Cast Blog: #RHONY

Coma Toast

Episode 13:'s Editor does the unthinkable -- she tries to recap all of the 'Wives antics from the first leg of their St. Barth's trip.

St. Barths, St Barts, St. Barth's. However you spell it, it's happening now! We've waited for eons for its splendor, and now it's finally time. Our favorite NYC women (minus Aviva for now), hopped into the tiny plane and made it to the bougiest place in the Caribbean. I'll abandon my NYC-centric wrap up this week in favor of simply choosing the most pinnacle, amazing, delightful moments that nearly left me "coma toast."

However, as a recapper, that task is harder than usual. There are simply too many morsels of joy in this episode. There are too many amazing retorts, cries for pool toys, sparkly dances, and shocking twists for me to get my tiny arms around. I’m going to try for you my babies. Because I am inspired. Like LuAnn I am not some regular pirate woman -- I am above and beyond.

Moonin' Around with Ramonja
After finding that Carole has stayed at this very locale before, and more importantly finding that Jean-Baptiste and Tony are up to Sonja's standards of hot service men, the ladies begin to settle in.

The house is insane! Maybe the most delightfully ridiculous destination in Housewives history -– two pools, plenty of noodles, really divine sleeping quarters with insane views. Of course the Bobbsey Twins lay claim on the master suite, because they need their room to “moon around.” Never was a more apt description uttered. These two can moon around with the best of them, showering, dancing in the mirror (as we later see), having private cocktail hours. It’s best to keep them conveniently located, plus didn’t we all see Ramona propose? It’s serious.

If you need more brief, please watch this bonus clip of Ramonja unpacking/mooning around.

And then Heather breaks her nose. There is a thing as having too nice of quarters, because Heather just rammed herself right into those expensive glass doors. Those spectacular views will tantalize you right into the glass Heather, just like a sweet, delicate baby bird. Thankfully, LuAnn the nurse was on deck to administer her medical advice -- a favor Heather would repay by directing a hungover LuAnn to protein later in the episode.

Ah Carole is correct, the greatest feature of the villa is a wine vending machine. This magical machine dispenses wine in convenient breast-sized portions, leading us to what I think is the second most startling reveal of this episode -- apparently breasts that are unable to fit in wine glasses are simply too much. I worry that there is a lot of disparity in wine glass sizes, but I do take comfort knowing that pretty much universally by wine-glass standards I still fit Sonja’s definition of a properly sized boob. What about you dear readers? Have you ever shoved your bossoms into a wine glass and found your cup runneth over?

Sonja also teaches us something important about employment. Don’t fire anyone until you know if Sonja wants to f--k him.

Of course, there aren’t enough hot waiters in the world to stop the toaster over castara, and the gals all make various excuses to get up from the table so Sonja and Heather can hash it out. Thankfully before too long the argument cycles back around to the important thing –- how hot and not-gay logo man James is –- and things seem almost calm when Carole’s manfriend Russ arrives.

Of course, Ramona puts on perfect behavior, and Sonja is her charming self so there was no need for Carole to be nervous. How could Russ have not adored this batch of loons?!? Of course, the other gals all begin to pine for their fellers and give Radzi some grief. However she’s not having it. She is always with their husbands so y’all just shut it! This was a rendezvous.

Sonja Day
To keep anyone from feeling too planny, each wife will take a turn planning a day. Day 2 is Sonja day, which means the "it" beach, pink champagne, and trying to restrain Ramona from taking a “Japanese tourist” number of photos. After the proper number of banana rum shots, we uncover a new mystery (Carole used to date Clooney!), wonder if Ramona has spookish, and ponder just how many men are inside the restaurant that Sonja would like to meet.

Soon enough it’s nightfall giving Sonja and Ramona reason to do a little preparty bathroom dancing (they even let LuAnn join). It’s good to practice. You just want to make sure you’re going to look tops once you’re in action. Plus “we have a party no matter where we go” is the Ramoja mantra. They'll get their wish to dance on a sturdy table soon enough.

We arrive at the bar and meet the very handsome Tomas. Tomas looks just like Johnny Depp, in case you didn’t hear LuAnn mention it. Under the influence of Tomas and tequila the ladies join the show, with Ramona quickly mounting a stage and then the ladies getting into full pirate garb for a special performance of their own.

As our favorite pirates contort their bodies and force their pelvises to walk the plank, we notice that LuAnn isn’t as integrated into the dance scene as the other ladies. She is off looking for special treatment. She’s “not like your other pirate women, OK?” She’s “not just any pirate woman.” She’s The Countess people and a member of the Native American community OK. Don’t mess with her!

The Hangover
The next morning LuAnn is feeling a touch worse for wear. Heather tries to help her to get some coffee and eggs, but it seems Ms. Thomson has some questions about what led her to this egg-desperate state. Was it her Italian friends? Not so say the ladies. You see Carole heard two men’s voices -- LuAnn’s and someone speaking French . . .

But before we get to that let’s talk about hungover Sonja. Just to clarify her delicate condition was not at the hands of Ramona -- they sleep on separate sides of the bed people, so don't blame Ramona if Sonja wakes up worse for wear. She’s “coma toast” at her own hand. At her own, banana-rum/tequila/pink champagne holding hand.

LuAnn calls her regular Frenchman Jacques to discuss how much fun she had the eve before. But the women are very curious about exactly what went down. And Detective Singer is on the case. Only briefly distracted by how she’s going to prevent Reid from sleeping there, she is hot on the trail of finding out who LuAnn was hanging out with in the early morning hours.

LuAnn maintains it was her group of Italian friends, before making a quick call to her friend Cat to keep a lid on the fact that Tomas did come to the house last night.

Of course, because you invite a hundred people to a party and the only one that shows up is the one you are trying to keep a secret –- Tomas shows up to the house for the gals’ party with literally one other person (LuAnn’s friend Cat).

Next week Aviva arrives, with Reid of course, so we shall see if Ramona and Co. allow him to stay there. But before all that, please leave your favorite moment of St. Barths, Part 1 in the comment. Was it the pool toys? The wine dispenser? Tomas?

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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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