Cast Blog: #RHONY

Pick a Little, Talk a Little

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

Pick a Little, Talk a Little

Where does Bravotv.com's Associate Editor land in the "pecking order"? She ponders such questions and the episode's other highlights.

Hello my little Bravo birds. What's clucking?

What a tangled nest we weave/build? It 'twas a week of tete-a-tetes. Everyone was trying to air their grievances this week -- though it didn't always work out (did you see Ramona's dine and dash?). And like Jill's tiny, clip-on koala, sometimes the ladies came back together, but sometimes like Sonja's toaster oven sole, the friendships shriveled up to a smaller size.

The Queens of Hearts and Also Toaster Ovens

You know who's good at baseball? Sonja Morgan! She might not be the greatest hitter, or a fastest runner, but she can throw a pitch while wearing an amazingly short skirt and picking up Mr. January. If this was the World Series of Love Sonja would take the pennant (baseball terms!).

But not only is she a star athlete flirt, she's a master chef. Finally we see Sonja making a toaster oven meal worthy of The Countess. And she went all in, cooking up some delicious sole meuniere. I adore her ability to be the Julia Child of toaster ovens, but even more I adored LuAnn's constant questioning of her order of operations. Are you going to cut the tips off of that asparagus or what Sonja?

Staten Island-inspired Jewelry

The Countess also had some questions about Ramona's business ventures. While Ramo has branched out from her True lines into the world of wine, LuAnn's not so sure she's done her homework -- mainly because she struggles a bit with pronouncing the region her pinot hails from. Ramona herself admits that it took her two months to learn just how it all worked, which I can understand as someone who took 2 years of college Italian. It's no breeze.

Also not the Countess' fav, Ramona's jewelry line. But I think anyone that's seen the major statement necklaces she rocks would know she's not a fan of the delicate pieces Ramona was showcasing. Watching her reactions to Ramona's jewelry was perhaps the highlight of my week. New life goal: take the Countess shopping with me and only hold up the most atrocious clothes I can find, then watch her face as she tries to feign adoration for the monstrosities.

A Piano Plays in Brooklyn

If there's a moment at the McCord/Van Kempen grotto, it's always a winner in my book. And this little interlude did not disappoint, bringing the glamor I would expect of their well-designed home. What did you get for your birthday last year? Was it a brand new piano and an accomplished pianist going to town on it? I didn't think so. I got a card and some socks (I needed those socks, though). Francois wasn't as impressed with Alex and Simon's gift -- most likely because he wasn't allowed to touch it. I hope he used that piano to soundtrack the Alex/Jill reunion with a few meaningful songs. Perhaps that Timbaland/One Republic jam?

The Bronx Grudge Is Burning

I know I just used that trick week before last, but this episode has an actual fire so it makes the link applicable. If Jill Zarin is hoofing it to Brooklyn you know it's going to end in arson, good or bad. Thankfully this time was good, as she and Alex not just buried the hatchet, but burned -- or rather it smoldered -- it. Pre-blaze, there was a bit of trouble. Jill had a hard time complimenting Alex without also insulting her, which is fair because she was very nervous. Would Alex lapse back into her messenger persona? And for a moment Alex seemed completely anti-Jill. I fretted that the whole luncheon would be a bust -- excepting the delicious chicken and rice Alex whipped up, that looked banging. But then the ladies broke-through! Peace had washed over the valley! And they cemented it with a Kelly Killoren Bensimon-forgiveness-original: the pen to paper airing of grievances. Though on Scary Island, Kelly never mentioned burning it. As the embers smoldered on that tiny grill, the beef was squashed. . .for now at least.

Manhattan Major Moment

There was a minor moment  in this week's episode that really stole my heart: the reemergence of Ginger (and Jill, too!) in Central Park. It was such a New York thing that the gals would run into each other in the park, and seeing Ginger roaming free just warmed my little soul. Man can that nugget run.

But there was another moment that Jill was a part of that won the honor of tops, tops, tops!

Sonja's Ramona impression! We always knew Ms. Morgan had a flair for the dramatic, but she really outdid herself this time. She had Ramona down to a tee. Close your eyes and tell me you don't belive it.

Jill's Ramona was also pretty impressive. It's great to have Lady Zarin back. And next week she and Ramona go head-to-head. I'm nervous and more than a little excited.

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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