Cast Blog: #RHONY

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Ramona on Her Divorce From Mario

Carole on Elitists and Bitches

Heather Says That's a Wrap

Sonja: Don't Take Yourself Too Seriously

The Countess: Sonja and I Are on the Outs

Aviva Says Bye for Now

Kristen on Surviving Her First Season

LuAnn: For Ramona Ignorance Is Bliss

Who Cares How Carole Wrote Her Book?

Carole on Stupid Things You've Heard on Bravo

Aviva's "Foul Ignorance"

Kristen: Ramona's Out of Touch with Reality

Sonja Is Very Private

Ramona on the Grueling Reunion

LuAnn: Sonja Is Off the Rails

Heather: Et tu Ramona Singer?

Aviva on Kristen's "Gatemouth" Look

Kristen: Sonja Could Be Successful

Sonja's Glad Aviva Threw Her Leg

Carole: Waiter, We're Done

Ramona: Aviva's Leg Scared All of Us

Heather Focuses on What Matters

LuAnn: Sonja Only Has Herself to Blame

What Else Does Aviva Have in That Bag?

Aviva: Leggy Blonde

God Gave me a Great Ass and His Approval

Sonja on Her Harry Situation with LuAnn

Ramona: Where Did the Time Go With Avery?

Heather Tips to Plan a Party for Carole

Aviva Rises Above the Nonsense

Love Kristen Tender

Sonja and Harry Aren't Good for Each Other

Ramona: Mario's Voice Is So Sexy

Aviva Defends Her Asthma

Heather's Sasha Fierce Moment

Nothing Is Too Romantic for Sonja

LuAnn: I Sing When I Feel Like Singing

Kristen: This Show Has Helped My Marriage

Carole: Oh Beautiful for Spacious Skies. . .

Ramona: Just Don't Ask Me to Go Every Year

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Alex talks about the Cocktails and Couture drama, her blow up with Jill, and more.


I’m racing to get this blog in before Simon and I meet Derek at Design on a Dime for Housing Works, which, if you live in NYC, is a GREAT place to get home furnishings at very reasonable prices, where the proceeds all go to help end the twin crises of AIDS and homelessness. This weekend the chums and Simon and I will be in CT and Boston for book signings – if you’re in the area, please come and see us as we’d love to meet you!

At the Cocktails and Couture party, I was happy to bring along a few dresses, including one of my Cavalli gowns. I was greeted by LuAnn, who wondered why I delivered Bethenny’s message to Jill and stated that I shouldn’t choose sides. I was surprised by her statement as LuAnn definitely chose sides herself – that was a “do as I say, not as I do” proclamation. Although I was conflicted about having delivered Bethenny’s message in front of the other women, I don’t think LuAnn has ever expressed remorse for passing Jill’s feelings to Bethenny, for lurking on speakerphone or for telling Jill’s story about my boys at Ungaro. Nor did I ever ask LuAnn who made her God after any of those incidents. Bizarre. I agreed that I’d be willing to talk to Jill about it.

More people arrived and Bobby pulled me aside. Out of the whole group, Bobby is the one whose opinion of the situation would have held the most weight, and I was completely open to hearing him out. Having done so, I reiterated that I would find Jill and speak to her.

Let’s be clear. I did understand that I had embarrassed Jill in front of the group. I was not sorry about relaying B’s message to her, but willing to accept responsibility for the way in which it came out. With that, I approached Jill later during the party. She didn’t want to talk. For those who have been following this whole mess online, Jill commented at one point that sometimes when someone offers to talk “she doesn’t want to make up yet.” Personally, I don’t play that game – it’s passive aggressive. You either want to talk, or you don’t. She didn’t.


We agreed to go to the Eldridge to support Kelly, but the last thing I wanted to do was be around Jill, who was bouncing around on the banquette like a five-year-old. Simon took my wingman request as a directive to go right over to Jill and sit underneath her. LOL. I was not in the mood and it was the end of a long day, so I grabbed my man by the wings and vamoosed.

By the time Bethenny’s father died, there had been multiple reports of his illness, that he had retreated, and that he had let his staff go. It was online and on Google Alerts. I thought it was really disingenuous that Jill pretended not to be aware that he was dying. I thought it was pretty horrific that at 4pm that day, Jill texted me asking if I had heard he’d died. Yes, I knew. By 4pm, everyone knew. I didn’t appreciate getting a gossipy text about someone dying, particularly when Jill and I hadn’t spoken for weeks. I didn’t like it that Jill was being a nosy busybody, telling people how they should react and what they should be feeling (which she does all the time, to everyone) … and all the anger I felt toward her just spewed out. I asked Kelly to move; she wouldn’t. She insisted on staying between us. I couldn’t stop myself; I let Jill have it. I then got up, walked out and nearly took the wine glass with me – luckily I managed to give it back to Jen on the way out. Side bar – Jen’s apartment is beautiful – too bad we didn’t get to see more of it.

I don’t want to be back in high school – I don’t like to compete among women or friends, only in business. I put my family and work first, and I have never attacked anyone else’s husband or children. The same cannot be said for Jill. She needs to take a long, hard look in the mirror.

On that note, I’m racing out of here to go raise some $$ for Housing Works. Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there; hope it’s a great weekend!

Carole on Elitists and Bitches

Carole says what she really thinks of Aviva and all of her talk about her book and things being "ghetto."

Dear Fans,

Let me start with something I stole it from Twitter this week. "The most dangerous liars are those who think they are telling the truth."

I'll say it again. The blonde at the end of the right couch, the one who's prone to lobbing limbs and insults, is an Insulting. Bitch. Some of you didn't believe me. Maybe some of you still don't. But after watching the reunion shows I imagine it's harder and harder to cheer for the anti-hero. Just when you think she can't get any faker she does.

The story according to Aviva makes me laugh: We were arguing, she insulted me, I called her a psychopath and that prompted her to affectionately compliment me on my age. Sure. Her disdain for the intelligence of the audience is palpable. It was too stupid for me to even reply. But as I was watching the reunion, and particularly Aviva and the way she treats people, I was reminded of something my Grandma Millie used to say. (I love everything Grandma Millie used to say.) "At 25, you have the face you're born with. At 45 you have the face you deserve."

I'd rather be 50 and me than be 45 and Aviva, any day of the week. She aged worse this season than a president in his first term. Holy short dress, I don't mind at all how I look. Overbite and all. I'll take it.

When I first met Aviva she was lovely. Really lovely. I meant what I said on the couch, I wish we had seen more of that. Her easy laugh and funny neurotic ways. Instead all we saw was a mean and angry woman. All because I asked her if she hired a writer -- a writer she did hire. It makes no sense. Three years ago she told me she'd read my memoir, What Remains. This was a book published in 2006 about my childhood, my family, my career and marriage, and then the death of my husband, Anthony Radziwill. A man I loved more than anyone I had loved before or have loved since. She gushed over my book. She quoted from it. We hugged. She seemed so sincere. Flash forward and she now believes it was written by a ghostwriter. She even knew his name, and it wasn't Truman Capote. It was Bill Whitworth, she told me. She repeated this over and over to anyone who would listen. And it doesn't matter how many times she repeats it -- it will never make it true.

When they stopped listening she started saying in the press and on social media that not only was my book written by someone else but that it was not my place to have written a book about my life, and my marriage. And, as if I didn't remember, she reminded me that I'd written about people who had died. Um, yeah. I know. It was my husband and my family and my closest friend who died. Just. . .wow. But I wasn't important enough to tell my story because my husband's family was famous, or historic or whatever she said. Because they had money and privilege and yachts. Really. Who do I think I am?

I’ll tell you. I’m a girl from upstate New York who grew up in a loving, if sometimes kooky, Italian working class family. I worked for everything I earned, just like my parents did and their parents before them. I have a proud family history of hard work and small but precious rewards that followed. My family won't be in any history books. I didn't grow up privileged. We didn't spend summers in Europe or Christmas in Palm Beach. A day spent at the town pool or playing in the woods behind our house was great. Much like Heather, I was taught strong values and decent manners. I learned to live with integrity and honesty. I'm proud of my upbringing and the woman I became, as was my husband. As is his family to this very day. I've known people who lived in what Aviva would consider the "ghetto" who have more class and decency than she shows.

All this talk about class and ghetto -- you'd think we were living in communist Russia. Here is the thing. This is America. In our country it doesn't matter a lick where you are from, it only matters where you're going. So don’t let anyone tell you that you aren't good enough because you didn’t grow up on Park Avenue or in a family that had some history, or because you enjoy saying mother-f---er now and then. I’ve met people from all walks of life. I spent time in refugee camps in Southeast Asia, and in the projects of Chicago. I've been to State dinners with Presidents. I met the Queen of England on a beach in Anguilla. No one is any more valuable or important than you are. No one is more important than your family and your friends.

Let the elitists go slow into the night.

In spite of the BookGate dust up I had a great time this season. I made wonderful new friends in LuAnn and Kristen and my friendship with Heather is more special and important to me than I could have ever imagined just three years ago. Friends have each other's backs. I love her, madly. And while we didn't always act appropriately, we had a lot of laughs. I hope you did too.

Thank you all for your supportive and funny and brilliant tweets. And while we didn't all agree on everything all of the time I enjoyed your participation in the show. Even the mean tweets about my skinny neck and my overbite were amusing. Like I said, I've stolen some tweets already. You may see others as dialogue in my next book, and yes, you can all say you were my ghostwriters.

As always,

With love, Writer Girl xoxo

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