Howdy yall! Welcome back to easily the funnest iteration of Housewives I’ve seen this side of the Mason-Dixon, and thus: my 30s. I’ve been recapping this (read: drinking) for the past 4.5 hours so I’m pretty brain dead at this point. Do you mind if I dive right in and also forgive the fact that the Mason-Dixon reference has little to nothing to do with Texas?
One of my dogs puked on the carpet during this. So who’s to say you or I won’t? HAHAHAHA burp.
OK cool let’s go.
We open on the riot that ensued when Colonel Crackerjacks & Friends would hold a wedding! for LeeAnne and Rich! this very night! with Colonel Crackerjacks officiating! Everyone is losing their collective minds, blowing champagne corks and sobbing uncontrollably and shitting on the floor and looting television stores. LeeAnne is laughing her ass off, but we see this time that she was laughing as she was saying, “No! No!” and “He’s off the hook.”
D’Andra says in her interview that LeeAnne and Rich must be putting off setting a date because something’s up. Something they’re not telling their friends. She can tell LeeAnne is hiding something or is feeling insecure, which is why she so graciously hatched a plan to call lots of attention to it and publicly humiliate LeeAnne. What a great buddy!
Anyway, this stupid, predictable “cliffhanger” is over in 20 seconds (please, Bravo, learn how to To-Be-Continue yourself), and Rich provides me with what is maybe my favorite screengrab of all time:
General Whiskers invites LeeAnne and Jeremy up to the mic to make a speech that will thoroughly disappoint Dee. I can’t wait!
(By the way, you can tell how manipulated that cliffhanger was considering that the chronology of these opening scenes has been reversed: D’Andra and Jeremy were already up at the mic when Captain Tin Cans sprung the wedding prank. I’m a Detective, see.)
D’Andra opens with a terrible cliché about knowing that Jeremy was the man she was going to marry after five minutes of knowing him. Yawn. He pulls the mic up to his face and smushes his lips on it and slurs, “and in three minutes ah wuz havin sex’th her.” Wretch.
Dee’s butt falls off.
“No bit srrsly…” he continues, getting all srrs. He says he met the woman of his dreams and he invited everyone here because he and D’Andra love them. And he also wants to tell everyone, a second time, that he’s “still horny” for his wife. What a funny, cool thing to tell a room full of people in fancy clothes. Like your son.
“I laugh to keep from stabbing.”
D’Andra and Jeremy cut the cake. LeeAnne is all jealous because she wants to have glamorous anniversary parties with Rich but she doesn’t even have a wedding date yet. Cary says she’s a little bummed because there’s no actual wedding tonight. I know she’s talking about LeeAnne but it kind of speaks to the fact that D’Andra and Jeremy threw this big lavish party for practically no reason at all.
Jeremy shares his cake wi-PSYCH!
“Sorry babe, I saw this cake and said, ‘in three minutes I’m gunna be havin’ sex with it.'”
Stephanie brings the party down by leaning in to LeeAnne and saying that she doesn’t like to drink [cough] because it makes her depressed (she means when she’s hungover, which I actually get since as I’ve grown older anxiety has become more and more a symptom of my own). Oh bruther here’s where the serious shit kicks in.
LeeAnne and Stephanie get all deep and sad and talk about imbalance and both of them admit that at one point they tried to kill themselves.
Do you suppose it never worked with LeeAnne because they weren’t knives, they were just hands?
Sorry. I had to.
But sarey-ously you guys. LeeAnne and Stephanie genuinely bond over this and it’s actually incredibly heartwarming. It’s also impressive to see how wise it was on Stephanie’s part to tell LeeAnne about a personal tragedy: she knows that LeeAnne uses sob stories to connect with people (the cast has actually accused LeeAnne of resorting to them as a cop out to explain her terrible behavior), so Stephanie figures that sympathy might work both ways, and she’s right.
Brandi shows up – ooooh, she so sneaky! (she wants us to say)
Stephanie is all pumped and lets out a squeal at an octave only bats can hear.
Which explains Dee’s confusion.
Brandi wastes no time in asking D’Andra for some time to talk, and D’Andra agrees nicely as long as she can have a tequila shot. Now, let me take this moment to inform you that Dallas is probably the Sorority Row of the Housewives Universe. That explains why it’s probably the most alcoholic, and it also explains why Dallas is where you’re most likely to find a helpful sister on hand to jump right in with the requested shot and an offer to take your bag, your earrings, your cell phone, et al, when you’re about to throw down:
PUKE-HAIR HOLDER CARY TO THE RESCUE
D’Andra and Brandi down their tequila shots like big girls and start off their conversation like most Housewife confrontations go: I’m not here to fight, I want to support you, We can resolve this in the future, etc. But they don’t get further than than that since Stephanie – who is gunna be SUPER “depressed” tomorrow – stumbles in to smile and slur and scream at everyone to TAKE MORE SHOTS YOU FUCKIN BETCHEZZZZZZ!
OR YURR NEVER GUNNA MAKE THE GAMMA TAO CLASS LOL BURP
And whatever. That’s where everything cuts off, but I don’t mind because Stephanie is a blast and a half to watch when she’s so drunk out of her mind. I agree with LeeAnne, who put it so delicately: “When she’s shitfaced she’s fuckin fun as fuck!”
And now, before commercial break, I present to you Stephanie: A Play in Three Acts:
It’s a harrowing saga of man’s cosmic hubris and our interminable yet futile attempt to dominate the very immovable will of nature.
The next day, Stephanie is super hungover, unsurprisingly, chugging full bottles of Prozac before she invites her party planner, Rachel, over to talk about her Housewarming/Bruin Debut Party.
Rachel is the one who planned Stephanie’s $20,000-or-whatever “Bad Romance” Halloween party for Stephanie last year at her old house. She’s an OK planner and decorator, but she clearly never watched the video for Bad Romance and instead interpreted it to mean black acrylic skulls and red candles. She seems like one of those Gladys Leeman types who does the same thing every year and just chooses a different zippy name for the same theme.
The real reason for this scene is to show off Stephanie’s new, renovated house – mostly the proof that she managed to clobber Travis into submission and covered up the pool:
We’re taken through sexy shots of Stephanie’s house, seeing all of the $1.7 million renovations she made to this $5 million home. HOW DO THESE TROGLODYTES HAVE THIS MUCH MONEY. Stephanie’s new home includes a spa, a movie theater, a post office, a Target, and a “fully equipped jemm.”
Good for Stephanie!
Stephanie tells us the title of the party (LOL I can’t believe I even typed that out) is “Bubbles and Bru.” “And that’s short for Bubbles and Bruin!” she adds helpfully. Then she LITERALLY SPELLS OUT BRUIN’S NAME IN HER INTERVIEW. And “bubbles stands for champagne.” Wow, thanks for cracking the code for us, Steph.
As Stephanie’s assistant (why) walks Rachel around the house, Stephanie FaceTimes Brandi to tell her who she “fills” like inviting. That includes LeeAnne. Brandi’s like, duh, whatever, I have a screaming mutant clutched to my chest and I know the rules of this fucking show so I’m not going to fight you on it. Then Stephanie asks to get Bruin’s vote:
Next we head to D’Andra and Dee’s office downtown which is boring snoring loring because business is for sad people in grey cubicles and ugly khaki pants, bleh. It’s what I do for nine hours a day before I come home and recap this tripe for another six hours and get summarily wasted. Why do I want to talk about this.
I do love that D’Andra has one of those T. Kyle-inspired Christmas ornaments at her desk.
She meets with a marketing manager or some other white girl behind a standard-issued clunky mahogany desk to talk BRANDING and MARKET SHARE and ROI on the company’s latest line of snake oil: a dietary supplement called Green Miracle.
Holy shit do I hate these people.
D’Andra knows that she has to endure a shit-stink conversation with her mom, so she takes this opportunity with cameras in the office to do it.
I feel the need to point out this tacky, phony plate on Dee’s desk and the equally sanctimonious look on her face:
D’Andra opens with her proposal to switch the packaging of their Do Nothing Diet Pill from a bottle to a soft pack. Dee says that their customers – who are like her (old, dumb, stubborn as a damn mountain) – won’t go for that. D’Andra responds that the soft pack will appeal to more, different customers this way. Dee draws a line in the sand and says it’s a hard no. Ah, catering to the likes of septagenerians who have a conniption over packaging and will be dead in eight years. What a great business model. What a great client demo to shoot for.
D’Andra deflates and reminds her mom that she gave full control of the company to D’Andra two years ago, agreeing to transfer her salary as well, so wtf is she still doing here? Dee is like, well, watching reruns of Friends in my big empty house at 11 am scares me and this is the only thing that fulfills me, so I’m gunna keep coming into this office and planting my ass in a seat and shooting down all your fresh, good, constructive ideas until the day I fucking croak, beloved daughter of mine. I’m putting words in her mouth, but trust me, they’re not that different from what Dee actually said.
Dee closes by reminding D’Andra that she’s an only child and “lots of mothers and daughters get jealous of each other, particularly if they’re good looking.” D’Andra:
D’Andra flips the fuck out in her interview, asking “who’s jealous of who here,” listing off a litany of reasons her mother should be jealous of her, landing on “MY FACE MOVES WHEN I HAVE AN EXPRESSION:”
LOL. Just barely, D, but I do think you have a promising career as a recapper here. Email firstname.lastname@example.org to audition!
Dee reminds D’Andra that the two of them are “the only family” the other one has got, so basically, eat shit and suck it up. She says that she won’t endure the “abuse” that D’Andra gave her over the phone. D’Andra tells her mom that she’s full of shit. Go D’Andra! But Dee predictably dismisses her because she herself “doesn’t cuss” before D’Andra reminds her mom that abuse is giving someone the silent treatment for a month. Dee says that she’s done with this conversation and doesn’t want to talk to D’Andra for the rest of the day, cementing D’Andra’s point.
D’Andra states that she could branch off and start a new company. She could, because she did. But guess what happened to that company? Her mom owned it from day one. Her mother owns her: financially, emotionally, professionally. Keeping her in shackles and oppressively quashing any move D’Andra wants to make with the possibility of one phone call to the bank. How silly and fun. Enjoy the rest of this season, everyone!
Stephanie has her mom and grandparents over to her house. They’re from Oklahoma and they super believe in the LAWD-DAH and Stephanie can’t go 5-6 weeks without seeing them. I chug an entire glass of wine thinking about that kind of oppression. They all bless Stephanie’s house in a prayer circle with Stephanie’s mom leading in English and Stephanie’s Pentacostal grandfather speaking in tongues right behind her.
And I’m with Biscuit: this shit is freaky as hell.
ARE YOU GUYS OK DO YOU NEED SOME WATER
It’s surprising to me that hard-drinking, lion-mounting, foul-mouthed Stephanie grew up in a family like this, mostly because I am shamelessly ignorant of people in fly-over states (I think they’re all simple white folk who like word art from Hobby Lobby), and it’s super jarring to see how orthodox they are in the way of their faith. It’s… not… a bad thing? But it is unsettling. If not creepy. Especially when I see that Stephanie feels the same comfort praying in her house as I would saging mine.
Oh god, I’m just like her. Never mind.
Anyway, sad stuff: Stephanie knows that now she’s brought it up she has to talk about her suicide attempt, which she does with her mom. Long story short: she was in what sounds like at least an emotionally abusive relationship, broke up, felt lost, and decided to take a whole bottle of pills. Her mom was home, Stephanie told her what happened, and now, miraculously, she’s still alive. And that’s all. There are no jokes to be made.
Ever the socially responsible company, Bravo issued this card at the end of the episode:
There’s a transition scene where we learn that Cary and her family are living in Cary’s parents’ house while they vacation in Palm Springs and Cary’s house is being remodeled. It’s sort of a pleasant bandaid on all the Mark Nastiness from last season and a reminder that Cary has a child who knows what Porsches are and calls her parents by their first names, but that’s about it.
The next scene is about LeeAnne being a fashion maven, which we can trust because:
just look at her.
LeeAnne shows up at some boutique that she knows really well and greets a BFFFF named “Ja-neeeeeeette!” who dresses like this:
… which makes my face go like this:
… so yeah, we can tell LeeAnne is in good hands.
So basically LeeAnne is here because she invented (question mark) this dress that is immeasurably versatile: a very basic black bandage dress with snaps hidden all over the place to attach similarly basic, transformative pieces of chiffon. In essence, it is 7,039 dresses in one. And a model is at the store to wear it for her.
Now, as someone who has been in roughly 7,039 weddings, let me tell you that this has been done. There ARE dresses that you can wear a billion ways to both play and flatter your body type. This is not a new concept. But as someone who has also watched (and recapped) 7,039 episodes of Real Housewives, I can measure a new business when I see it, and this is clearly what LeeAnne’s point is. She literally says, point blank, this is a dress for the QVC crowd. She knows what the fuck she’s doing. And most Housewives don’t. And I agree with every part of this stupid yet brilliant idea. This isn’t a cocktail mixer or a cooking book or a pile of hair, thrown out to the ether and flying on a wing and a prayer. This is one product: carefully constructed and brilliantly targeted. So bravo, LeeAnne. This dress is basic, but it’s brilliant.
“If I can transform myself, I can transform THE WORLD!”
I actually don’t disagree with her. Play on, LeeAnne, and I will dance to your beat.
In the denouement, Brandi’s family is getting ready for the Party, which basically means Brandi is doing everything and lamenting the fact that she has to get up at 4:30 am or some garbage just to resemble the person you see on camera.
Stephanie’s house is not obvious at all, decked out in blue, blue, nothing but blue:
… so yeah, she’s pretty happy with her subterfuge:
Stephanie says that when you come to her parties you get the “Three F’s”: food…
… and fun, which is also alchohol:
A little different from my three F’s, but then, I’m an animal.
No offense to Brandi’s family or families in general but this sort of scene makes me want to murder myself, and considering the tone of this episode, that’s hard to say:
… but seriously.
So eventually the Redhead Redmonds show up at Stephanie’s (after four lost shoes and a dead horse in the back yard) and Brandi reacts AS SHE SHOULD about the financial burden of this celebration of her choices:
TWENTY TWO THOUSAND TWO HUNDRED THIRTY AND 0/100
… is the check Stephanie wrote for this fucking party
The girls squirrel upstairs to hide Brandi and Bruin as the husbands kill time and “bond.”
insert ominous music.
The girls all huddle with their babies upstairs, complaining about LeeAnne, as This Bitch walks in with her pink dog food-eating corgi and gripes about no one greeting her at the door.
It’s OK though. This Bitch knows EXACTLY what’s up and she’ll CHEW HER HUSBAND’S ear off about it.
And she’s actually spot on about it (because again, she’s rull smart) and replays literally the entre situation to Stephanie – in a way that’s both enthusiastic and pathetic and hopelessly needing. She knows that someone is having a baby, and she knows that it’s Brandi, because Stephanie wouldn’t throw this kind of party for herself, and she knows that it’s a boy, because duh, all the blue, and the “BRUIN” on the wall.
Stephanie feigns incredulity and pretends that OOPS! ya got me, telling This Bitch that she’s the one having the baby, waiting for the “sarah-get” to deliver any day now.
Then she forces her dumb lugnut of a husband to play along:
… while Court is in the background just saying “wow. yeah. omg. yeah. wow. congratulations. awesome. that’s amazing.”
As the guests arrive, we learn that Cary found out about Bruin three days prior:
This Bitch acts like Inspektor Gadget, noticing the blue bow on Cary’s baby gift, telling her she KNOWS and conspiring with Stephanie, who gets Cary to play along, like an idiot.
D’Andra and LeeAnne show up. D’Andra knows nothin bout birthin babies, but she does know she came ready to breast feed.
… and LeeAnne came ready with grabby colors to distract the baby.
Anyway, once everyone’s arrived and masturbated over one another’s hair, Stephanie checks her notes to introduce “our favorite ginger family”:
… and then Brandi and Brian and Brooklyn and Brinkley and Bruin and Breast Meat and Braveness and Brisket and Bratislava come downstairs…
So This Bitch feels all duped, like:
… and so we end on another cursed “to be continued,” because god knows whether or not we’ll see the exciting conclusion to this clever ruse.
Next week: The girls all take a trip to Beaver Creek and someone lets their beaver out.
And poor Bruin, we’ll leave him behind. Motherless, once again, sprawling on a blanket, cooing at the ceiling, kicking his awesome, powerful feet, wondering where those women went, and marveling at all the wondrous things they’re doing. He stares at his mobile, contemplating the shapes, compromising them with the world he’s seen before. And try as he might, he can’t help but think of that nice lady, with her long red hair and her piercing, cat-like eyes, softening for him and hooding, singing a lullaby, and lulling him to sleep. My Baby Bru.
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