Cast Blog: #RHONY

The Beautiful and the Damned

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

The Beautiful and the Damned

Carole begs for rehab and asserts that Ramona and Aviva's fight is Top 3 in Housewife History.

Today is F. Scott Fitzgerald’s birthday. He had a lot of friends and trust me, they all drove drunk. He was a wiz, too, with metaphor so I think I’ll borrow his words.

“[Real Housewife] quarrels are bitter things. They’re not like aches or wounds, they’re more like splits in the skin that won’t heal because there’s not enough material.”

I know what he’s talking about -- I don’t have enough material for this blog. Do you get the feeling you’ve read it all before? Same stuff, different scene. I’ve got George buying potency wood, Sonja too upset to hang her coat, Heather strutting her Yummie with skill, Robin Pocker of the Pocker pictures pocketing paintings with her crew, Aviva giving spelling lessons and. . .well, whatever. That penthouse is really high up.

This will be short and “Areyoukiddingme” will be happy. She likes a short blog. She mentioned it, by comment, circa Episode 13. She said “Good God, Carole,” and you defended me. Thank you, defenders. #letsstay2gether

Sonja, The Ex and Dorian Grey
Sonja is so upset after the non-meeting with her J. P. Morgan that she can’t bear to hang her coat. Her friends are in Palm Beach, or Lifer Key, or else lunching and Sonja can’t even keep her house. She has bills to pay and a toaster oven to make, and Mr. Morgan is not at all interested in her décolletage.

Sonja doesn’t know where it went wrong. She was everything in the kitchen; everything in the bedroom. Hmmm. . .I see the problem now. I wish they’d come to me. You can’t cook for heads of state in a toaster oven, it’s limiting, as are dogs and friends and interns in your bed. I didn’t try those sorts of things when I was married, but as a rule, I don’t think they work.

Sonja has turned a corner on friends and husbands. She’s taking down the portraits that the Queen Mother’s painter painted. Oh boy. Nothing sincere can come after that statement. Here it comes: The Morgans are American royalty. Yes, royalty who charge us $3 to use their ATMs. There’s an Aristocrat for you. (Cheap!) No wonder he hasn’t kept to his pre-conception agreement.

I know what it’s like to lose everything, and then start over again all alone. It’s daunting. But Sonja has a lot going for her; I think she’ll be just fine. She’s young, has her health, supportive friends, plenty of opportunity, and a beautiful daughter. She has more than most. She also, apparently, still has quite a few homes. She’ll feel better once the painting is down. It’s just an old painting.

Aside: Did you hear the phone ring in this scene? Ramona is the Marimba ringtone on Sonja’s iPhone. If I had an iPhone I’d make her the Trill -- direct and to the point.

Heather is Yummie
$400,000 for one organ? Wow. I’m not an organ donor, but now I’m going to be. Everything but my heart -- it’s taken some hits, it’s mostly scar tissue now. I think I’m going to have my heart buried with me. Me and my heart on a hilly green knoll under big shady elm trees. My tombstone will read “She Was Something. . .” Unless any of you come up with something else. Tweet me.

It’s really amazing, the work Heather does to raise money for transplants. Like with Jake. Remember when Aviva helped get Jake running legs? It’s so humbling to see kids like that -- like Heather’s son Jax -- who need legs and new livers, and still smile so big with their great big hearts. It puts pinot and pirates in perspective. Having a son who almost died is sobering. Maybe this is why Heather is so grounded. Maybe this is why she has a Cheshire cat smile.

M-E-TA-P-H-O-R meet R-A-M-O-N-A
When Bravo does a montage (have they already folks?) of the Top 10 Fights of Housewife History, I’ll bet this scene is number three. I’d put it against anything Miami comes up with this season.

Aviva shows up with her petticoat cinched tight and a bun the size of the Starship Enterprise. Ramona’s weapons are concealed, behind sunglasses, but she matches Viv blow for blow until Viv gets weak and lets her guard down. That’s when Ramona looses her dagger eyes and Aviva fires back in a hailstorm of lashes. I think Heather should slow jam Aviva’s lashes, and I think Ramona should have to carry a permit for those eyeballs.

If this were one of the Rocky films, Aviva would be Drago (assuming Drago has gone to Vassar.) Ramona’s not quite fresh for battle, like in Rocky I, but she’s the odds favorite against Aviva, who I guess would be Russia. It’s Chamomile vs. Earl, Red vs. Gray, The Bun vs. The Bunny; Clash of the Upper East Side Titans.

Can you drive someone to diarrhea, is that how you get it? Does herbal tea cause verbal diarrhea? Does anyone know about this?

“I didn’t lose it, I was disgusted by you.”

“Let’s not lose it today.”

“You run away from people.”

“No, I just don’t like to have fights.”

“You ruined the trip.”

“YOU ruined the trip.”

“You slept naked in a spoon-shape.”

“You made me change my underwear.”

“You are my problem.”

“Lies. Lies. Lies.”

I don’t know about Ramona and Sonja and LuAnn, but I would love to go to rehab. I’d start addicting this very minute if it would get me a team of Swiss doctors to analyze me all day. I want 28 days of shuffling from group therapy to nap time. 28 days to talk about myself, and the ladies, and the day we vowed not to be mean girls and how things really took a turn that day at lunch when we first talked about Heather talking. I want to talk about the crumb tray that never appeared, the Italians who didn’t show, the parade that never was. . .oh, boy, do I want to talk.

Charity starts at Home
Here’s the high penthouse and here is Robin again. Remember Robin from the War of the Rose Lipstick Fight? She was the one who hates fake. She hates it. Hates fake. I hate fake too, except in eyelashes and Fendi baguettes.

And then. . .here comes George. Is he dropping off checks or is he asking me to dinner? George should not have come, but he did, then he left. It wasn’t the right place for apologies. The cameras didn’t catch it but he was rattled. Heather and I noticed it. For all his bluster he is uninitiated in the ways of Housewife Warfare. He seemed confused. I got him a glass of water then I walked him out and used Sonja’s hug therapy to calm him. Then I drank a fifth of Petron.

I don’t often get called to do it, but I can escort an elderly man from an awkward charity scene with some dignity. I didn’t just fall off the potato truck either.

I’ll see you later, I’m going to rehab for the week. And I’m talking.

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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