Real Housewives of Orange County: Wigs In Heaven

What I see when I dream at night.

Guys, I just spent three hours writing about Jersey Shore, so I'm just not sure (shore?) how long I can spend talking about the Real Housewives of Orange County. It's not that I don't love them. I mean, I don't love them, but that's not the reason. I'm just tired and it's Friday. Why must both of these shows be on Thursday night? Sigh. Anyway.

There was a point last night on the show when I suddenly looked around to see if I was dead and in heaven. It was as if all the things in this world that I love had suddenly been offered up, given to me by some strange mystical force, all at once. Old ladies put on wigs, got drunk, and rolled dice. Yup. Just like that. They all said "Oh, hi Richard. You've been so good about watching us and writing about us that we'd like to give you something in return. So we're going to get drunk, put on wigs, and roll dice." It was really, really nice of them. Tamra decided to host, and guess who showed up??? Former Housewives! The other Tamra, name'a Tammy, was there! And so was Quinn, that old crazy one from a coupla seasons ago who has actually put on a wig for me before. That time she was in Vegas and put on a wig and said her name was Roxy and played a role-playing game with her boyfriend. That was spectacular, but she wasn't that drunk and she certainly wasn't throwing bones. Quinn had, um, filled out some, which was sad. Oh well. Everyone got really drunk in their wigs, including the prim Juggs Jackson, who desperately wanted to win the dice rolling, but alas came up short to some rando in a red wig.

It was nice that Tamra could have a fun time playing Wigs-Dice, because the rest of the episode was filled with misery for her. See, her balding (like seriously! he started balding so fast!) son is a plastic-faced oaf who refuses to work because he's the entitled bastard son of a mom who likes to pretend that she is rich. So he's pretend-spoiled and petulant and awful and completely helpless, even though he is 23 years old. Apparently he stole Tamra's car and drove it, licenseless, around town, looking for girls or something. Simon is mad about this and wants an apology... on Facebook. Because "that's where he said all that bad stuff about me." That sound you're hearing right now? That's the wheel of human progress flying off its axis and crashing down a flight of stairs. Fah.

Vicki had a BBQ and Tamra and her family came, including Sonny Boy, who, instead of apologizing to Simon, proceeded to ooze into the swimming pool with Vicki's potato-ish son and some other dude and shotgun beers in front of small children, then toss the empty cans into the swimming pool. Like, this was in front of their parents. Because this is how you recreate? This is how you do it down in the OC? Just act like you're at college (a place where, I'm pretty sure, only one of those three boys have been) and toss beers around and be a complete fucking dope. Good for everyone. Really. But most of all you, balding Sonny Boy. Best to you. Best to you... in jail. Yes, at the end of the episode he revealed to his horrified mother that he is going to jail for a few days. "It's no big deal, it's just jail," is what he said. Oh, sure. Yeah. No biggie. Just jail. "Like... county jail?" asked Tamra, eerily familiar with the language of incarceration (it's rumored that she came from the saddest upbringing of all the wives.) Baldy just grimaced and looked like an idiot and we put our heads in our hands and just said "Next slide, please."

We shuffled back to Vicki, old cobwebbed Vicki, who was playing a little game of yenta. Remember when, a whole paragraph ago, I mentioned that Vickles was having a BBQ? Well it was because she had flown in a pug-faced, tubby young man to court her daughter. She'd met the young fellow on a vacation somewhere, and then told him to call and text and email her daughter, which isn't invasive or embarrassing at all. Why the dude, who for the purposes of this recap will be known as Donkey Lips, thought it would be fun to fly from Indiana to California to hang out with this crazy Vicki lady and meet her weird, lonely daughter is confusing. I'm guessing the reason has something to do with the word "Indiana." Anyway, when Donkey Lips arrived he and Little Vicki seemed to hit it off OK. They sort of gurgled pleasantries at each other and smiled weakly and the floorboards creaked sadly. But as the three-day blind date (seriously, what was anyone thinking setting this up?) went on, shizz got awks. They just sorta went and ate various foods and sat, not talking. The various foods being, in the cruel ironic way of the world, the very reason they were forced to have awkward three-day blind dates in the first place. A vicious circle. They sat. In the far distance, a stagecoach rolled by. Someone coughed. Lil' Vickie said "Do you like ketchup?" A child started to cry somewhere a floor above them. Crickets. Sunshine. Wind. Creak went the floors.

Donkey Lips was interviewed and kindly said "Yes, I think we are having a great time." Lil' Vickie begged to differ. When it cut to her confessional interview, she was just doubled over, weeping or vomiting or both. I couldn't quite tell. So I don't think they'll be getting married anytime soon. But you never know! You never do know. I mean, Juggs Jackson married her horrible slobby husband Ed Hardy. And that dude... whoa is he terrible. First off, he's hideous and dumpy, and yet demands that his lil' lady stay fit and perfect forever. You can see this sad scared mania in that poor, awful bitch's eyes. She knows she's not long for this life, that he won't really tolerate her when no amount of chemicals or face transplants will conquer time's inevitable slump. In a lot of ways, Juggs is the only actual Housewife this show has ever had. She doesn't work, seemingly never has, and is completely dependent on her horribly controlling husband, who dangles money and trinkets over her head in reward for good, obedient behavior. It's woefully sad, but she's also an adult. She knows what she's signed up for. She's horrible. She called a 7 karat diamond necklace thing that he gave her in exchange for going to the gym "sick." She called it "sick" twice. In what was supposed to be a sweet moment. "Oh honey, that's so dope. Gosh I love you and our kids. You are the illest." Like a 14-year-old boy at a birthday party. "Sick..." he whispers, opening the X-Box, while his parents beam sadly, afraid they'll soon lose him to the world. Which they will. But not Ed Hardy! He's got that woman as long as he wants her. Ughaboo.

What else... Oh yeah! Lynn, who is the most brutally depressing person on the face of the planet, had sad time at her sad house with her sad family during which they did sad things. "Sad?" Lynn asked, offering her daughter, Sad, a piece of sad from a platter. "Sad," said Sad. Lynn smiled. "I was thinking we could maybe go sadding this weekend. Doesn't that sound sad?" "Sad!" said Sad 2, clapping sadly. Then a "Youthologist" (no, not a joyologist) showed up to help the teenage girls not be so sad and hopefully Mom and Dad not be so sad too. Basically the Youthologist sat in a chair on the porch and read aloud from a 1994 issue of Seventeen magazine. The girls' eyes twirled and sparkled because no one had ever asked them what they felt and wanted to do. Because Lynn is always too busy saying "Sshh, sshh, dears. I need to see if I can fit into your pants." I hate this family. I hate all of them. Except the poor husband. That man looks like misery on a stick. A weathered, beaten stick. Much like me right now, thinking about the Sad Family and their sad things.

Speaking of sad, Gretchen went back to the leafy Midwest to visit with Jeff's kids and they are both sort of reeling—acting out, buying condos, getting horrifyingly lifelike tattoos. That kind of thing. They wandered out to a patch of grass where his ashes are scattered and they wept and the pristine day billowed and waved around them and let's just leave them there, teary on a lovely day because all lovely things someday end, even you and I, dear readers.

Even this recap! I apologize for brevity. I'm just kind of spent. What a week. What a weak. East Coast, West Coast. All of our shores are the same. We are all clinging and pushing, raging and dancing and dying in the waves. So let's just go get drunk.

Don't forget your wigs.