Cast Blog: #RHONY

That Hoochie Coochie Movement

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

That Hoochie Coochie Movement

Episode 10:'s Editor tries to make sense of LuAnn's seasonal shindig and Sonja's business team.

Happy Holidays RHONY fans. It's Christmas in August in Housewives land. With LuAnn hosting a fete that required Santa head headbands and, apparently, a reckoning for Jacques' claims of love. Let's recap shall we.

The Queens of Business
We open with a toaster oven summit at Sonja's abode. But Heather's biz dream team (which is only slightly shorter than our Olympic version) is shocked to find another person has been invited to the United Convection Oven Nations -- Ramona. (Aside: did the photographer remind anyone else of Ted Mosby of How I Met Your Mother, or was it just me?)

Heather isn't exactly pleased to find this, but she'll move on if she must. Ramona, unsurprisingly, has questions about everything, and Sonja doesn't believe they came to a definitive decision at the last meeting. It's all very intense, with Ramona answering the phone and accusations about mind sieves and fights about brawny, shirtless men holding toaster ovens. Woof.

Later at Heather's shoot, the gals multi-task with LuAnn and Sonja stopping by to talk toaster ovens again. Team Heather questions Ramona's knowledge as a "lunch friend" and continue the stalemate of what's happening with Sonja's logo. Heather ostensibly tries to end their business relationship, but Sonja just isn't having it. It makes you wonder how she ever got divorced, since she can talk her way still into any relationship. At the end of the day Sonja gets exactly what she wants -- minus one point, she can't bring any curveballs/lunch friends/Ramonas to the set. Lady Morgan the master negotiator! What can't she do?

Brooklyn Natives
Over dinner at Le Cirque with everyone (minus Heather, Ramona's idea. . .) the ladies gab about Aviva's more blissful times with Harry, and quaff wine like the knowledgeable vinos they are. Sonja's hat here requires note. This woman has not met a fascinator that she can't dominate. Plus it provides a perfect distraction when talk of Harry gets out of control.

Thankfully the convo shifted away from former flames that have slept with half the table to LuAnn's heritage. However, some people (cough, Carole) were less than pleased with all the savage talk.

Also if times were different, and LuAnn was back in the scalping times, I would have been vastly afraid of her. The Countess would have made Pocahontas look like quite the pushover.

Turning the topic away from stereotypes and violent, Trail of Tears times, Mario brings out some fine wines. He turns the vino trick from Jacques trick around on the man himself, and forces him to expound on his area of knowledge. After he passes that test, Mario brings up the burgundy elephant in the room and goes right for the jugular -- he asks him point blank not to pull another trick like that on his wife. LuAnn takes that delightful moment to excuse herself. Thankfully some sort of peace treaty was brokered in her absence, effectively carrying our Native American metaphor over into a pilgrim/Thanksgiving situation for the rest of dinner.

Rumble in the Bronx
After a delightful glimpse at the man himself, Harry Dubin (who, as it turns out is a budding pig cartoon entrepreneur), it's time for LuAnn's Life and Style Christmas party. As LuAnn is handing out Santa ears (yes, those exist) Ramona has a little bone (or should we say bottle) to pick with her. It seems that whole pinot prank from the other night is still not vino under the bridge. Ramona still feels upset because people keep telling her to feel upset, and even though she's trying to be Ramona 2.0 (kinder, gentler, less vehemently angry with LuAnn), it ain't working.

It's not so much of a fight as much as it is Ramona loudly proclaiming that she's "letting this one go." Basically just let the record show that according to Ramona she's "holding the fifth." She is going to take that fifth and hang on to it LuAnn, so if you need it, she's got it. Or something like that.

No Sonja is a Staten Island
Babies. They're apparently the first thought that leaps to the mind of the divorced. Or so Sonja thinks. Over a casual lunch with Lu, the topic of offspring comes up. Sonja shares that she sadly had a miscarriage and you start to understand what exactly makes our girl tick. There's a soft core beneath our bawdiest broad.

Sonja has some doubts about the whole idea of Lu having a baby. She wants it to happen for the right reasons, as it's not all baby toes and soft fingers. The Bjorn LuAnn!?! Did you think of the Bjorn?!?

And so at the shindig, Sonja can't help but launch into some questions about the whole ordeal. When Jacques comes over to steal a smooch from his gal, Sonja sort of blows a gasket. That kiss! She's got some qualms about it. Sonja doesn't believe it. It being the whole love affair, his intentions, their future as parents. Do French people really want babies? TELL HER JACQUES. The Bjorn!?!

In the end Sonja is coming from a real, fragile place, and just wanting the best for Lu. Maybe it would have been better to have that little tete-a-tete in a private corner or just to have slipped a stern note into Jacques stocking, but the "Can you be serious" cat is out of the bag now. . .

Manhattan Major Moment
Besides fifth holding and childbirth interventions, this is a Christmas party of course. And we can't forget the reason for the season -- an excuse for a musical revue. LuAnn asked the ladies to sing back up for a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells," and lyrical difficulties aside (Aviva, how can you not know the lyrics to that song, I believe even the Hanukah celebrators are intimately familiar) the whole gang climbs on stage to sing. And then things get weird.

Like "hoochie coochie movment" weird. I agree with Sonja. "I'm sure a part of The Countess died that night because that was definitely not in the book of etiquette." I know a childlike part of me died upon hearing that particular additional stanza to the song. At least it left me with my new reaction to anything unseemly: I'll do just as LuAnn did, yell "Christmas songs!" at the top of my lungs until it stops.

Next week it begins -- the planning for what will surely be the most epic RHONY trip ever, St. Barths. Until then, what do you think the band would have played next if LuAnn hadn't stopped them? "Up on the Housetop"? "Silent Night"? Leave your guesses for additional Christmas covers they could crank out in the comments.

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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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