RHOA: Ne-Yo Nutsies

Hi Gasmii–

Muchas gracias, un beso y un toquesito de mis tetitas to everyone who came to my Snark Party last week. We’re going to have so much fun this season, and keep those Comments coming. Even the hate mail. Because like all ex-teen models, I heart attention any way I can get it. After performing a careful statistical analysis of your feedback, I’m here to report that Classy Southern Belle Phaedra seems to be everyone’s new bashing fave! (Thanks to Gasmi Sarcasatire for her extensive expozay on this hat-loving hooligan-humper– if you haven’t already, go back and read it. It’s juicy.) But maybe that’s because you’re all so used to the nuttiness of Kim, Sheree & NeNe that they seem like old friends. Delusional, wine-guzzling, fame-chasing friends.

Kim’s house. Kim and her “new assistant” Sweetie (obviously her old assistant Cunti gave notice during hiatus) emerge from the townhouse for a brisk jog around the subdivision. Sweetie wishes they’d stayed inside to do yoga in their pajamas while listening to Kim’s dance hit “Tardy for the Party” (way to suck up!). Kim says as “a pop star”, it’s important to stay in shape– and it’s true… as Sharon Tate said in Valley of the Dolls: you know how bitchy fags can be! Kim, who may be the only white woman in town who does cardio in a wig, worries that her “hair’s gonna fall off, oh God.” She tells us she’s known “Sweetie more than 10 years” and that she’s “part-employee, part-friend.” What she’s not is a personal trainer, since she can barely get Kim to shuffle across the street, let alone actually run. Kim seems to mostly be outside in order to soak up the hoots and catcalls from passing drivers, some of whom claim to be “Tardy/Party”/RHOA fans.

“So first I ask if they’re a cop, then I get the money up front, right?”

Kim gets a burst of energy when they spot some young Beer Delivery Guys unloading a truck across the road. “I can get you real drunk!” one yells. “Give me a beer and I’ll be right over, buddy!” Kim hollas back. They jaywalk over and Sweetie is able to snag a couple of cold ones. End of exercise session. That is some trashy shit, Gasmii.

Law offices of Phaedra Parks. A stocky young man named Dave arrives to speak to the high-powered pregnant Lawyer-to-the-Thug-Stars about a recent bust over “a significant amount” of marijuana, which he quickly assures Phaedra wasn’t his. “Unfortunately, one in three black men will be indicted for a felony and do some prison time,” Phaedra claims. But out of those, only one has so far been lucky enough to marry Phaedra and knock her up, not necessarily in that order. Yes, it’s a bit of a Spoiler– but apparently Apollo, Phaedra’s stunning mocha marido, is an ex-con himself. The kind that makes us sorry Oz is off the air. “Instead of us punishing people who have obviously served their time, we really need to embrace them so that they don’t have to go back into crime.” Literally embrace them, with arms and legs, while nude and fertile.

NeNe pops up via interview to scoff at Phaedra’s claims of being “this big-time entertainment attorney here in Atlanta… but excuse me, Bobby Brown was ten years ago!” Phae sends Dave on his merry weed-dealer way, admonishing him to “behave”, then cynically proclaiming “You keep me paid!”

…and cunning linguist.

Recording studio. Kandi‘s in the middle of recording her new album when she gets a call from daughter Riley looking for her teddy bear, which Kandi has recently laundered. Multi-platinum singer/songwriter/hitmaker Ne-Yo is on hand to help produce the record and she’s hoping he can do for her what he’s done for Beyonce and Rihanna. Ne-Yo says he’s happy to do whatever he can to help “make the best record possible”. Ne-Yo reminds us that Kandi’s “a very prolific songwriter” herself, with hits like “No Scrubs” to her credit– she knows how to write melodies and “sing a song and make you feel it” and “I’m honored to be working with her.”

Kandi interviews that after her girl group Xscape fell apart she attempted a solo project but was unable to generate hits for herself the way she had for other artists, so this is her chance to try again. Ne-Yo wants to make sure that Kandi the Writer doesn’t take a backseat to Kandi the Artist, because “anyone can sing a song. Anybody.” Like, for instance, Kim! Kandi says everyone was telling Kim she couldn’t sing, but Kandi wanted to show the world “the power of Pro Tools, a good song and what we can do.” Ne-Yo is not a fan of “the training wheels” aka Auto-Tune, that helpful application that transforms tone-deaf sloppy ho’s into fierce disco divas.

…And what’s it like working with Kim?

Kandi then reveals that Kim has made $80 to 100K from “Tardy for the Party” and through her lawyers Kim went back on her agreement to split the profits 50/50 “as friends” and left Kandi with bupkis. “I don’t wanna do that anymore,” Kandi says. Just when you thought you couldn’t muster up more contempt for that bewigged blonde beeyotch… “I could have given that song to some other pop artist, all around the world,” Kandi tells Ne-Yo. “And you would have known you was appreciated,” he adds. “All the way to the bank,” Kandi concludes with a smile, still the good-natured, generous gal we all fell in love with. I am so disgusted right now I’m about vomit champagne and Neurontin all over my Macbook. The nerve of that twat!

Sheree’s tract mansion. Main Gay Lawrence arrives, in male drag but carrying a giant black purse so we know it’s him. A haggard-looking Sheree lets him in and tells him she has “a date” tonight. “Miz Whitfield don’t date in Atlanta! I ain’t useta this!” Lawrence squeals. Sheree interviews that now that her divorce is final, she’s out there trying to trap another man dating again. Tonight’s “blind date” was “set up by mutual friends”. Note to her date: get new friends. Sheree’s been “so busy with The Line and The Fitness… I do need to take time out for myself.” That’s like saying Gabourey Siddibe needs to take time out to eat more. “Once in a while you gotta get them pipes cleaned, Boo,” Lawrence obscenely agrees. Sheree asks when the last time Lawrence got his pipes cleaned, and he avoids answering but asks if this Mystery Man has a friend.

They sort through Sheree’s whorey shoe hoard for some (in)appropriate footwear. The blind date, who’s “a doctor”, wants to go dancing tonight, and that’s a problem– Sheree tells us she’s “a white girl in a black-girl body. I have no rhythm,” she reveals, questioning her date’s obvious lack of research in the multi-talentless phenomenon that is Sheree. Lawrence asks what kind of doctor he is. Sheree “thinks” he’s a psychiatrist. Perfect. Lawrence says he needs a shrink to help address his addiction to transvestism. He adds that any man who “suggesteses” dancing on a first date has a high level of “confidence”. As he flat-iron’s Sheree’s weave, Lawrence advises her to have “a nice glass of wine to get you a little loose, then just feel the music and go with it”. I say fuck the wine and get hold of Dreamboat’s prescription pad. A couple of 10mg Norco‘s and you’ll be up for anything!

“There still might be time to cornrow my pubes… first impressions and all…”

Save the Dogwood Festival. NeNe attends a local eco-street fair with lovely new super-model Housewife Cynthia, who, along with her boyfriend, owns the chic and happening Uptown Supper Club, where NeNe’s been enjoying herself recently. NeNe mentions that her ex-”Gay Husband” Dwight has been snipping around town that Greg (Mr NeNe) asked Dwight to borrow $10K. “Sweetheart, you don’t even have ten quarters,” NeNe snips back. Dwight “is not a loyal person” and she feels terribly betrayed. “Friends are hard to find, Cynthia,” NeNe moans, and she should know, since she’s burned through every bitch on the show like chlamydia on a Pussycat Dolls tour bus. Cynthia counsels NeNe to get “closure” with Dwight, then invites her to Uptown, where Kandi will be performing.

Cynthia tells NeNe that BF Peter “gave me an ultimatum about getting married”. He’s turning 50 and feels that Cynthia should “get it together”, or in the language a traditional Southern belle WOULDN’T use: shit or get off the pot. Like most of us, Cynthia doesn’t like ultimata and doesn’t know what to do. NeNe says that HER 13-year marriage to Gregg is in trouble– “I don’t think we’re gonna make it.” Cynthia is shocked and wants cocktails immediately. “I have a dysfunctional home,” NeNe confesses to her pal. “I’m a communicator and Greg is not.” NeNe’s tits are certainly communicating– they’ve got a message for anyone with eyes and it’s “Get us out of this red sun-dress!”

NeNe has more dish: She “put Bryson out”! NeNe interviews that she and Greg got sick of her first-born/slacker hanging around the house and expelled him from her river-rock tract mansion. “I gotta get my happy back,” NeNe repeats, apparently having decided that this is her Season 3 Mantra.

NeNe has just one question: “Why the HELL ain’t that camera pointed at ME?!”

Who is this Cynthia broad, those of you who give a toss may be asking. Well, over a “fierce” pose-striking montage, she modestly introduces herself as “a supermodel who has traveled the world, worked with some of the top photographers” and “top models”. Join the club, honey. Cynthia and her man Peter Thomas “have been going back and forth about getting married since we met, pretty much.” Maybe I’m a tad bitter about being dumped by a narcissistic South American-born Australian but Jesus Christ, WHAT is the big deal? It’s a piece of paper and a ring. If you think marriage is a passport to happiness and personal fulfillment, get some self-esteem.

Cynthia admits to being engaged “three times” and liking it, but is chronically unable to pull the trigger. The producers sledge-hammer the irony by happening to catch the busy babe at a bridal photo-shoot. NeNe drops by and says that Cynthia’s going to be “a beautiful bride”. “I used to see you at the BAR, gurrrlll!” NeNe cackles, meaning God knows what. Cynthia explains to us that Peter owns Uptown Supper Club, and even though she’s “Cynthia Bailey, super-model”, she’s not above pitching in when her man has a staffing shortage. What a gal! We see Cynthia in the Uptown kitchen ladling creamy concoctions into martini glasses, then dropping “gumbo” on her “Giuseppe Zanottis” aka thousand-dollar shoes, for the fashion-impaired.

“I lived in New York for the past 25 years, hanging out with some of the biggest celebrities in the world,” Cynthia tells us. “But once I met Peter, I took my career and my daughter and moved to Atlanta.” Codependent much? Cynthia lives in a swanky brick Georgian affair and has an adorable, stunning 10-year-old daughter named Noelle who does math homework in her private-school uniform. Cynthia likes being “a big fish in a small pond” and states her mission to “make Atlanta as fabulous as New York”. Good luck with that.

Just to everyone else, including the producers, Ricki Lake and the estate of Sherwood Schwartz.

The Ghetto. Sheree’s impressedness at Dr Blind Date sending a chauffered Tahoe for her evaporates when she’s taken past liquor stores and Wings R Us (LOL) to a nightclub in a strip mall in some blighted part of the ATL that a #1 Designer and Top Aspiring Actress simply does not venture to. “Is this a joke?” Sheree splutters as she’s escorted by the driver from the SUV. “I could have worn my tennis shoes!” What a pill. A busted-up marquee announcers “Steppers Night” and “Fri & Sat Dance Party“. Throwing caution to the wind, Her Ladyship enters the club and is greeted by her date, Dr Tiy-E Muhammad. I’m just copying what they put on the screen, Gasmii. The doctor, who’s OK but ain’t gonna win any handsome contests on the show that’s given us Apollo and Ed Hartwell, greets Sheree and presents her with a bouquet, which Sheree dismisses via interview as something he grabbed at a supermarket.

Sheree concedes that the flowers were “a thoughtful gesture”, but if Tiy-E wasn’t so “easy on the eyes”, she’d be “out of there.” Despite his goofy name, Tiy (for our purposes tonight, let’s drop the E) seems like a warm-hearted, fun-loving, vibrant person. In other words, he’s all wrong for Miss Stick-Up-Her-Ass, who complains to us about his “loud” laugh. And people wonder why men beat us. Sheree asks how the food is, and Tiy says “I come here to DANCE!” In spite of her shitty attitude, Sheree finds herself drawn in by this open, smiling man. He divides his time between Atlanta and L.A. and has two kids, ages 14 and 10. They’re his “lifeline” and no matter what kind of day he’s having, they always make it better. Sheree, who may be the most disconnected and disinterested mother in the Real Housewives universe, says she absolutely agrees about the restorative powers of parenthood, mentioning her “3 kids”. I forgot she has a daughter we never get to see because that might reveal Sheree’s true age, which is somewhere between 35 and 70.

That’s what Roman Polanski said while he was filling the hot tub…

The doctor falls for her coy schtick and takes her to the dance floor. “I control the arms, you control the legs,” he says. From Sheree’s giddy reaction, we can assume she’ll be sending them up toward the ceiling of the Tahoe or the Come & Go Motel in no time. Tiy tells her that it’s easy for a guy to impress a woman with an expensive restaurant, but he wanted her to see the real him: “down to earth” and “no airs”. Amazingly, Sheree tells him she wants a second date. What I want is for Kandi to steal this man right out from under the bitch.

Oh, wait. Oh, hayell, no. It has just been brought to my attention by Gasmi Faye that this man is a fraud! Go to theybf dot com for October 12 and search for Sheree and Doctor. Turns out he waved some phony degrees around and got himself jobs appearing on Ricki Lake and as “The Professor” on that ghastly TBS reality show The Real Gilligan’s Island. He keeps getting busted for waving around medical credentials he doesn’t really have and degrees from schools he never attended. Dr Love is a delusional fame-whore just like his would-be Boo! It looks like Cupid‘s arrow was in the right place after all. Awwww!

Kim’s house. Kim, Sweetie, chubby tween Ariana and Kathleen Turner-voiced 13-year-old Brielle, who caused a ‘Gasm riot last week with her revolting, jizz-gobbly consumption of an entire quart of vanilla ice-cream are sitting around the kitchen when Sweets intercepts a call from world-famous Circuit Queen Jeffrey Sanker asking Kim to perform at the 2010 White Party in Palm Springs. This “largest gay dance party in the entire world” has been fostering stereotypes for over 20 years, namely that all gays are shallow, muscle-worshipping, promiscuous, vodka-guzzling, drug-crazed sluts.

In case you happen to be Googling yourself, Roman– this pic’s for you.

The surgically enhanced Jeffrey invented the Circuit Party concept with a series of these shindigs all over the world and happily cashed in on all that disposable homo-income, creating a massively vapid manufactured “lifestyle” that became the aspiration for dull, desperate dicksuckers across the nation. I fag-hagged it up there in 1998 and 2001 and can honestly tell you I have NEVER seen so many drugs in one place. And I’m an ex-teen model. Xtasy, Special K, GHB, Cialis, Pamprin-- you name it, they took it. The merriment doesn’t stop all weekend long, except of course for the occasional EMT team rushing in to airlift a comatose hunk to the nearest hospital for resuscitation. (And sometimes they actually die! Buzzkill…)

The fun always includes some pop/dance diva lip-synching a hit or two on the main stage, and this year the lucky lady happens to be our Kim! “You’ll be performing in front of 10,000 people,” Jeffrey coos, as Sweetie’s eyes bug out and Kim pops a raging ego-boner. Kim interviews that “it’s only logical” someone with “such a huge gay following” be asked to “perform” there. She’s joining a long line of icons, including J-Lo, Lady Gaga and Kei$ha. “Who the hell’s Kei$ha,” Kim asks. Idiot. Kim apprehensively confesses to Jeffrey that she’s done “nightclubs”, but this will be her first “concert per se”. Per se?!? The promise of 10,000 balls-tripping gays is causing Kim to break out the Latin vocabulary. I’m impressed!

Kim quickly requests that Kandi come along, too, which Jeffy-Poo loves. She hangs up and begins slapping Sweetie’s baseball cap with excitement. Brielle, whose calm glow indicates she’s already gone all the way with that French exchange student, wants to come– it would be a great way to get some AP credit for her future degree in fag-hagging. Kim nixes this, then expresses relief that Kandi will accompany her: “She makes me feel better… she’s my little…” The word is Svengali. “Kandi knows a lot about the music industry– sound-checks and microphones and all that kinda stuff.” Pitch, melody, rhythm, stage presence– all that boring technical shit. Kandi gives Kim “confidence”. And as we’ve seen, in return Kim gives her nada.

“…and the White Party emcee is this girl named Chi-Chi LaRue…

…and we’re supposably like, separated at birth!”

Kim segues into Kandi’s upcoming performance at Uptown Supper Club, telling Sweetie that NeNe and Dwight will both be there. Kim says “surely” NeNe will behave herself at such an important event. Ariana tries to ask Kim for something (probably an entire cheesecake), but Wiggy interrupts her, asking for a congratulatory “high-five” for her fruit-tastic mama.

Uptown Supper Club. Kandi, who can actually sing, rehearses with the band as Cynthia and Peter observe. Kandi tells us that rehearsal is key for her, since she’ll be trying out some “big ballads” and “you gotta make sure your pipes are right.” Clearly, she has a different definition of pipes than Lawrence and Sheree. Kandi winds up by telling the embattled couple that “I actually wrote that song when I was in love and I thought I was getting married.” Missing the point, they declare the song “hot” and “beautiful”. Like that sizzling color-streaked top of Kandi’s that would look awesome draped over my C-cups at a Benetton reunion party.

Kandi & Cynthia chat about her new album. Kandi’s deal with Capitol last year fell through, and she has a new one with Warner Bros/Asylum. Kandi tells us that she didn’t want to go the straight-to-iTunes route– she wants an actual CD for sale “in stores across the world”. WB wants a single, but Kandi and the suits haven’t come to an agreement yet about which song it’ll be. Cynthia gushes about Kandi’s “emotional voice” on the ballad we just heard a snippet of. Kandi reveals that THIS is the song WB is pushing to release first, but Kandi finds it “too slow”. Cynthia tells Kandi about her engagement fetish, and that Peter wants to tie the knot and is having “a ring designed for me”. Cynthia says she can’t think of a reason NOT to marry him. The fact that she’s presenting it this way? There’s the only reason you need, chica. Perceptive as ever, Kandi busts out with one of her wonderfully expressive facial expressions, basically saying “O Cyndi– you poor confused bitch”.

“Son, that coffee’s like me today: black with no sugar.”

NeNe’s tract mansion. With trepidation, African-American sheep Brice approaches the house he was recently expelled from. NeNe icily admits him and asks what he wants. To talk to her about coming home, the wayward teen mumbles. NeNe interviews that Gregg (Mr NeNe) has distanced himself from the situation, so NeNe feels like “a single mom” and “it’s heartbreaking”. Brice grunts something about how he’s going to change by quitting “the partying” and “stayin out all night”. NeNe irritatedly asks if he thinks “that’s it”. I guess, Brice weakly replies. WRONG! “I have you told you many times” what the problem is, NeNe snaps. “You’re 20 years old. You don’t work and you’re not in school. You don’t clean your room, you don’t clean the bathroom, you don’t do ANYthing!” Brice regularly walked in from an all-night weed-and-hoochie-thon and didn’t even “SPEAK” to NeNe and Gregg. “Partying all night long and GETTING ARRESTED is NOT the way to go!”

Arrested?! whatWhatWHAT?!?! I’m sure Sarcasatire has a copy of the police report, but this is news to me. “Brice actually went to jail,” NeNe tells us, “to visit a friend, and when they pat Brice down, they find less than an ounce of marijuana in his pockets…” NeNe, like us, can’t believe her child could do something this stupid. And if NeNe hadn’t already spent so much time calling Phaedra a phrumpy phake, Miss Attorney-to-the-Stars could come in real handy here, Gasmii. NeNe has chosen to believe Brice had no idea the kush was in his pocket, because the retarded alternative is just too depressing.

“…and to think, when he was a baby, I let that ungrateful child suckle his fill from THESE, honey! Boy needs to come correct, y’all!”

Becoming emotional, NeNe lectures Brice about the agony of a parent forced to watch their child “go the wrong way”. When Brice has a child (and if he doesn’t already, you know there have been some real close calls), maybe he’ll understand. “You are really hurting my feelings. I want the best for you and you are killing me,” NeNe weeps. “And I have to put you out, because you are not listening to what I’m trying to tell you!” NeNe has to cry herself to sleep not knowing where Brice is spending his nights, but she refuses to stand by and keep letting him fuck up. NeNe is many things, but in the Real Housewives universe, she’s one of the better moms.

Brice grumbles that NeNe is “a little too strict” with him. He doesn’t want “a curfew”. Excuse me?!? Not surprisingly, this conversational gambit wasn’t the best choice for the troubled ex-teen. NeNe flips out and yells that she has been “overly lenient on yo’ass!” LOL. “You have the AUDACITY to sit here and tell me I’m tough on YOU?! And you done went out and got yo’ass ARRESTED?! You got clothes layin on yo’flo and I’m being tough on you?! You NEVA load the dishwasha, you cook food and leave stuff everywhere, you doan even take the trash to the STREET.” And Brice “don’t spend NO time” with his cuter, well-behaved 11-year-old brother Brennt. That actually seems like a plus. NeNe goes on to remind Brice she pays the bills, buys the food, provides the maid service. “I make sure that the lights are on and the do’bell can RING! I do that! ME! And I’m being tough on YOU?! You done lost yo’damn mind. When you get yo’damn mind, you CALL me.”

NeNe interviews that she means no harm when she “yells” at Brice but it’s the only way she knows to get her point across. At this point, I’m going to stop describing how enormous NeNe’s boobs look in these diary-room bits. Unless otherwise indicated, just picture two brown volleyballs perched on her chest. NeNe asks if Brice has a plan, and he mutters something about getting a job. Sorry, too vague. NeNe wants goals and dates. “90 days?” he suggests, sounding baked right this minute. NeNe agrees, with the stipulation that “on the 91st day” he move out “and you cannot come back. When you out, you is out!” It’s like the exact opposite of my own mom constantly begging me to move back home. Except she has big boobs, too. She needed them to pose for Playboy in the 70′s. Stop analyzing me– you know how much I hate attention!

Never mind the baby– they need to find out why the lady on the right’s head keeps shrinking.

3-D Baby, Inc. Phaedra, her coco-luscious bride Apollo, and her mother, “Pastor Regina Bell” (whose religulousness cuts zero ice with this fallen Catolica) meet somewhere to do something. Maybe it’s some pre-natal imaging clinic, but all the credit card-acceptance stickers on the door have me hoping instead that it’s a revolutionary new retail concept that allows spoiled fetuses to shop from the womb. Pastor Mom has words of obviousness wisdom for the new parents: “Having a child changes the dynamics of your life.” Wow, pass the non-taxable collection plate. Lest we assume Phaedra’s prioritizing raising the kid herself over her career, she immediately declares that she’s not going to be one of those women who let motherhood make them “lose sight of themselves… I don’t wanna start lookin like some old hag, my hair’s not done, my make-up’s not on, clothes lookin all busted. I just think you need assistance.” Meaning assistants. But Her Holiness doesn’t like “nannies“: “I just really enjoy taking care of my own children,” she says with a superior little Church Lady smirk.

Apollo asks if Regina is going to “move in with us”. “Can you stand two Phaedras?” Regina replies. The jury’s still out if he can stand one. And despite the pre-nup Phae mentioned the first second we met her, I think Apollo stands a great chance of collecting some major child-support and accompanying lifestyle upgrade when if he pulls a Terry McMillan move and decides to embrace his true gay self in a few weeks months years.

They strap Phae to an examining table and turn on the baby-scanner for a look-see, which is absolutely NOT in 3-D. (Random thought: The It’s Alive remake with Bijou Phillips would have been so much better that way.) It’s a boy! The blurry gray blob on the screen is helpfully identified as “SCROTUM”. Phaedra comments on the tininess of little Orpheus Seth’s junk: “He got a li’l ole wee-wee! Boy, you betta git to growin!” Yes, we wouldn’t the lad to get embarrassed because according to Phaedra, there’s a one-in-three chance her son will have to group-shower with the rest of his cellblock! (And someone please tell me that statistic is bullshit…)

HOW many guys have sucked you off? Oh, OK. Three.

Uptown Supper Club. It’s the night of Kandi’s show and there’s a big line outside. The only question is how drunk NeNe’s gonna get and who she’s gonna go off on in the middle of the concert. And just because Kandi’s onstage singing, don’t think she’s off the list. As she gets made-up, Kandi half-jokingly asks Peter if there’s extra security, since “Dwight needs to stay away from NeNe.” Peter assures her he’ll see to it. Sheree enters the club in a blue sequined number, accompanied by Weave Queen Lawrence, resplendent in a ridonkulous red bolero jacket with shoulder pads and way-too-tight white tee.

Sheree says this is her first Kandi solo show, but that Sheree “used to love her old group Xscape back in the day”. You know, when Sheree was an innocent teeny-bopper. Right. Age-wise, The Marvelettes is more like it. She takes a seat on a comfy banquette with some younger, hotter gal, then advises Lawrence “next time, wear a thong”, which I don’t quite get unless he’s going commando and his shenis and balls are visible through his jeans. Kim goes backstage to give Kandi best wishes and show off her outrageously trashy sheer black-striped whore-smock. Kim reminds us that last season she missed Kandi’s performance “because my daughter was sick” (maybe an all-ice-cream diet isn’t so good for the immune system, June Cleavage).

“Vokka, straight up! THANK YOUUUUUUU!!!!!”

“You look friggin retarded, Sheree!” Kim gushes, joining them. “I have those shoes, Kim!” Sheree replies merrily. Outside, a red Beemer pulls out and out pop Dwight, Apollo and Phaedra, in her good pearls and looking exactly, as Gasmi Jojo, pointed out, like Francine from American Dad‘s pregnant black twin. Phae tells us that after the dust-up at the shoe party last episode, Dwight is “very apprehensive” about being in the same room with NeNe and her attack-titties. “And I don’t blame him one bit. He acted like the proper Southern gentleman and they couldn’t have been more rude and disrespectful.” I so don’t get Phae’s inphatuation with genteel Southern culture, which was invented by the same hideous people who used to buy and sell her ancestors like livestock. And how “respectful” is it to make fun of your own fetus’s penis size?! Seriously.

Phae and her prissy posse get seated at a table some distance from Kim and Company. Phaedra anticipates a commotion, telling us “If you act the fool in public, you act the fool ANYWHERE.” More wisdom from her mom? Dwight immediately starts snipping to his table-mates about Kim’s “horrible” hair. Phaedra pauses from her texting for a moment to agree that “It is interesting.” Like Apollo’s rap sheet, and I’m not talking about official licensed Jay-Z bedding. Sheree reminds us via interview that “Dwight has been spreading rumors that he spent $30K of his own money on my fashion show. That’s news to me!” It’s hardly “news”– she’s been yapping about it for two entire episodes now.

Then something delicious happens. Lawrence waves hello… to Apollo! Mr Phaedra looks very, very tense as he waves back as “discreetly” as possible. (On a side note, one of my gays just told me when you see the word “discreet” in a man-on-man hook-up ad, it’s code for “If we ever happen to run into each other in public, pretend you’ve never met me!” And all this time I thought it meant they didn’t want their fuck-buddies sashaying up to their door belting out Belinda Carlisle lyrics.) “How do you know him?!” Kim demands. “He is a friend of one of my friends,” Lawrence reveals, “and I met him when he first got out of prison.” Sheree & Kim are simply SHOCKED to learn that Mr Phaedra’s an ex-con and I’m sure we all would be, too, if you weren’t so damn gossipy, Gasmii!

STR8BMpackn10@hotmail.com

Lipsticked Lawrence claims to not know what Apollo’s crime was. Kim interviews bewilderment about how a lawyer ended up marrying “a criminal”. Hello, look at her. Then him. Now her again. Got it? Sheree tells us this “crosses the line between attorney-client privileges”, even though it’s not yet clear if baby-mama repped him. Kim wonders via interview if Apollo killed someone, since he was in prison for six years, which, according to Kim, is “a long time”. And probably how long it’ll take Ariana to turn into Chaz Bono.

Sheree: “So Lawrence knows Apollo and he was in prison with men all that time? Interesting…” You can’t get anything past Atlanta’s #1 Designer Actress, so don’t even try, honey! It’s “Hotlanta Gossip” and “everyone’s talkin about it.” She’s right, we are! I say he’s a top. And then there’s NeNe! Compromisin enterprisin anything but tranquilizin right on, NeNe! She walks right past the Phaedra table to join her new future ex-BF Kim and pals. They air-kiss and whoop it up and cuddle for photographers as Dwight watches disdainfully, flashing a big yellow ring and sighing about NeNe: “She’s workin it out, baby.”

Before taking the stage, Kandi leads the required prayer-circle, which I’ll excuse just this once. Kandi thanks Cynthia and Peter for making this happen, and dedicates the first song to them. It’s the ballad “I Just Know”, which, Kandi tells us “reveals a softer side of me.” She sounds fine and sells the hell out of the song, her charisma coming through even if SOME of the notes, to my Kim-level-tone-deaf ear, are a little iffy. Sheree loftily interviews that “As an artist or as an individual, you have to grow.” Kandi AND her music have grown, in case you give a rat’s ass what this tired ho thinks. Sheree, not myself. Naturally, Sheree can’t resist one little barb, so she claims not to have been able to really “hear the words”. Get the relaxer out of your ears and pay attention, Boo.

“Don’t you EVER call me ‘Fantasia’ again!!!”

Phaedra interviews “I love me some Kandi [holla!], but all I could think about was Dwight might get jumped by these crazy heifers beside us.” The odds don’t look good. Counting Lawrence, Dwight and Apollo, that would be three women against six women. And Miss Attorney-to-the-Scrubs better watch out, cuz her face ain’t pregnant! NeNe confesses via interview that during the song “I didn’t pay Kandi that much attention”, since Neens’ new nemesis Dwight was just “a few feet away from me.” Yes, and you’re five years old. Por Dios!

Kandi interviews that considering it was her first time back onstage “with a full band, I did pretty good.” I agree and so it seems does the audience. Kandi comes down and kisses and hugs everyone, including Phaedra. “Look at you! They found a dress to fit all that!” Kandi teases. Meanwhile, Cynthia tries to suss out the situation, asking NeNe if she wants to talk to Dwight. And could you please do it outside my swanky, high-brow alcohol-licensed establishment. To me, this is like total incitement to catfight, but I’m a Recap Artist, not a crisis counselor. NeNe, sounding a little drunk, says she’d like to speak to Dwight and asks if Cynthia can provide “a private room”.

Dwight seems rather queasy and more than a little terrified, insisting to Mr and Mrs Phaedra that he’s just “out to enjoy the performance, enjoy the two of you”– especially him– “that’s it, and I’m OK with that. I don’t really want to talk to [NeNe] here at this place tonight.” Phaedra agrees that it wouldn’t be “appropriate” for Dwight and NeNe to spar. And Phae’s a proper Southern belle, in case you haven’t heard.

“…Preferably sound-proof, with a pulley system and a couple of meat-hooks.”

But here comes NeNe, asking Dwight to join her in the private room for a chat. No, not tonight, Dwight repeats. And… shake that red cape! Toro! You can borrow Lawrence’s jacket. To her credit, NeNe is able to convince him to come along, and as anyone who’s seen Oprah can attest, this is not a good idea for Dwight. Never, EVER let the assailant take you to a second location. When NeNe said no one would be there but them, she thankfully wasn’t including the cameras. Things start off pretty dull, with NeNe apologizing for her behavior at the shoe-fest. But NeNe does want answers: Did Dwight “tell Kim that Greg axed you for ten THOUSAND dollars?!” No, I did not, Dwight replies numbly, like he’s in a court of law.

Then he perks up, telling NeNe “I don’t like confrontation and the other night was an out-of-body experience for me. I didn’t like it at all. It was so bothering to me.” NeNe says he has no idea what she’s going through. “I invited you into my home,” she accuses, “around my husband and my children. You have really hurt my feelings.” OMFG, when does the beat-down start?! Because I could be re-watching this week’s Hoarders episode where the 9/11-obsessed nutcase has a full-on psychotic break when she discovers someone tried to throw out her Darth Tater Mr Potato Head collectible.

“As long as I got a face, Apollo will always have a seat.”

“You’re my friend”, not Gregg’s, NeNe whines. “You should talk to me.” Dwight agrees, but hilariously insists that this was “man-to-man” (as opposed to man-on-man). This time it’s NeNe laying on the victim schtick, how could her best gay abandon her during a crisis? Dwight says she’s “right about a lot of things”, then apologizes “from the bottom of my heart”. They hug. I’m not shitting you. This is how it’s ending. Doesn’t Brielle have a mouthful of ice-cream or French cock we could be recoiling at right now?

Next week: Kim goes to the White Party and tries to get laid. Phaedra tells Apollo she’ll beat their child if it misbehaves. Sheree bickers with Dwight. And… a superstar lesbian DJ gets topless???!!?

“Get over here, Sweetie. I’d like you to meet Tracy Young!”