Cast Blog: #RHONY

Welcome to My Life

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

Welcome to My Life

Aviva admits she failed as a matchmaker and defines "wet" for Ramona.

My father is so embarrassing and Ramona is so controlling. Welcome to my life.

When people travel, they forget things. Some forget a toothbrush, a blowdryer, or even their favorite earrings. I forgot my swimming leg. Is it my age? The blonde hair? The four kids? How could I forget something so important?

Arriving to Ranjana's pool, I was about to turn back because I feel like I am going to fall off the roof due to high anxiety. As the dizziness and vertigo have sufficiently set in, Ramona luckily distracts me by putting a LOT of focus on my swimming situation. Not sure if that was a blessing or a curse? Her behavior certaintly got me out of my own head fast.

Here I am about to get into a pool with a bunch of women and Ramona starts to go on and on about whether or not I should go swimming. Then as soon as I am in the pool, Ramona soon enough is insisting that I get out of the pool because my leg is going to get too wet? Once something is wet, it's wet. . .Am I missing something here? Ranjana certainly didn't! This trip caused me to get somewhat annoyed with Ramona. She was controlling my swimming activities, the dinner party food flow, the dinner party conversation, and even threw me out of a bathroom in my own home. I was disappointed and and my patience was lessening. . .

Sonja is baffling. She talks about sex at Ranjana's pool. She is talking about showering and sleeping in bed with Ramona. She doesn't wear underwear with short dresses and flashes our husbands constantly. Did you see her flirting with the contractor at her house and laying on the bed a few weeks ago ? I am wondering about the authenticity of this sexuality. Is it all talk? Is it an act for attention?

I was excited to set Sonja up with my dad. Sonja's ex-husband was 30 years her senior so there was no age issue here. (Her ex-husband is about 80 years old) She seems to have a tolerance for inappropriate characters such as Ramona, her BFF, and my father is quite unfiltered. My reasoning to set Sonja up with my dad were thought through. . . What was the worst that could happen? A one-night stand? I am sure it wouldn't be the first time for either of them.

Did you see when we were walking towards the hot tub, Ramona asked me if my dad thinks we were all crazy??? I was more worried that the ladies would think he was crazy. Bottom line -- we are all nuts.

My father is my father. He is he only one I have. Don't be totally taken by his horn-dog animations. He is a fiercely protective father. Growing up he was a a providing, nurturing, caring, loving, and protective dad. He was a wonderful husband to my mother. Throughout their marriage, they were madly in love and devoted to one another. My German, stunning mother was the elegance and grace that balanced his roughness.

Overall while my dad and Sonja did not have a love connection, everyone laughed and had a great time. Looks like my father may have fancied Carole a bit more. (Thank goodness that raunchy comment by my father landed on Carole. She is always so calm and collected and let's a great deal roll off her back.) I think that Sonja handled my father like a trooper, as well. I appreciate that Sonja was so good natured with my fathers antics. . .Maybe I just don't have a future as a matchmaker. . .

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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