RECAP: Real Housewives of Orange County “Sex, Lies and Leeches” [Episode 13]

The Real Housewives of Orange County picks up right where we left off last week, with Meghan Edmonds snapping into split second witch mode, in response to Vicki asking her to cork it with her ignoramus cancer blabber. Lizzie and Shannon both encourage Meghan to shut up, but the know-it-all hostess can’t resist translating trophy ninny speak for the others, defending Meghan’s motives. Meghan continues to push it, refusing to just put a muzzle on her big muppet mouth.  Tamra murmurs a few sweet manipulative nothings in the background, while Meghan insists that all cancer treatments should be openly discussed non-stop.  Heather keeps her hooked-on-phonics replays going, even though no one asks for her condescending commentary. 

Vicki finally shuts it down, and goes to blubber and rant in the formal powder room in the southeast wing of the Dubrow resort.  Tamra and Shannon jump up to follow, while Heather comforts Meghan, cheering her up by pointing out that her new wise and wealthy friend did break down the uncomplicated debate in the most epic fashion.  Lizzie gently encourages Meghan to focus on LeAnn, and not a stranger, while Heather rushes to share her genius articulation with the opposing team. 

Meghan agrees to can it, because Vicki is a meanie bitch, while Vicki snaps at Professor Dubrow, who widens her owl eyes in disbelief. I am shocked as well, because Meghan actually pulls off using the word “malice” correctly. Shock turns to horror when Tamra announces that they are launching a Cut Fitness YouTube channel, by doing a sex tape spoof. We are reminded of the puke provoking real thing, when Bravo flashes us back to that infamous and horrifying bathtub scene, as we all cringe in unison at being invited to Tamra’s upcoming “sex party.” Lord help us all.

Shannon is hitting up Dr. Moon for a tune up, because her emotions have been going haywire lately. Dr. Moon is a resentment expert, which is crucial because the affair sure has inflicted a crapload of that. Dr. Moon hits it out of the park, but prescribing lots of infuriated outdoor staring. 

Vicki and her son Michael meet up for dinner, where we learn that Michael is living the dream, probably  because the dream is happening far away from Vicki.  Vicki immediately unloads her ongoing daughter grief on her grown son, who sympathizes by ordering appetizers.  They chat about their family, and Michael looks tortured.   Michael likes Brooks, and thinks that Briana is weird to harbor such hatred.  Michael maturely reminds his mom to be thankful for her mother’s long life, and Vicki proclaims herself a picked-on, middle-aged orphan.  Michael appropriately rolls his eyes, at the childish blather. 

We check in with Tamra and Eddie, as they tour their sex party venue, which is supposed to be shocking, but is really just yucky. Vicki and Brooks may not attend, and when I hear that all of the convos are required  to revolve around sex, I am thankful. Over at the Beadors, Shannon and David rehash the dismal birthday at the utter hell that is a sports bar, and David keeps endlessly apologizing for his repetitive failures. Shannon wants her sad memories erased by blissful marriage perfection, and David patiently explains that he is saying he’s sorry as fast as he can.  Shannon is entitled to bitch her way through healing, and it needs to, at the very least, occur in a fancy restaurant. 

It’s the night of the sex party, and Eddie and Tamra have pulled out their his and hers dog collars for the occasion. We jump to Meghan and Jim, who are bickering their frustrations away.  Meghan is dressed like a slutty, 6 foot tall, intellectually slower version of Heather. The cast begins to arrive, and everyone gasps over each other’s overwhelmingly whorish beauty. Whore Beador looks like an anxiety paralyzed rocker, and Terry is wearing a leash, a visual certain to invite nightmares.  Vicki pulls a fun whammy and goes for a white number, which Meghan jumps to deeply analyze, mistakenly assuming that anyone over 18 gives a crap about what Vicki wears.

Jim pulls out all the raunchy stops, and mercifully only loses a shirt button. They show the tacky tape, and I am grossed out from my couch, but Meghan makes sure to laugh extra loud at the juvenile film, which she dubs as genius. Sushi on a boob is offered, and the women pass, while the men line up. 

Tamra chooses this moment to share that she is planning to be baptized, and Eddie  acts surprised that his dirty girl would desire such a thing. Either a pas-tore or a pasture will perform the ceremony, and Eddie is shocked that his effed up wife follows Jesus. Things get weirder when Vicki spots some blood marks on Heather, and we learn that Heather and Terry are into bloodsucker therapy, in order to up their always impressive fab factor. Leeches transfer blood from stomachs to sculpted faces, and the whole description is bizarre. Meghan’s boobs are falling out, and Heather needs a wardrobe change, both of which are the polar opposite of sexy. Terry joins the other women in the ladies room, where blood is flowing, women are screeching, and Terry is giggling.

Vicki encourages the sushi girl to get dressed and go to college, before she gets suckered into  attending a dumb party like this, instead of working one.

The women group hug, and Vicki starts up with Meghan by cringing at her bony touch. They agree to not apologize to each other for any reason, and that neither one of them is at all nice.  Meghan indignantly says that no one appreciates any heartfelt help for their lovers anymore. Heather admires Meghan standing firm in her major BS, but Vicki thinks she is just plain evil.  Meghan stupidly drags her husband into the mix, who responds like a barely juiced robot. 

Jim weakly tries to defend his child bride, and hits the jackpot of truth when he states that Brooks’ cancer treatment is none of his business, and he really doesn’t care if he lives or dies anyway.  FINALLY! Jim tries to escape, but Vicki pounds him mercilessly into a bloody squished leech. 

Vicki unleashes on Meghan, and Jim barely blinks in emotionless response.  Jim agrees with Vicki that Meghan had indeed overstepped, and Tamra jumps to agree with her mini-me, that Vicki tries to be a big, bad intimidator. 

Tamra, Heather and Meghan marvel at Jim’s statue-like heroism, while Jim tries to muster up a twitch or two of give-a-crap expression. Meghan rescues her husband, and drags him away, and Jim finally shows some passion, when he demands that Meghan zip it about this dumbass reality show. Vicki apologizes to Jim, before the couple struts out. 

Vicki dishes that Jim shared about the challenge of being married to that six footer with Brooks, while Jim leaks that “hopefully” they will be together till death do they part. Meghan continues her rant against Vicki, but Jim comments that he doesn’t care enough about these silly histrionics to find any of it offensive.

Jim likes Brooks, and just wants Meghan to shut up, like the rest of America.  She declines and mouths that Vicki is a “con artist”, because she and “justice” go way back, and she will always speak out, when justice calls. Jim tells her to can it, as we all say AMEN!!

 

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