Cast Blog: #RHONY

The Origin of the Species

Episode 5: Bravotv.com's Editor discusses internships, IVF, and frenemies.

Hello fashion-forward friends. Welcome back to London-gate. Let's sort this out before we hop across the pond next week, shall we.

Brooklyn Heather Goes Hard
After The Countess dubs someone "Gangsta Chic," one can't help but wonder just how deep that well of toughness goes. This week we find out just what Heather's made of as she deals with the hurls of Aviva re: the Ramona situation. On yet another Central Park bench the ladies discuss alliances and dirt bikes. Aviva doesn't want Heather to think she's "Team Anyone," but she does want Heather to know that maybe she's earned the "excluder" title. Heather's response -- BRING IT. She could literally give a s—t as she says. Yeah, I think that qualifies as "gangsta"

Heather's curious as to when "Avivies" (cutest nickname ever) became Ramona's butt buddy. I guess we'll figure out how deep their love is at the upcoming downtown shopping excursion.

Note, Heather's son Jax is also pretty gangster. Way to go kiddo.

The Art of Eastern (like Queens) Medicine
IVF, please, not for our Lu. She's going to get pregnant the old fashion way -- with acupuncture, Chinese herbs, and "lots of sex." Sadly, the Countess' jovial manner was lost on our dear needle doctor (is that a nickname for acupuncturists?) and she doesn't call Jacques immediately for more witty banter. (I would have, I love nothing more than when the Coutness gets a little bawdy.)

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

Luann, not taking the art of comedy lying down.

Thankfully while the Housewives and European wine jokes didn’t stir anything in the doctor, LuAnn felt the pins stir something in her ovaries, so all is not lost!

No Women is a Staten Island
Sonja Morgan is many things. She is newly a lover of bow blouses, a forgiver, a party planner, and most of all she is a shaman to the young career-focused generation. At a tete-a-tete with Aviva we learn that she's moved on from the whole Socialite Life hullabaloo, freeing up her fret schedule and thereby allowing her to cater Aviva and Reid's fifth anniversary party. But it's only mere days after she returns from London. Is there anyone who can help her?

As it turns out, there are. There's a veritable legion of interns at her disposal (one to three per day). Without these young upstarts, who would feed Sonja her vitamins? Who would cash her under $2 checks from American Express? Who would help her create the perfect Christian Mingle profile? And aren't they learning as well? Isn't the Sonja Morgan School of Hard Knocks a touchstone institution at which growing men and women can study and excel? Methinks so. Methinks so.

Bronx Love Pun? Or Princess Pun
Speaking of Christian Mingle and dating, here's Carole Radziwill on a date. Of course they meet at one of Sonja's parties. And now this international, fashion hound is taking our girl to drinks. If you'll remember Russ, they're totally open about seeing other folks. So it's NBD that she and this "rare species" are getting to know each other.

I personally think this guy is a keeper. He didn't Google her, he's a little funny in the bathroom, and he's focused on the present. What more can you ask for in a man? You rock that leopard jacket and this relationship Carole. You go girl!

Besides being a minx, Carole is also a princess. Oh did you not know? Yes that adorable bag of bones in the varsity jacket making sure that Ramona eats before she gets edgy and doesn't fall on steps is royalty. In an effort to keep Ramona from falling to far down a Heather-hatred hole, Carole changes the subject to her lineag, which always seems to work when I have a problem. I just change the subject to my role as a. . .nobody.

Manhattan Major Moment
And we finally arrive at our downtown shopping excursion. What Ramona didn't know, is that Heather had planned this as a makeover! Ramona is not feeling this idea from the get-go. She likes her "satin strapless thing" just fine, thanks Heather. She doesn't want your s--t kicking shoes (I guess Heather has those because she "doesn't give a s--t" as we earlier asserted). After the fashion intervention does not go as planned, Ramona pulls Heather aside for an intervention of her own. She’s ready to clear the air once and for all about London.

Unfortunately for Aviva, that conversation begins with Ramona telling Heather that she heard she was upset about the "talking too much comment." Yikes. Did someone ask for a bus? Because the one that Aviva just got thrown under is here.

At the end of the day, Heather lays it out -- she just doesn't like Ramona. Burn. Ramona doesn't want to be Heather'’s friend until she starts being "real" -- however one wonders if she does get real and just tells R she doesn't like her how that could pan out. Then maybe they could be the kind of friends that just don’t like each other. Those friendships exist right?

After a clothing break, Carole shines some good news down on her fellow 'Wives. Her novel is potentially being turned into a TV show. Everyone is so excited, particularly Ramona who pogo sticks over to mention that she's going to have her wine in Target. Well that's good too. Everyone wins.

Next week the women finally make it to London. What will Aviva and Ramona do while their friends and frenemies are away? How many questions will Ramo have about A's leg? What does Heather lose her mind about? What are Heather's new glasses? Leave your guess 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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