'Real Housewives of Orange County' Season Premiere Recap | My Sweet Lord
With the state of affairs in the world being what they are, and I having a bit of newly found time on my hands after some other projects wrapped up last week, I figured I'd return to my roots... to where I spent my early childhood, and later on in life where my wine consumption first found a reason to exist... Orange County, California.
Twelve seasons later, we have a different landscape from our OG Real Swampbeasts of Newport Beach. We don't have as many weaves dying of thirst as we once did, we don't have complete unhinged meltdowns over the 'Goddamned Family Van' and ditzy, large chested fembots quoting the bible now... nay... those days are over. While we still have our annual jerk named, Jim, and Vicki still sleeps upside down in a coffin facing north, everyone is horrible while simultaneously quoting bedazzled bibles. We have gone from Naked Wasted to Baptized and Prized... and they both still kind of mean the same thing.
This season will bring us Vicki, Tamra, Kelly, Lydia, Shannon, and yet another Peggy as we dredge up old horses to flog and husbands to call gay while making Jesus fix it all in a cloud of contour, highlighter, and venom.
So let's get down to it, shall we?
Meghan had a baby. Good for her. The baby makes her tired. Get ready for 16 episodes and three reunion specials about that. I have nothing against Meghan. She's mayonnaise on toast for me. Something that kind of makes you cringe when you think about it, but really isn't all that bad in reality. As is the custom on this show, her husband continues to be a neanderthal and there's her storyline. Mayo on toast.
Next we head over to Vicki's because it's important we always know the status of her 'love tank'. A subject she has made us dry heave about in our mind's eye since 2012. As she narrates our nightmares, a montage of lost loves plays before our eyes... including the forever missed and sainted, Donn. Anyone else shed a tear?
Well, never fear, Vicki's love tank is full, y'all. She's taken a HARD left from cancer faker, Brooks, to a fairly harmless looking retired cop named Steve who actively retreats to the happy place in his mind whenever she starts talking. So he might be perfect for her? I really loved when she started to spaz out about spilling salsa all over his white linen shirt and he was just like, "welp." So far, I like Steve. I'm not sure Steve isn't actually in a coma, but I like him.
But Vicki reminds us that she's basically settling for this guy. She loves Steve and all, but she misses Brooks, and we all died rolling our eyes just now. Hey, I get it. We've all had a Hiroshima of a relationship and in our recovery we wax romantic about the supposed 'good times' in order to avoid the reality of the actual dumpster fire it was. This is Vicki right now. She still thinks she loves Brooks and not the excitement of Brooks. Poor cow. But for now, Steve and taco salad will keep the love tank at an acceptable level and she won't have to be alone.
Over to Kelly's house where she is still a horrible human being trying to talk her mother into vaginal rejuvenation. Which, sure, whatever, normal mother-daughter conversations. I try to imagine having this conversation with my mother and I can't form words with my mouth. All I can do is horrifically stare into the middle distance. If I try to imagine my daughters having this conversation with me and offering to pay for it, I simply just drop dead. Leave your mother alone, you monster. She just wants to be alone and that's fine. Leave her vagina out of this.
Brianna, unofficial long suffering martyr housewife, is lamenting raising her holy terrors alone while her knuckle dragging, mouth breathing, window licker of a husband, is gone and I'm a terrible person because I don't care. Quit whining to your codependent mother about this life you chose for yourself, get up, and discipline those hellions. But no, Brianna learned to climb up on the cross from the very best in the game and will whine her face off while her boys pummel each other and grow up to be just like their dad.
Eddie and Tamra are in their empty gym while Tamra works her glutes, you know, reality, natural, not staged at all, and they're boring. Tamra is bristling at the gay rumors about her husband and yeah, I get it, but who the hell cares. Is he still married to you? Banging you? Let Vicki call him gay all day.
Since we have to find a way to bring Lydia back into the story, Tamra says they talked during their bible study (I swear this has to be code for a baby eating coven) and Lydia in her wide eyed innocence said she could FIXXXXXX ITTTTT over lunch.
Eddie's all, "Eff that noise, Vicki can die in a fire."
I have to agree with this sentiment.
Speaking of Lydia, she's back with her husband, The Doogs, and her boys, Pewter, Reckless, and a new addition, Greek. I forgot she named her kids ridiculous things, and I had to dive deep into the archives to remember how I made fun of her in the past.
She's still Lydia in her 2004 jeans, wondering why her kids are whiny assholes as she hovers over them attending to every whimper... so common sense wasn't a thing that happened in the last four years. She and The Doogs live in Newport Beach now, and she loves the Lord, her mom still smokes THE POT OMG QUELLE HORROR and now that it's legal in California, Lydia literally had to move lest her mother continue to be harmless and get cheeto dust everywhere.
So yeah... Lydia's still Lydia, and I wonder how Bambi's gonna fare in this snake pit. Hopefully better than last time. At least she has Tamra as an ally now.
Shannon... oh Shannon... I guess we have to talk about Shannon, guys. First of all, we have to notice that she's FAT and therefore unworthy. Why do women do this? Yeah she gained 40lbs because her life hit the shitter last year. It happens, it sucks, but she is by no means unattractively HEEEEEYYYYUUUUUUUGGGGGEEEE unless she's comparing herself to the 18 year old side pieces she's afraid of. Which, news flash, just makes you depressed and eat more. But what do I know having been there and all that. So I'll play along that Shannon is basically joining the cast of "My 600lb Life" next season and she's garbage because Vicki is a shit stirring fire breathing drama dragon and she needs to dump her husband.
We end this hour of power with Vicki climbing up on that super high martyr cross of her at lunch with Lydia as she wails and flogs herself over Tamra calling her a 'con-artist' and Lydia going, "REAAAALLLLYYYY???" blink, blink, blink. Jesus. Here we go... Poor Vicki... only covered for a con-artist and started a sham charity that benefitted really her, and there she goes putting on a hair shirt over it.
Shaking my head as I get up to refill my glass as the credits and previews for next week roll, I silently miss the days of sexist Keough teenage boys, wayward Knickerbocker girls, our quaint bible thumpers of seasons past: Quinn and Alexis, and as I see what's coming in episode 2 when we just decide to hit the gas and careen down the canyon. Remember when the worst thing that could happen was getting lost in Heather Dubrow's house and having to live on crumbs in Terry's secret carb closet?