When the Housewives set sail for South Beach, I was pretty pumped.
Ever since The Real World: Miami, The Birdcage, and my brief stopover in the Miami airport, I've been a fan of the city's flavor.
But what would this batch of 'Wives bring us? A season filled with blazers and v-neck tees? Lots of people doing Robin Williams' "Martha Graham" dance?
But then, there's a premiere episode that included Scottie Pippen doing yoga?! C'mon, how do you not adore that!
There were so many memorable moments to the Miami ladies that I could barely contain myself. It was just a treasure trove of goodness. Let us head straight to Florida and never return. Get me some slacks, call me a snowbird, and never take me back New York. Forget this frozen tundra -- give me Florida!
Let's start with Lea: Lea and I have a lot in common. We love crazy people. Like a moth to insanity's flame, I cannot get enough of the sort of oddball degenerates and wack-a-doos she also seems to adore. To use a Ke$ha-term, I like your steez, Lea. She also throws a mean party, or so she claims. And if that shindig doesn't turn out as she'd hope: "I just get them drunk." Ah, the hostess with the mostest indeed.
But it's not all party times. Each batch of ‘Wives comes with its own adorable set of tots, and this season proves to be no different. You have Adriana's precious son Alex, complete a mop of glorious curls and an awareness of boat-viewing responsibilities. Alexia's sons Peter (who wants to, and should be, a model) and Frankie have lots of questions about grass-fed animals. There's Lea's son Roy Jr. who is perfecting his Mona Lisa (albeit with curiously-sized feet instead of a sideways smile). And of course the entire Pippen brood should be drafted for the Chicago Adora-Bulls (see what we did there).