Bravo billed the three part reunion of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" as being "epic." Epic - defined as "resembling or suggesting such poetry," or "heroic, majestic, impressively great." Hmm. Well, I don't know how "majestic" or "poetic" this thing was, but it had its moments.
The more I see Taylor Armstrong, the less I like her 'reality' persona or whoever she is. I feel for her current situation and what she went through during her marriage to Russell Armstrong (look at how she acquiesces to him during Season One; there's a kernel of truth to the accusations of abuse), but she just leaves me cold. I finally watched her on "Watch What Happens Live," and almost turned off the TV (the only other time I wanted to do that was during the unfortunate Holly Hunter/Ralph Fiennes episode. There weren't enough drinks in the clubhouse THAT night). Taylor can't play "Plead the Fifth" because she's "been through enough" already? Good. Lord. Andy Cohen continues to probe her about the circumstances surrounding Russell's death and the chilling details of her marriage: lie-detector tests, hiding in bushes, surveillance.
A viewer wants Taylor to 'fess up about blaming Camille Grammer for her "exaggeration" about her broken jaw. Taylor splits hairs about the whole affair - it was dislocated, not broken, so Camille exaggerated. Again…Good. Lord. Brandi Glanville jumps into the fray when asked to clarify some things she wrote in her blog about Taylor. Brandi sticks to her guns about things not adding up for her but apologizes for cracking on Taylor's book after Taylor brought up the whole slashing-Eddie-Cibrian's-tires-thing (sounds like a romantic comedy). Well, Taylor only brought it up after Brandi talked about her book. And I'm rubber and you're glue and everything you say bounces off me and sticks to you. Adrienne Maloof's Eau de Petty must have been permeating the implant in Taylor's lips.
After the break, we're subjected to the Unfortunate Dana Wilkey, in all her hair-extension-F$!k-You-painted-onto-her-stilettos glory. Fittingly, she's wedged into an overstuffed chair separate from the bosom of the couches. Andy asks who she's wearing; she wisely stays mum. And what about those $25,000 sunglasses? Nouveau Riche Dana didn't think it was a big deal - besides it's the Housewives fault. Say again? They're living in multimillion dollar houses and driving fancy cars and jeez, even Giggy has a better wardrobe than she does. Dana figured the best way to gain entrée into the circle is to prove she's one of Jonses (maybe Dana would be better off fraternizing with "The Real Housewives of Atlanta." They thrive on that incessant name-dropping. Dana (sort of) cops to being tacky and blames her woe-is-me childhood on her insatiable desire to be accepted and makes no apologies for kissing so much a$$. People should take it as a compliment. Whatever. She overcame adversity - mazel to her. Still not a fan.
Game Night gets yet another analysis, as Dana's hostessing skills are taken to task. Why didn't Andy ask her about the two pitiful breadsticks she made the Housewives split between the six of them that night? She claims she was wasted and doesn't remember trying to curry favor with the Richards' sisters and a hoped-for invite to a Lost Weekend in the Poconos with them (notice she wasn't in Hawaii.) Dana blames Brandi for "poking" Kim and Kyle Richards all night and says she wasn't surprised when Kyle blew her stack. Brandi thinks Dana's DVD of the episode got lost in the mail, because clearly, they weren't watching the same episode. Fortunately, Dana's time on the dais is brief and Andy graciously dismisses her by saying she was "fun to have around." No, Andy. She wasn't.
Dana is ushered out in favor of the husbands, which was the best thing all night because it meant -
drumroll please! - Mauricio. Oh Mauricio…you are The Most Interesting Man in the World. Alright, maybe you're his son. The "lost footage" includes Mauricio inadvertently mooning us in Hawaii and lots and lots of shirtless scenes. Ahhh. Almost forgot, Paul and Ken were also there. Paul knows better than to try and compete with Mauricio and Ken…well he's "fairly attractive to women." Brandi was always trying to dip into his Kool-Aid, after all.
We wrapped up the "epic" reunion with a separate segment featuring Kim, fresh out of rehab. This was by turns uncomfortable and just downright sad. Kim looks refreshed and even sounds lucid, spurring hope for her long-term success. Kim won't say how long she struggled with alcohol, but that she's been in rehab three times total. She details how her medications screwed with her and though she wasn't drinking when the season started, as her confidence dimmed, her reliance on the bottle increased. Meds were strictly to blame for Game Night and she supposes she owes Brandi an apology for hiding her crutches. She'll be civil to Brandi, but they'll never be pals.
Kim had stopped watching the show, so Andy Cohen offers to show her clips from the SUR opening night party. Kim and America cringe at her disheveled, disoriented appearance and drug and alcohol-fueled ramblings. She finally asks for it to be shut off when we get to the part where she's in the limo about to shed her bra. Kim feels bad for that woman who she doesn't recognize. Her kids are talking to her again, Ken is kaput, but she won't say Kyle was right about her former beau. Cue Kyle, who pops up for her two cents. As is the case with sisters (I've got two, I know the drill) the Richards gals find it hard to explain their complicated, passive-aggressive relationship, which was compounded by Kim's alcoholism. Kyle says they were raised to keep things "private." So they do a reality show?? My mind continues to boggle over these Housewives who talk about how "private" they are.
More tears and retribution follow as Kim says she'll "own [her] stuff" and "work hard" for her sobriety. She vows to be a big sister to Kyle and on that note, Season Two of "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills" fades into the sunset.
Except Bravo has planned a "Lost Footage" special later this week. And the train keeps chugging.
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- Kyle Richards