Cast Blog: #RHONY

How to Succeed in Business Without Having a Notepad

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

How to Succeed in Business Without Having a Notepad

Episode 3: Bravotv.com's Editor discusses facial yoga, Cipro, and skateboards.

Hello RHONY fans. I hope you have enough mimosas and Cipro to handle all that this episode has to offer. Let's recap shall we?

The Bronx is Burning But Aviva Has Cipro
After a delightfully boozy brunch spent discussing doing a little Carole (which, according to Aviva, just means wearing leather shorts -- get your minds out of the gutter), more of Harry Dubin's former conquests, and whether happy folks get pushed in front of trains, the ladies head to a rooftop bar to grab a drink.

This sounds simple enough -- but it's not. Our darling Aviva has some issues. But as she admits, she's got a pretty good excuse: "Because I lost my leg being trapped in a conveyer belt, I'm just always afraid of being trapped in other kinds of machines." I don't think there's any way you can accuse the woman of being too careful now. Take all the hazmat suits and antibiotics you want, love. You earned it?

Also re: this brunch, I love so much that Sonja ate before she came. I feel you lady! Sometimes I just want to strap on the old feedbag in my own home.

However, one precaution she's less than worried about is a wedding band on her fellow. Apparently that might have a reverse effect, in Aviva's mind. Reid wants to know who would hit on him? Anyone with a love of Hush Puppies, "I can finish the job" shirts, and quilted vests says Sonja, and I agree. He was working a look. Plus, as we see later, he's excellent at teaching children how to pretend shave. What a charmer!

A Baby Grows in Brooklyn
In other news, LuAnn is pondering if she'll be living Chic C'est La Pregnant sometime soon. Has Fertile Myrtle wandered too far off-course though?

At least Victoria thinks the baby would be good looking.

Also, LuAnn on a skateboard. As if i wasn't going to include that gem.

The Queens of Business
Next we're treated to one of my favorite things -- seeing Ramona Singer at work. Yes, Sonja has stopped by the office to discuss her new business ventures. Sonja swirls about speaking of costumes, crumb trays, and guest lists. However, Ramona wants to drive this bus with the eye for industry she's always had -- which means Sonja, really, really needs to get a notebook.

/p>

The secret to Ramona's success is notepads. Get me twenty!

Sonja does get a second opinion from Ramona's nemesis, Heather Thomson. She has some delightful advice -- and a proposition. Why don't the ladies jaunt off to London? They'll be able to drink in the day time and it won't matter. Hoorah!

Staten Island of Love
Ramona and Mario and Carole, sitting in a tree? F-l-i-r-t-i-n-g. I know, I know, it's a less elegant song, but how precious was their effervescent dinner? Carole in her wintery best, beers flowing like wine, Italian phrases punctuating the air, Carole debating how long she has left to pull off a 20 year marriage. . .

And while we already found the secret to Ramona's business success, we squeeze out another mystery this episode. It seems the reason their marriage has lasted so long is that she loves his fragrance. I've never smelled Mario, but now it's literally all I can imagine! What is the smell that holds Ramona's attention for so long? What could it be? Is it oaky with an attentive top note? Musky with a hint of boyish good looks?

Manhattan Major Moment
After all of that hullabaloo about wedding rings, Aviva decides to take Mrs. TrueFaith herself to pick out a band for her man. However, as it's wont to do, a speakerphone call sends the whole afternoon into a tizz. It seems Heather isn't inviting Ramona across the pond, and now that Aviva spoke to Mrs. YumTum over the communal call, the cat is out of the bag.

Surely this will be addressed at the jewelry launch party all the ladies are invited to, after of course the topic of facial yoga is discussed.

real-housewives-of-new-york-season-5-pho

Yes, this is the secret to eternal youth says Manhattan's elite. And I was worried I'd have to enter into some sort of Death Becomes Her-style agreement to keep the inklings of attractiveness I have. At least I'm not blonde (Aviva said they don't age well, but I'm not sure that's how aging works).

Anyway, once the goodie bags have been tended and LuAnn and Ramona have managed to not maim each other, the goodwill continues. Ramona decides to clear the air with Heather, and extend her apologies over that whole departed dad debacle.

After a brief discussion of bubble baths with Harry, perfect prototypes (the second was about toaster ovens), and very dead plants (she loved it to death, which coincidentally is the name of another early '90s movie I adore. Stop playing to everything in my wheelhouse ladies!) Ramona waltzes over and apologizes.

Heather seems thrilled with the apology, so hopefully this is the road to recover for these two. Perhaps all will work well and the gang will be riding a double-decker bus together in no time. . .

Or perhaps not by the looks of our previews.

But now I put the cause to you: would you have asked Ramona on the trip if you were Heather? Would you have a baby with Jacques and teach him to skateboard? Do you have a doomsday kit in your apartment that includes faux razors for your children to entertain themselves in the case of rolling blackouts? Leave your thoughts in the comments.

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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