Cast Blog: #RHONY

The Singer Stinger

Episode 7: Bravotv.com's Editor relishes in the absurdity of bidet baths and mobile fights.

Before I even begin to recap this episode, I have to just address the general absurdity of this episode. I mean, the fine women of New York have really topped themselves. Has an episode every started as blissfully and strangely as hence, where are opening line is: “I’m going to ice my face, I gotta do this in the bidet” (and the way Sonja says “bidet” is incredible).

From there we learn an important lesson: there are three purposes for a bidet -- lingerie washing, face icing, and of course it’s explicit purpose.

I am just going to go on record now and say if there is any one in the world that does not love Sonja Morgan now, they have no soul at all. She is a divine creature sent from the cosmos to entertain us.

From there Carole accuses The Countess of stealing her look. This all happened in the first three minutes people. Seriously!

OK, back to your regularly scheduled recap. . .

No Woman is a Staten Island. . . Unless She Has a Vibrator
As I said we’re running at Ridiculous Level Orange, so it’s only fitting that Carole attempts to gently chide LuAnn for waking her up so early by threatening that she could have seen her pleasuring herself if she had arrived a little earlier. Yes. I believe that’s why wake up calls have become the more traditional way to wake people up. Surprisingly that bit of overshare doesn’t silence Lu. Nope it starts an episode long contest between Carole and LuAnn to see who could get that final word in. The Royal War ranged over a breadth of topics -- childbirth, competition, Valium -- and throughout a rousing Heathers-like game of croquet and to dinner. But speaking of croquet . . .

Brooklyn Nets Croquets
Ah croakie. What a sport right? It’s one of the few athletic events that allows you to wear full length gowns and sip champagne without impeding your ability to play in the slightest. Hence why lovely, jovial old-men in green pinstripe suits are perfect shamans of the sport -- this sport doesn’t favor the young.

Of course, this little game turned into a face-off between Lu and Carole, with Carole reigning triumphant in her fur shrug. I was just waiting to see LuAnn’s head in the grass Winona Ryder-style. It was seriously a little tense.

Brief pause: Sonja Morgan wants to tell you how to remove a glove sensually. . . Typical stuff around here.

And back, sports were also the topic at dinner, with Carole casually mentioning that she was also the star running back of her high school (to top LuAnn’s softball boasts). But it was when the topic of childbirth and writing comes up. LuAnn doesn’t care what Carole thinks about ugly babies, she believes childbirth is more difficult. And that’s the straw, when The Countess gets up for the bathroom the floodgates are opened. The women unload their thoughts and feelings on her attitude -- including a surprising grievance about her tall girl nature. Apparently she’s always rushing into rooms when it’s not her turn. I’d love to go to the video tape on this. I have not noticed her charging ahead as a tall person, but as a vertically challenged person I’m offended. We are literally always getting the short end of the stick so if the Countess isn’t respecting our stature, we need to talk.

When she returns Carole tries to cat her into confrontation. When that doesn’t work Heather just tells LuAnn point blank (when Carole and Sonja run to the loo). Instead that turns into a weird conversation about Ramona and cutting people out of her life. Oh well. . .

Queen of Pop Performance
Back in the States, it’s time for Aviva’s big anniversary get together. After calling in Ramona from the reserves to help plan a touch, and Sonja ensuring that the menu was perfect and the chairs were arranged in an appropriate non-committal fashion, all was right.

Err sort of. The women seemed to have a hard time finding food, but other then that the party seemed to be going swimmingly. Here Aviva and Reid are taking the stage while Sonja presents the musical guest. Oops, slight fumble on the stairs dismount for Aviva (and, no, it was her good legs fault). But she quickly recovers, and this musical act will surely smooth things over.

There's been a few strange performances in Housewives history, but this might near the top of my list. . .first there was all that hub-bub about the sound-check, then the touching, then the dancers. "Do it, do it now." Do what? Grind suggestively?

Thankfully, the couple's adorable speeches made up for the questionable song choice -- even if Aviva blew up his spot for calling in a speech writer.

Bronx is Burning. . . Don't Bother to Evacuate
Lesson learned: in case of emergency, keep calm and continue ordering a drink. Thanks for the fire safety tips, 'Wives! Vodka and club soda, with a splash of grapefruit please.

Manhattan Major Moment: The Traveling Confrontation
After all that lovey dovey goodwill, Heather starts gabbing with Mario. Surely this means the Cold War of Heather v. Ramona right? Nope, Ramona begins off the bat by accusing Heather of being a liar. After a quick one-two punch (verbally) Ramona walks off. But Heather's not having it. She's not finished with the Ramonacoaster until she's taken the full ride -- so she trots right after her. . .multiple times. They literally took the show on the road, which might be a first in 'Wives fights. I don't recall ever seeing ladies make such tracks mid-tiff.

In the most shocking twist, Ramona uses this moment to tell LuAnn that she'd rather fight with her any day. Well, that's a twist. They even hugged. Are your feet cold, because maybe hell just froze over.

Next week, things get more wonderfully zany when Aviva sets Sonja up on a date -- with her dad.

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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