I’d like to thank everyone who made my marathon run possible, especially Roberto Mandje, my running couch and a 2004 Olympian runner! He is the only person who could have gotten me up at 4:30am to take a ferry to Staten Island for that very first half marathon. Boarding the ferry with a bunch of millennials still dressed from the night out partying, I felt like a real athlete. During the full marathon, it was Roberto’s unrelenting encouragement that gave me the confidence boost I needed around mile 18 when everything else in my body and mind screamed WTF?!?
Thanks to all the trainers at Dogpound, the first gym I stepped into since high school. And to Adam who has run marathons, triathlons, and a bunch of other crazy athletic stuff. He was cautious when I said I wanted to run the marathon—then became my biggest support, advisor, and cheerleader. Lastly, to Heather who gave me a boost at the start line and all of my friends and family who showed up to cheer me on at the finish—especially Tinsley who waited four hours in the rain and didn’t complain once that her hair was ruined.
It was literally and figuratively breathtaking to run alongside 52,000 other runners through all five boroughs of NYC. I am grateful to have been a part of such an extraordinary group and to honor the city that has given me so many incredible opportunities. I’d like to end this blog here, but this episode was so full of crazy, it’s so fun to write about…
I really don’t want to get all up in Luann’s afro, because we now know what we didn’t back then—that exactly two months after she walked into that party in blackface, she landed herself in rehab. This is a life-changing experience for her—a virtually Countess Re-boot. But what we are witnessing now (in episode 2) is the version of Luann we have all come to tolerate and expect—the completely un-self aware, condescending bitch in countess clothes. I really don't want to poke fun at her when she says the dumbest things known to man, but then again this is Housewives, so I guess I must.
Let me say not only am I a titled princess by marriage to my late husband, but I am also the Queen of Authenticcisccisms. Yup, I am Royalty of Realness, Aristocracy of Authenticity, and I believe a queen trumps a countess. It even trumps a countess dressed as a Moroccan princess surprising her husband late at night—which is a brave thing to do.
As the Queen of Authenticissisiasiam, I beseech you… Queen Latifah is not really a queen, nor was The Artist Formerly Known as Prince ever really a prince. The Fresh Prince of Belair wasn’t a prince either. Those are stage names used in their professions as artists. The Countesseseesss got her title by marrying a French dude whose grandfather either built the Suez Canal or shipped over Lady Liberty (who btw, is not really a lady).
Speaking of a lady who is also not really a lady, the lunch between Sonja and Luann made me laugh so hard I peed my royal britches. Swear. I re-wound it five times to see if I could find any hint of self-awareness in Lu’s eyes when describing her accomplishments in her effort to discredit and put Tinsley and I down. Nope, nothing…which made me laugh even harder. So I will match The Countessesseessss’ three dance tunes and her Pandora station and raise her three EMMYs, a NYTimes bestseller, and a newly minted NYC marathon medal.
I couldn't help but wonder…in some royal re-mix mash-up does Queen Latifah listen to Countess Luann Pandora? In my dreams she does…