Carole Radziwill: Make Reality Great Again!

Find out which Housewife reminds Carole of Donald Trump...

 

Sometimes I think I'm the only one with a sense of humor in the group. Blogs are nothing more than a personal meandering diary for public consumption -- a narcissist’s dream. So you can imagine when bloggers take themselves -- and their blogs -- seriously, it’s super annoying. The best bloggers have tongue planted firmly in cheek. The ones written with a sense of humor, like me. This week’s blog is no exception. Please take a swig of your dirty martini every time I say “ass.” Get it? It’s comedy. #zerof---s 

Okay, here we go… Last season Luann was up my ass about my relationship with Adam and now she’s up my ass about my friendship with Bethenny. I can’t seem to get Luann out of my ass.

“I saw Bethenny a lot this summer,” Luann laments to her new roommate, Sonja.“When Carole wasn’t trying to pull her away.”


“When did those two become fast friends?” Sonja asks. As if making friends isn’t something we’ve all been doing since kindergarten.

“Since she moved into her anus.” Luann retorts as she checks her reflection in the mirror.

I assume, since you’re reading this, that you watched the show last week and this week, right? You heard Bethenny -- Luann stalked her all summer. She invited B. to every party and dinner she threw. She disinvited her own BFF to her birthday party just to lure B. to it. She invited herself to B’s dinner party. Hmmm…Who was up whose ass?

Truth is, Adam and I were happily shacked up all summer, and I had no interest in going to the Hamptons. Bethenny extended an open invitation -– as girlfriends do -- and I went out for a night in August. It was my birthday! We had a great dinner. As always, we also had a lot of laughs. Ramona even joined us. (Fact check: Even though Ramona and I are not 20-year friends, I did stay in touch with her over the summer. I met her uptown for drinks at the Regency, even though I hate going uptown and she knows it. I helped book People Now for her book launch. I offered to have a girl’s luncheon, I invited her to a party I hosted on the Upper East Side (her hood), and then another party I hosted in East Hampton. I have a string of text messages to prove this. There are even photos. Where we both look so tall! Go on my Instagram. Look up July 14th. Instagram doesn’t lie. By the way, Ramona has never, not once, ever, randomly stopped by to see how I am and catch up. But I still love her.)

Sharing the love with my tall, skinny pal @ramonasinger. #goodvibrations #LELOlove #lifeontheramonacoaster

A photo posted by Carole Radziwill (@caroleradziwill) on

The thing is, you could say absolutely anything on this show and walk away from it. You can say Truman Capote is Harper Lee, you can say Flint has great water, you can say I didn’t bang that married stranger, you can say you gave up drinking while holding a martini in your right hand, anything. There is zero accountability. But no one is more Truth-Teflon than Luann. It’s impressive, really. Which got me thinking about our political season…if candidates were Housewives which one would we be? Is Bethenny our Hillary? Dorinda our Ted? Am I Bernie? Luann, well… Donald? Hmm…

Much like our fellow reality show character, The Donald, The Countess lives in a land far, far away. In a special place with fairy dust and twitter glitter, where unicorns get a corner booth at Carbone. In their fact-free universe you never worry about truth, or its annoying cousin, consequence. Your story can change at any given moment and -- whoa, how cool! -- absolutely nothing happens. It sounds like nirvana, but it smells like teen spirit.

She, like D-Trum, is simply impervious to facts. She just doesn’t care for them. Facts are boring. Bor-ing. Facts make you face stuff about yourself you’d rather not see.
The thing is, I like facts. I’m a reporter by nature and training. I like things that make sense. But why bother with facts when you can make up a bunch of sh-- and pretend it’s true? I did a quick analysis of Luann’s statements made since the first season of RHONY:

True 1%
Mostly True 4%
Half Truth 12%
Mostly False 17%
False 22%
Liar, Liar Pants on Fire 44%

But let’s get back to Bethenny’s ass, which is the only thing any of us should be talking about. If I were up it, she would have known exactly where to find me for brunch last week. If I were right there, up her ass, she wouldn’t have had to tell Dorinda that I’m “slow to get back to her.” I’d get back to her right away. Right? Because, duh. I’m up her ass. Hello?

As far as asses go, though, hers is a great one. If I ever wanted to be up anyone’s ass it would be Bethenny’s. It might be a little tight since Luann moved in and made that ass her permanent home this summer. But, you know, I’m small. I could squeeze.

I’m hoping, now that Luann has moved into Sonja’s daughter’s bedroom, that she will in turn move her things out of Bethenny’s ass. Because, as it happens, Adam and I are moving in together, and we think Bethenny’s ass would make a great starter apartment. I love what she’s done with it. Minimalist. Very modern. I hear it has a nursery!

P.S. I said “ass” 14 times. So if you played, you should be drunker than Dorinda in Turks & Caicos right now, giving zero f---s.

P.P.S. I can’t wait to grow up and be just like Luann, partying and drinking every night like it’s 1999, and I’m 16. Word.

 
All Posts About: Carole Radziwill

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