what happens, they can blame it on the hormones. Continue reading
Nicky Dubrow is gonna be hot someday.
Funny how we all thought that the biggest hazard at the dunes would be Kelly siphoning down a few tequila shooters and causing a Category 5 sandstorm, ruining Nicky Dubrow’s sweet innocence and doing irreparable damage to her friendships. Nobody could have predicted that we’d be life-flighting Vicki out of desert.
But, here we are. Continue reading
Seriously, who invited Tamra?
This week’s episode of The Real Housewives of Orange County was one of those necessary snoozers—relatively uneventful, but possibly important in the long run. It is a small but sturdy bridge along the River Crazy, a place where wandering souls like us can come to rest and reflect before throwing ourselves headfirst in front an ATV driven by Kelly in the Glamis Dunes. Continue reading
Kelly is Brandi Glanville-level bad.
Hello, my pretties. It’s been too long.
Two weeks ago the Olympics sidelined our regularly scheduled programming, and last week I was drinking Pina Coladas out of a plastic tumbler on the sunny shores of the perfect society that is Myrtle Beach. This is late because I am still adapting to normal life outside of Utopia—plus, I watched a lot of Rock of Love while I was there, so my brain is a little mushy. Continue reading