Ladies and gentleman (the one of you probably reading this blog post), we have located the aliens in Southern California. The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills series premiered last night and as we watched, one question kept running through our minds: just how much Chanel concealer and Kiehl's and chemical peel and Juvederm has it taken to make these women look so slightly human? (Some more than others, certainly, but a couple simply do not have their original faces.) Don't get us wrong, in their own deranged way, these gals seemed sweet: they're mothers, they do charity work, and they've all worked since they were like babies. But someone needs to tell a few of these broads that one more nip or tuck and they might go into orbit. Here's the cast of characters we're working with:

Lisa VanderPump – British transplant with Dynasty-esque hair and a predilection for strays. She spends her days serving breakfast in bed to her her nightie-clad dog, Jiggy and aerobicizing with Cedric, a “permanent house guest”/trainer who's sponged off Lisa and her husband Ken for the last several years. He claims to be gay, but Ken's not convinced. “He spends an awful lot of time with my wife,” Ken observes. “If he wasn't gay I would be very annoyed.”

Adrienne Maloof – Things that scare us about Adrienne: 1) she bears a slight resemblance to Jocelyn Wildenstein and 2) she has the self-defense skills to “take down a 200 pound man.” (A fact she demonstrated on a 90-pound teenage boy, but whatever.) Things we enjoy about Adrienne: 1) As a principal of the Maloof company, she's wealthy completely independently of her plastic surgeon husband (and let's face it, probably makes 10 times his salary), yet 2) she's a Democrat. Go figure.

Camille Grammer – Camille was married to Kelsey Grammer for 13 years, though so we're told via the gossip pages, their divorce plays out over the course of this series. She's seeking spousal and and child support, which she totally needs in order to pay the four nannies employed to watch her two children. And if that doesn't work, she's got dancing skills from her Club MTV days to fall back on.

Taylor Armstrong – An Oklahoma native, Taylor always believed there was “something big” out there for her. Perhaps she was predicting the massive welts that would appear all over her face during the Botox sesh she had within the first 15 minutes of the show? It's very important to keep herself tuned up, Taylor told us, since her husband could leave her any minute for a young, hot 20-year-old. Good to know her marriage is important to her.

Kim Richards – Kim brings a little “other side of the tracks” to RHBH, considering she's got 4 kids from 3 different fathers. Wha? She claims to be struggling for money (apparently her residuals from CHiPs aren't paying the bills) but come on, she's one of the two Paris Hilton aunts on this show. She's gotta be able to get a loan somewhere. Although in that case she might want to watch the creepy way she talks about her niece. One of her interview sessions went a little like this: “I went out with Paris to a club one night and when we came out all the paparazzi were like 'Kim! Kim! We love you!' And Paris was like, 'Aunt Kim, OMG!' and then they were like 'Hey Paris, your aunt was an icon before you were!' and I was like 'hahahahaha.'” Why do we feel like this is not the way it happened?

Kyle Richards – Paris' other aunt and caretaker of her kooky sister. Our two favorite Kyle quotes of the night were: “I have another baby every time someone in this business pisses me off,” and “I thought I had a stroke, but actually my false eyelashes were making one eye smaller than the other.”

So in this inaugural episode, Adrienne Maloof, owner of the Sacramento Kings, invites the girls upstate for a night to enjoy court-side seats at a game, and at that point, it becomes abundantly clear why Bravo had to get down to brass zip codes for this Real Housewives installment. While Orange County and the entire state of New Jersey are apparently large enough areas to encompass the necessary stereotypes, it's only the elite of the elitist Beverly Hillsers that could board a private plane for a VIP, four-star night of fun and still find reasons to complain. Chartering a jet isn't green or I'm not allowed to cheer for the Lakers or I don't like the mascot or the girl sitting next to me in our zillion dollar seats is mean. Oh boy ladies, is this what we're in for? It looks like screaming and hair pulling (thanks Jerz) are going to be kept to a minimum this season, but lots of petty backstabbing and exploitation of each others' insecurities are in store. We'll be watching.

LA Weekly