Cast Blog: #RHONY

The Midas Touch

Bravotv.com's Associate Editor plays both the White and Black Swan to this week's episode.

Hello my sweet girls (and boys),

I hope you're all decked in your black or white swan outfits and ready to perform the burlesque routine you wrote for yourself. Because I’ve brought along a Silence of the Lambs birdcage and Snidely Whiplash as the MC to ensure you have everything you need for your show.

Queens in a burlesque store

Thank baby Jesus, Sonja’s amazing fur hat is back! She wears it to Patricia Fields. I would have preferred she wear the hat for the actual performance, but she goes with something incredibly more exciting. Sonja teaches us a lot about burlesque on this shopping trip. We learn that burlesque is all about self-mockery, that that mannequin is only gardening, and that being 40 is at least better than being 70 or dead. Also Avery is there, to pepper each corset pick up with strong laments of disgust. Also in the store that day: Sonja’s drag twin. They say everyone has a doppelganger in the world, and wouldn’t you know it Lady Morgan’s evil (or good) twin is a drag queen that works in the basement of Patricia Fields. These are things that happen on RHONY that shouldn’t surprise us at all.

Bronxville and a bagel

Did you really think that Jill Zarin was just going to send Ally a care package at college? Or that she’d go visit Ally without bringing Ginger? Of course not. So when Jill arrives at college she grills Ally on all the important matters -- the contents of her quesadillas, the basis of her vegetarianism, Spanish filmmaking, and her desire to be a sex columnist. Yup, little Ally Zarin wants to be the next Kinsey. Jill’s obviously supportive, but perhaps there’s a job as a hand-holding columnist Ally would be more suited for? Could she take a position researching a cure for cooties instead? After lunch Jill attempts to put the kibosh on the sex columnist idea by buying Ally a turtleneck. Mothers are the best.

Also having some quality time are LuAnn and Victoria, as they cruise around a snowy Hamptons parking lot, and Ramona and Avery, who are having a light lunch and school project review session. I love that Ramona has an Avery folder. It’s a little disappointing it’s not a Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper, but I’m sure if Avery asked for it Ramona would give her one. While Avery reads from her inspiration paper (Ramona’s 54), Victoria takes a couple of rough turns and nearly buzzes a wooden staircase. It was super precious seeing both sides of the 16 year old coin, the part that loves their mother and the part that desperately cannot drive. Call your mother, folks.

The No Woman is a Staten Island So Have Chris March Tell You How to Wear a Corset Award Goes to. . .

Sonja continues the prep work for her big performance, this time calling in Chris March to help with the costuming – particularly figuring out how to wear a corset. The sweetheart part goes upwards, to cover your wonky nipples (thanks for sharing with us Sonja). And then Ramona arrives to watch the rehearsal, complete with crudité. Is she talking about the other ladies? A Lady Morgan never tells?

Meanwhile Kelly and LuAnn go out on the town to discuss men and try to teach Kelly to drink cocktails beside beer. New BFF alert! Consensus: when in doubt shake royalty’s hand and add water to your too strong cocktail.

Brooklyn beats up the beat

Well I don’t know about you guys, but I had my jelly beans and pinot ready to see LuAnn back in the studio. And the track to me does not disappoint (watch the finished music video, if you haven’t treated yourself to that joy yet). Jill thinks it could be a bit more dancey (and since she’s the strength behind “Money Can’t Buy You Class” everyone should listen). I do agree with Jill that there should be more dance, not because I don’t think there’s enough, but really there should always be more. More dance, more dance. And of course a music video, which seems to be a point of contention for the ladies. Manhattan Major Performance

After learning about Sonja's dog's (and friend's) bladder control issues, it's time for burlesque! I highly recommend that everyone peruse the photos of the party to fully appreciate the moustaches, particularly Mario’s Snidely Whiplash ‘stache, and Jill Zarin’s tiny hat. It seems that very tiny hat was filled with goodwill, because for the sake of the group Jill and Simon managed to bury the hatchet (and thankfully not the tiny hat) and agree to never mean tweet again.

After a performance by a professional (a topless professional), Sonja takes the stage. It behooves you to watch the entire performance, jealous b---ches and all. My personal favorite part: the color commentary from Jill and Cindy. I’m not sure the phrase "Sucking a golden d—k doesn't either" will grace a Bravo t-shirt anytime soon, but a girl can dream right?

Until next week when we finally make it to Atlantic City to create the "Chic" video. Here’s hoping your next week is c’est bon and snitch free.

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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