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As a mother of two kitties and a pup, I was horrified to learn what triggered the domino effect that landed Luann in jail. It was the cat.
If only Luann loved cats, none of this would ever have happened. If not for the pussycat Luann would have stayed at Julie’s apartment, they would have ordered Postmates and spent the night drinking and laughing about how crazy the past year had been. Had I really married Tom after all those warning signs!? Cheers to us and to a great new year!! Instead she turned her nose up at the kitty, went to the Colony to meet her age-appropriate polo player, downed three to ten martinis, got frisky, got on the elevator, got off on the wrong floor, and, well, the rest is reality history.
Literally, at every turn in that story you can blame it on the pussy.
I am really happy to see Luann. It’s hard to know what to do or say when a friend gets out of rehab. I sent her a weekly inspirational quote during her time there, and I heard she was taking it all very seriously. Naturally we are all dying to hear the real story of the arrest and the handcuff escape, but more than that I was curious to see how much this experience had grounded her.
I’m also happy to spend the weekend with Bethenny. We had a great talk, hugged it out, and I’m pretty sure she’s not upset with me anymore. Phew! We even decided to drive to the Mayflower together. Or so I thought. Yes we texted, as she told Sonja, but once again she cleverly ends the story where I look like a cold bitch. Her ability to habitually and casually tell half a story is legendary!
The real story is I wanted to ride up with her too and told her so. We had planned for it, but when I arrived I was told she had left with Sonja. I didn’t make a big deal about it. Bethenny and Sonja they have become close friends—literally thick as thieves—sharing a room and gossiping about the rest of us, bonding over Sonja’s new business venture, giggling over face masks. Though I miss the point of bringing facial masks to a spa, they are hilarious together—the new Frick and Frack!!
Apparently, Ramona and I have been sidelined. Ohhh, Ramona. She does have a chip missing when it comes to connecting the dots. Although I know she didn’t post the picture to hurt Luann, texting to go to the New Year's party of “the man whose name will never pass my lips” was not cool. But we do have one thing in common. If I saw Luann’s ex-husband out with another woman while she was in rehab, would I text Luann and tell her? No. That's a full stop NO. Hell no. Never. #helltotheno
On the other hand, if I saw Bethenny’s boyfriend in a restaurant with another woman, or in fact with anyone, yes I’d text her. Hey B, I'm at Nobu. Dennis is sitting in the corner booth with a chick who isn’t his daughter. Can’t tell if it’s a date. You’re way cuter. I'm hiding behind the menu. Then I’d probably snap a pic and send it to her. WTF!?! Lol. I would have told her at the dinner when she asked, but her tone is at times so biting one gets the impression that her questions are rhetorical.
Am I the only one who loaths yoga? Anyone who watches my Insta stories live knows that I prefer my life to be Namaste and my exercise to be Badass…but I’m telling you no matter how late the night is this group gets up at 7am and namastes. I’m endlessly impressed with the entire bunch.
I feel for Dorinda because Bethenny doesn’t really make you feel warm and safe when she is upset—you feel vulnerable, exposing your feelings, but relieved when you make up and move on—but then she continues to say why are you upset. WHAT?? Dorinda wasn’t upset with her. It was all good.
I wasn’t still upset either. I thought Bethenny and I were fine. It’s as though she can’t function unless there is some tension or drama or insult. I mean, she did ignore me the entire weekend, didn’t want to do any treatments with me, and she practically knocked Ramona over to get away from me at dinner. But she knows I wasn’t upset, so I’m not sure why she was behaving that way. Anyway, we were there to support Luann, and I wasn’t engaging in that silly eighth grade you can’t sit with me behavior. Plus it was so much more fun to fight over the moose shoes!
Yes, “CrestGate.” Only this group can spend two days arguing over a moose on a shoe. And I was right there in it with them (sadly, you didn’t get to see it all). It’s arguments like this that makes me fall in love with the whole crazy gang. By the way, my late husband’s family crest was granted to them by the Holy Roman Emperor in the sixteenth century. Now that's a name to drop.
Their crest is very impressive with lineage and royalty and all sorts of symbolism, but to me it looks like a squealing chicken. The DiFalco’s family crest is a pizza pie. And I love it.