There's really nothing better than jetting off to Europe on a wonderfully glamorous family excursion. There’s so much togetherness when you’re all cramped together on a luxurious yacht! Plus, once you dock, you get to steep yourself in genuine world history just by walking the same old streets the people who lived before us once wandered down. I think if our ancestors could come back today, they would be very excited by the Yelp app and positively flabbergasted by what constitutes entertainment at this moment in history. Let’s put it this way: just trying to imagine my sweet and departed grandmother’s face as she stumbles across the rapist with the steel dildo on American Horror Story (or a Kardashian in any of their incarnations) gives me a gigantic headache and, while I miss her, I think it’s probably a good thing that she’s long gone. I don’t think she would appreciate the Real Housewives franchise either, but Kyle Richards could care less that my Nana wouldn’t like her. Kyle, you see, simply does not have the time to contemplate ancient history or why my granny would look at her and slowly shake her head for allowing a camera crew to film her children in the kitchen or accepting Faye Resnick into her life in general. No, Kyle is spending her sun-washed European days shopping for caftans so that when she arrives back in Beverly Hills and someone who is just trying to be nice tells her that she just loves her baggy colorful top in shades of emerald and amethyst, Kyle can flip back her long hair and laugh her raspy giggle before murmuring that she bought the garment in Europe. That’s what’s really important.
Making fun of a woman so showy and desperate for attention is quite easy, but the sympathy I recently started to feel for Kyle remains. The woman comes from maybe the most fucked up family around – and I’m including the Manson Family in that little comparison. Not only is Kim Richards Kyle’s sister (and nobody sucks more than Kim Richards, who has blamed Kyle for giving her alcoholism just like she blamed her for giving her chicken pox when they were nine), but Kathy Hilton is Kyle’s other sister and she might be even worse. Kathy Hilton is the reason Paris Hilton exists, making her Patient Zero in the epidemic that brought about making people famous for a whole lot of nothing and trucker hats. And what kind of person only invites half of her sister’s family to a wedding? According to some press reports, part of the reason for the family division traces back to Mauricio starting his own agency after resigning from the company Kathy’s husband owned. Was loyalty compromised there? Probably. Mixing family and business is tough, but banishing people from your life is a pretty bold decision to make and it’s probably not the very best decision. All that said, I don't really care about any of this but I guess that Kyle and Lisa need something to talk about as they flip through racks of overpriced clothing while wearing hats with brims the size of the rings around Saturn and Kyle’s sucky family works just fine as the conversation topic du jour.
Don't you just hate it when your wretched alcoholic sister tells your vapid narcissistic sister that you shouldn't be permitted to attend your own niece’s wedding because, as the relatively normal one in the family, you have consistently tried to do the right thing by providing tough love to a woman who has been a fucking calamity for decades and that sort of honesty is seen as far too unseemly for a family that prides itself on fame brought about by inherited money and blowjobs caught on camera? Yeah, me too.
I have always failed to see the appeal of Kyle Richards and I’ve made my opinion about her crystal clear. While I don’t believe she is inherently evil or terribly stupid or actually out to cause massive amounts of harm, I still don’t like her. Could I perhaps work to be more tolerant of her throaty giggle and her look-at-me machinations? Of course I could, but tolerance takes energy and I’d rather exert that energy by buying boots. What I’m saying is that I have no immediate plans to overhaul my mentality in an effort to be kinder to Kyle unless I believe the situation genuinely calls for it, and when it’s revealed that she has been banished from a family wedding, well, that’s the sort of scenario I can take umbrage with and throw my tepid support behind the only sane daughter who ever burst forth from her mother’s loins.
Has it already been a year since a Restylane-stuffed monster sat on a velvet couch beside an alcoholic who was dressed like a marshmallow Peep and nodded approvingly as the alcoholic claimed to have never once struggled with her sobriety? Have almost 365 days and nights really passed since we last watched Kyle Richards fling back her long curtain of hair and proudly invite her dear friend Faye Resnick, the same woman who once capitalized on her friend’s murder by spreading it wide for Playboy, to come to dinner in her home? Have the shards of glass from the stemware Lisa Rinna broke during a screaming brawl with the most tragic child star of them all (and I’m including Leif Garrett in my countdown) finally been swept up and thrown away into a odorous garbage heap that looks an awful lot like Kim Richards’ face if you quickly glance at it in profile? And was there ever really a movie where soap queen Eileen Davidson appeared in a catsuit as a space alien or might I have just dreamed the whole thing up due to some of the substances I possibly ingested to have some fun over the years?
Proving there’s absolutely no rest for the weary, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is back for more. More of what, you ask? Well, I’m imagining there will be more betrayals, bigger lies, and scores of dinner parties that devolve into evenings of utter fucking misery before the guests leave with a gift bag. There will be two new Housewives joining the gaggle of women we’re already quite familiar with and Brandi and Kim will no longer flounce their wretched way across our television screens with any sort of regularity. I will not miss either of those assholes and I confronted the news that they have been seen filming scenes for this show with the kind of grace such a situation deserves, in that I threw myself across the floor of my home and beat my fists wildly against the wood until my knuckles were swollen and sore. See, I think that last season I might have called Kim Richards “a thin-lipped vile monster” and there’s a chance I compared Brandi to “regret that tastes like cherry-flavored lube” and I would like to state for the record that I stand by those comments and – not to toot my own horn or anything – but I also admire the tremendous restraint I’ve shown in my efforts not to be mean to these walking fucking night terrors.
