‘Real Housewives of Orange County’: Are Heather and Shannon okay?

06.03.14 4 years ago 13 Comments


So, Heather and Shannon finally meet over drinks to discuss the utter failure of their friendship, and I kind of felt as if they should just decide to split up the household belongings, file the paperwork, and move to separate counties. It's pretty clear to me that these two ladies will never, ever, ever be on the best of terms simply because they're slightly different versions of the same person and thus find the other extremely annoying. 

Take, for example, their tense family photo shoots, which mostly consisted of both women standing on the sidelines, barking orders at their kids (“smile NATURALLY!”), and making their photographers pine for their last bridezilla photo shoots. I loved that Shannon thinks people really look forward to her boring-ass photo Christmas cards, thus forcing her to pump them out year after year like universally beloved fruitcakes. As we've established, Shannon is not the sharpest tool in the shed, so maybe she really believes people who gush over those cards. I suspect they're all trying to sell her Amway or colloidal silver or mood rings, so maybe her delusion is just good for the economy. 

When the two women finally meet face-to-face, Heather speaks in a tone which she will never, ever realize sounds condescending, while Shannon insists she is not someone who ever, ever gets crazy angry, even though she is. Ultimately, Shannon tries to hold her ground but at the end of the meeting, she just looks beaten and a little drunk, while Heather looks like she's trying her best not to blow an aneurysm. I think it's safe to say nothing at all is accomplished, so Shannon's Christmas party is going to be fun, fun, fun!

We do learn two little factoids about Shannon this week — she reveals to Lizzie that many, many years ago she had a nose-and-chin job, as her nose was an enormous honker (in her mind) that had to be professionally shaved away. The picture she presents shows a very different face, but it isn't quite the monstrosity she paints to Lizzie. You'd think she was one of those vacuum hose-nose Muppets from what she said. Also, she gets claustrophobic in her house elevator. Poor bunny. She wouldn't even have one if not for resale value, darn it!

As for the other ladies, Vickie heads to Oklahoma, which she clearly sees as as a massive trailer park with wall-to-wall tornadoes. It was educational, though, because I had no idea that lamb fries are testicles. I'm not sure when I'll ever come across them on a menu, but you never know when someone is going to be sneaky and try to trick you into eating them.

Even though Briana and Ryan seem more than thrilled to be getting away from her, Vicki whines and wheedles and sniffles about waking up in the morning, singing “You Are My Sunshine” and bursting into tears. Finally, as if prodded by some show producer telling her she looks moderately insane, she insists to Briana she wishes her well and only wants the best for her in her new home in the armpit of America. She doesn't call it that, but you can tell she's thinking it.

Lizzie is feeling pressure to poop out baby number three, which could be her last shot at getting a little girl, but she just can't bring herself to do it. It turns out that she packs on the serious poundage when she gets pregnant, but good news! After baby number three, you apparently qualify for the Mommy Job, which is a boob lift and tummy tuck. It's good to know that some plastic surgeon is making absolutely sure his clients have crossed the three-child barrier so that he can whip out the scalpel and fix the scrap heap that is an Orange County housewife after she's served her purpose as a breeding device.

Having a body overhaul isn't Lizzie's only concern. She feels that she's being pulled into the Shannon-Heather feud, which is probably accurate. The only thing she can (or should) do is stick her fingers in her ears when either one of them starts talking, spin wildly in a circle, then insist she's a pretty pretty fairy or listening to the dark demon in her head read her a grocery list. There is simply no winning in playing go-between or even lending a sympathetic ear on this show, as that somehow always comes back to haunt you. Even when you don't pick a “Real Housewives” team, sometimes you just end up being assigned,  as if you're in fourth grade gym class and it's time to play volleyball. 

Vain women aren't the only ones fixated on body perfection in the O.C., by the way. It turns out that Tamra's son (who is 28, which is just hard to believe — he looks more like he could be an ex-boyfriend than her kid) is using HGH he gets from some random guy in the gym or on the street corner or out of a dumpster. It's hard to tell.

Anyway, Tamra is quietly horrified and insists he come with her to her sports medicine physician to make sure he dopes himself up in a doctor-approved fashion. He swears that HGH makes his muscles pop, reduces his body fat and even makes his hair more lush, but he has to be the oldest 28-year-old I've seen outside of those faces of meth mugshots. I'm wondering if, when his blood work comes back, the doctor will have to inform him his blood is mostly made of Del Taco and old gym socks. But at least his muscles are popping!

Who do you think is most to blame in Heather and Shannon's battle? Do you find it hard to believe Tamra has a 28-year-old? 

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