The Real Housewives of Orange County Recap: Season 16, Episode 17

Photo: Nicole Weingart/Bravo

I do not understand. Seriously, honestly, definitely, I don’t understand why Shannon and Gina are arguing. They’re gathered in a department store in Aspen, and they’re about to scream for what? Gina doesn’t think Shannon wants to be her friend and Shannon thinks Gina doesn’t want to be her friend. Yes, there are hints of Gina’s arrogance and Shannon loving Noella more than Gina. There’s a lot about Shannon’s “core four” (which looks like a 50% version of Abdominals in 8 minutes) and how Gina once said she had no friends, but otherwise what is this mutual federated madness.

They’re just two women who don’t care or don’t know how to be friends. They both say they want to be friends, so what’s stopping them from doing so? Nothing. It’s such a weird fight. It’s like two girls on the playground mad because another girl stole their Bop-It or something.

But that’s all. This is the fight. After 17 whole episodes where we started with Nicole, the faceless con artist, we had Noella’s divorce and the vagina pile (or pussy pile, as I’d call it), we had Ryne and Jen who were crazy and wasteful together, and we end up with two hungover women letting their emotions get mixed up while Heather Dubrow overpays for a leather jacket with pads. The depths into which we have sunk as this final drags itself, amputated from the knees, over the finish line.

Everything about this episode is weird and offbeat, and I don’t like it at all. The only redeeming thing is when Gina wakes up with a hangover so bad she believes it was given to her by demons. The day before, in the mines and on a ghost tour, Gina heard about the Tommyknockers, which is not the name of the lead singer of the fan arm of Mötley Crüe but underground demons who basically look like goblins but England instead of Ireland. (That means not only is their food somehow worse, but they’re also the worst of all the colonizers.) Gina decides the only way to overcome her hangover and crisis from the night before, where she has uttered the word Tati more than James Charles in all of his apology videos.

Gina’s solution is that she must leave an offering to the Tommyknockers. She and Emily go into the kitchen and get help from a butler, an assistant party planner, a chef, a part-time oyster opener, and a guy who just hangs out with a bear spray to make a small gift. inconvenience for those gnomes-ass M-er F-ers that Gina wants to appease. They leave the basket in the mine, and Gina, who just got rid of her demons and had them thrown into Emily’s idling car outside her house, tells them they can’t reside in her soul. . What did they leave? A bottle of Veuve, two Diet Cokes, chocolate and matcha and ginger wellness shots. Yes, that’s exactly what the spirits of dead miners want. Coke Light. Could Gina put a steak and beer pie, two pints of mead, a bath of warm water, and a freshly washed prostitute in a basket? Then the miners could be happy and leave her alone.

As cockamamie as it all sounds, the only thing more ridiculous is Noella, who’s back at the ranch with her chakras depleted by a wellness coach who doubled as lead singer for the band’s bluegrass band the night before. Noella is crazier than a Tommyknocker if she thinks all her problems can be cured with a little sage and a few essential oils. Wait, has anyone ever come across a non-essential oil? Canola? Grape seed? Cod liver? Are they essential?

The trip ends with Gina and Shannon’s shopping brawl, a lame dinner where the most hectic thing is some fans buying the women’s photos, and they all crowd into a sprinter van and Spirit Airlines flight home. so they can get ready for Shannon’s Rack and Roll party where they plan to eat ribs and dress like rock stars.

But first, Emily One-Piece Simpson needs to reshoot her wedding photos, and, okay, that warms the shells and molds of my heart. Her husband Shane never really proposed to her and they got married in Las Vegas so they had no wedding photos. Instead of renewing her vows, which come with a curse so powerful that Gina couldn’t ward it off with an offering of 12 cases of Diet Coke, Emily finally decides to have her wedding photo taken.

It seems like a dumb idea. You cannot approximate the timing. You still won’t have photos of the actual ceremony. But actually, it’s a very good idea. She puts on an amazing dress with a cape that’s also a train, gets Shane and the kids dressed up, and takes the amazing photos she’d like to have on her big day. It’s basically like one of those old Western photo booths at the state fair, but with thousands of dollars worth of clothes, loaner jewelry, multiple stylists, and four very patient kids. It’s Emily’s fantastic photo shoot, and I’m here for it. I’ve already ordered the harnesses, neon jockstraps, and 18 cubic tons of caramel pudding that I’ll need for my photoshoot. Unfortunately, if someone gives me three rings at my photo shoot, like Shane did to Emily, you won’t want to know where I put them all.

On the Rack and Roll party. I’m gonna take a chance and say this is the dumbest, dumbest, dumbest, dumbest, dumbest, sleepiest, sleepiest, most insignificant party that’s ever been presented on a real housewives program. And it even has a song by Richard Marx, who, while great, isn’t Kandi “No Scrubs” Burruss. My first issue with this evening is that some of the ladies didn’t dress like rock stars. Gina as Gwen Stefani, Noella as Jimi Hendrix, and Emily as the rock-inspired girl are fine. I don’t know how Shannon is dressed, but it rocks me. Dr. Jen, however, introduces herself as Pamela Anderson, who isn’t even a rock star, she’s just a Tommy Knocker. Her husband is dressed as Tommy Lee, but you can’t tell because with bad tattoos, a skinny goatee, an A-shirt (that’s what we call the garment that was linked to domestic violence) he looks like more to Eminem.

The biggest problem is Heather Dubrow, who goes by the name Posh Spice. First of all, you can’t become Posh unless you have a Becks, and there’s no way Terry Dubrow could dress like him, especially because he takes the opportunity to wear one of his 1,783 leather jackets. He has more cowhide in his closet than Nixon has pills (as my mother would say). Posh Spice is not a rock star. She’s a pop singer. Worse still, she is part of a girl group. You’re not going like a Spice Girl. You must get everyone go like the Spice Girls, and even then it’s not rock ‘n’ roll. Perhaps I could buy her if she was a Robert Palmer daughter. Perhaps. But we know Heather just wanted to stay on theme and wear a cute dress and couldn’t be bothered.

Nothing happens at this party, not even anything funny. So they go around the table, and everybody gets their little title card at the end of the season and we don’t learn anything new, and then we get a rendition of a song that I hope Richard Marx will win an Emmy because wasn’t bad, even though it looked like Tommys were hitting these women with their mine-stained boots. So that’s it. This is the episode. We see no reaction. We see no applause. We see nothing, just a strange ending to a strange, action-packed year that has died down like a bottle rocket that has lost its will to live.

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