Real Housewives of New York City: Summertime and the Living’s Queasy

Labor Day seems like a long way off at the moment but let’s relive last year’s with the NYC bitches, eh? Grab your old checkered tablecloth with the stains from queer Tony’s pitcher of purple hooters and throw down mom’s best chinette plates. Load them up with equally heaping helpings of BBQ pork and booze fueled indelicate conversation, and Bam! You’ve got yourself a great time…..until Uncle Steve pinches your ass or Aunt Mary calls you fat behind your back. Ah, summer. I can’t wait.
This week’s fun starts off back in fishy, foofy Long Island, land of social clawing and PR wenches that run over plebes as they wait to gain entry into clubs. Remember that Lizzie Grubman chick, the one with the yellow eyebrows that plowed into all those people a few years back? She should have used the bleach blindness defense, because it looked like she had a forehead dripping accident at the salon.

Sorry, it’s a tad off topic but she creeps me out. If she wants them to disappear so badly why doesn’t she just shave them off? And maybe the bleach did get in her eyes, have you seen the guy she married? He looks like an east coast version of the Pawn Preacher.

They’re Hamptons crawlers too, and we start off this week at yet another watering hole for yet another gossip filled drinking get together. This time it’s at The Pink Elephant.

The Jaw (loved the Quagmire comment last week, by the way) and Jason are waiting for Ramona and her smartass husband to arrive, and already with the bitching, Bethenny? She’s already trashing Ramona for always being late even though she lives right around the corner. She does this literally seconds before Ramona walks through the door.

Bethenny flashes that jaw breaking smile of hers and tells Ramona that she loves her new ‘do, calling it “short & sassy,” just like the good old two faced skinny girl we have all come to adore. I’m super jazzed that she referenced a shampoo from the 70s too.

Next up, a Ramona-ism. This time she says that she was worried about cutting her hair because it was long and beautiful and she thought she’d lose some of her sexual power a la Samson and Deleye-uh. Yep, she just randomly decided to skip the other ‘l.’ I’m hoping that it turns up at a later date in another random word, like countess.

They go over all that bulshit that happened on the boat and Ramona says that she felt like she was being verbally raped. That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? I think it was more like a verbal nipple flick, or chatty wedgie, certainly not rape, not IN THE HAMPTONS, not on a rented boat. Heavens!

Bethenny tries to tell Mario that what he said was still pretty mean but he sees absolutley nothing wrong with it because he said it in a private conversation that LuLu happened to overhear, not to her face.

Boy, everyone has their own idea about what is kosher and what isn’t. There are so many levels of icky behavioural standards. It boggles the mind. But you know what? If he doesn’t see any problem with it, and he was just trying to be a goof, so be it. This woman called Ramona ‘crazy eyes,’ after all. A phrase I believe she stole from Bethenny, and she said it AT THE CANCER SOCIETY, and she did it to be mean, not as a goof.

“Well, I would have been crucified,” says Bethenny and then she asks if Ramona is packing since everyone has it in for her. No, honey. Not everybody. Just fabulous swatch toting busybodies and their defrocked friends.

As far as the others go, I don’t think that Alex gives a crap, and Ramona looooves you for sticking it to Jill and LuLu. I’m surprised that she isn’t giving you a crazy eyed lap dance at this very moment.

Hey, did you know that ChynaDoll and LuLu have something in common, other than making the furniture around them look tiny? According to Bethenny, LuLu lost a husband and gained a penis, so they both have unusually engorged sexual organs. They have something else in common too, and what a shocker. They’ve both been on the cover of naughty magazines.

But what was the penis comment really about? You see, nobody sticks up for themselves around The Jaw unless they are a man. Nice. Another recycled shitty drag queen joke. It wasn’t funny, it’s another exaggeration, and it’s a wee bit of an anti-feminist thing to say. Just a teensy weensy itty bitty bit chauvenist, a Lilliputian amount like the size of her nose.

The nicest thing that I can say about it is that it proves to be ironic when LuLu whips out that Playgirl cover at her own Barbecue later. Poor LuLu. You are looking like such a loser this year. I hope it was worth it and that dance song finds its way into every novelty nightclub in Manhattan.

Ramona comments that Bethenny is usually the one who attacks first, so that must have been disconcerting, and let the mile a minute LuLu trashing begin! Oh. My. God! I thought that I spoke too fast, sheesh. I’m a freaking stroke victim next to her. Its pretty juicy, though.

You see, while you and I and the rest of the country were busy not writing books on etiquette and not telling people to shush at super swanky benefit dinners, Ms deLippity-doo was sweating up the Porthault sheets with someone other that The Count! And he was doing the same, all while they were married and waltzing up to podiums together to accept meaningless plaques! Mon Dieu!
God, I hope Rosie writes a book.

How insane was it that Ramona and Jason carried on a completely mellow side conversation while Bethenny chatted Mario’s ear off.

Boy, she was really sucking all the oxygen out of poor Mario’s personal space. He probably got up wheezing.

I know that yoga is supposed to help you to slow down and relax but all that The Jaw has seemed to learn is how to make the most out of each breath. Amazing. I would love to see her in a tank of water next to David Blaine. Girl went at least five full sentences without once gasping for air.

More good news- Ramona likes Jason. He’s handsome, laid back and a good counterpoint to Bethenny. So let’s stop trashing old LuLu and have some fun on the dancefloor! It’s the only place on earth that reminds Crazy Eyes of her home planet. It must be all the flashing lights and loud thumping. When she jumps on the table and closes her eyes she can almost see herself riding that unfinished spaceship she hides in the basement of her Hamptons home. You know the one, Gasmii. It’s in the room next to the crawl space where Mario hides all those pesky body bag.

He’s still coming off as creepy this season, mildly perhaps, but still acting like the inappropriate neighbour who always stares at 14 year old asses while he gives free tennis lessons down at the club. I think that it would be wise to skip the Beemer at any sweet sixteen parties out there this summer and giftwrap some mace.

Over at LuLu’s, it is a glorious day. It’s simply lovely how the breeze sways the trees and the roses are blooming so beautifully that I can almost smell them through the television screen. It is a perfect day to do almost anything, and that includes sticking your pedicured foot in your mouth.

Rosie is paying a visit today and she looks lovely. The kids hug her hungrily. They know who their real mama is. They remember who tucked them in while LuLu was having ‘drinks’ in backseats off the 72nd street Transverse. There’s no mistaking the voice that read to them while Miss Manners was hopping fences in Sag Harbor and laying back in ecstacy on damp straw in stables with the strapping young horsemen of Suffolk County.

It was kind of Rosie to trek all the way out there to check up on them and they sit outside to chat while LuLu busies herself in the kitchen. Talk about role reversal. LOVE it. I think I’ll go throw on an old caftan/housecoat in her honor, and let it droop alluringly off of one shoulder when the UPS guy gets here with my new potato ricer.

Noel is an awkward 13 year old and Vicki shows off the wrist she floobed when she fell off the roof. It seems that she learned a few things while she was away at boarding school, and one of those things was sneaking out. Unfortunately, the Hamptons are darker that Manhattan and those wood shingles can be mighty slippery after a good rain and, crash! Down she went into the bushes where her uncle found her.

Where was LuLu, you ask? Why, she was drumming up donations for the Cancer Society naked in a backyard pool by Georgica Pond. That cure isn’t going to find itself, people. She’ll ‘swim’ a la europeenne as much as she has to in an effort to fund research, even if it means a trip to the emergency room for clumsy coltish Victoria.

LuLu comes out with a serving(!) tray and sets some nice cool ice tea in front of everyone to sip on during their chat. Everyone misses Rosie and it’s such a shame that she couldn’t move out to the Hamptons with her former employer when they sold off the townhouse where she performed her services so gracefully.

Why, if the new girl didn’t have the day off today, you could have given her some free red snapper cooking lessons too! Out of gratitude, of course, for being allowed such close proximity to aristocracy. Oh well. Rosie will just have to settle for being congratulated for “keeping the weight off,” after she is fished for compliments from LuLu like striped bass in Long Island Sound.

Good Lord, that LuLu is a humdinger of a boorish character around ‘the help,’ isn’t she? Could she be more condescending? She probably thought that she was being extra kind by inviting her to visit but then she has to complain about how hard it is to train the new girl to acquiesce to her every wish? Holy crap, that’s annoying.

It reminds me of one time at the pool at our local country club. I was surrounded by young(ish) mothers who simply couldn’t understand why their housekeepers couldn’t watch little Harrison or Katie while they lounged at the spa or attended one of their crucial cosmo soaked chamber of commerce lunches.

I innocently replied, “But they’re housekeepers, not nannies,” only to be told that I didn’t understand because I didn’t have ‘help’ or children of my own. The good news is that they shunned me from then on. The bad news? The only chicks that would socialise with me were the gold diggers that wanted to partner swap, and then pull aside their bottoms to show me their new cootchie piercings. I went home and looked up the number to the community center pool.

But this Rosie, she’s all class. She interviews that she worries about LuLu and the kids. She doesn’t want her to be lonely or sad or undo any of the fine work and effort she put in with Vicki and Noel. I hope that she stays in their lives. It’s sad but sometimes the children of wealthy absentee parents get so attatched to their nannies. I’d hate for them to feel even more abandoned now that their philandering father is off in europe boinking ever more exotic pieces of royal ass.

Let’s move on to a more level playing field and have dinner at a lovely place called Savanna’s with the Singers and Silex. The newfound friendly couples are abashed at how well they are getting along this year and how astonishing it is to see Mario and Simon in matching outfits. Why, Simon even has the exact same John Bartlett shirt!

C’mon. You know they have a drawer full of kinky play toys. Would you honestly be shocked to find out that these stores Alex has been so busy opening sold $100 lube and Michael Graves designed donkey cocked bull riding equipment? Please, they probably know half the Mistresses in New York and spend date night at S & M clubs across the river.

They also look as though they just came from one of those ‘white parties’ that Diddy or Poofie or whatever his name is throws every summer out there. It also reminds me of casual Miami wedding attire. You know, it’s what you wear when you get married for the third time and don’t want to be too over the top.

You have to have some kind of ceremony because your kids took half your stuff to college with them and you need the gifts, so off you go to Nordstrom to thumb through whatever white dresses are left over from St. John’s resort collection, and maybe switch some price tags if the salesgirl isn’t looking.
Not that I would ever do that, not at Nordstrom, NEVER at Nordstrom.

I am so grateful for this dinner scene because it gave me my first guffaw of the season.
Simon makes sure to go out of his way to compliment Ramona’s new haircut by telling her she looks like Cameron Diaz. Ha! Someone made an effort to be clever, and did so without being mean, just cheeky, as Simon would probably say.

Ramona falls for it for a couple seconds, sees their exchanged looks and then realises she’s been had. Alex’s make-up looks better too. She’s looking less spiny these days and has almost stopped resembling the moon faces on the mobile above my nephew’s crib. As for Simon, he still gossips like a girl but, shit. I actually find them to be refreshingly sane after the dama of last week.

Ramona invites them to her Labor Day cookout and Simon asks if she’s going to disinvite them through Cindy Adams’ column like Jill did last year. Oh, Simon. Stop acting like you care so much. I don’t know a single guy who gives a crap what she says in her truncated prattlings for the masses.

P.S. This is why everyone thinks that you’re gay. That, and fretting over which pair of madras shorts goes with your new pink designer loafers. Just once I’d like to see you in paint splattered Carharts and workboots. How about Halloween? You can borrow mine. It will be HILARIOUS. Just don’t let Alex get too frisky with the cat ‘o nine tails until you take them off, mmkay?

Ramona lies to Alex and says that she can’t remember if she invited them already and then interviews that she had no intention of having them there until she bonded with her over shots and topaz jewelry on the boat.

Mario’s insulting remark about LuLu being countless comes up, and Alex backs up Ramona’s opinion that Mario should be responsible for Mario’s words and nobody else. I won’t argue with that but I will confess my surprise when Simon manages to talk Mario into calling LuLu right then and there.

He calls her on Ramona’s cell phone, she doesn’t answer and he leaves a message inviting her to speak to him at the Labor Day party, play a little Bocce Ball and even hints at an apology. It sounded polite and sane to my ears, how about you? He curbed his natural instinct to act like an ape and insult her further, behaving like any normal, sane person would. Excuse me while I take some advil. I am still so confused.

Did I fall asleep and wake up in an alternate TV universe? Wait, who’s president? What day is this? Why aren’t they calling each other “rude” and then walking away in a huff? Damn you Miss Andy, what the hell! You need to stop the mayhem you are wreaking with my beloved housewives! I’ve gone a long time without a psychiatrist and I’d like to keep that streak alive, so make Ramona call Simon a queen or something. I need to get my bearings.

Further confusing me, we’re back at LuLu’s where she is setting the table. God help me, did she give the new girl the entire weekend off? Or is she, dare I say it, poor? Gasp! I certainly hope not. You can’t earn boarding school tuition by humping male models, you know.

Jill comes down and gushes to her about what a wonderful host she is. She’s the hostess with the mostest, a regular Betty Crocker of landed gentry, just phenomenal with the high class Hamburger Helper. Ask anyone.

Why is she so happy and domestic? Did she meet Prince Albert in the can of the yacht club? Nope, it’s because that old hippy of a Frenchman is no longer around to stink up the joint with smoke from his Gauloises and run his mouth fooey foo foo foo-ing all over the place. She no longer has to lean in closely to hear him romantically ask to ‘fumer mon cigare, salope.’

They sit down so LuLu can rest her poor overworked bones and listen to the message that Mario left her the night before. They play it and Jill says that he said to, “bring it on, bitch.” What on earth is she talking about? I rewound the DVR several times and never heard anything remotely like that. What a little shit stirrer!

They decide that there is no way that they are going over to the Singers, something they obviously decided on the boat, and then they put Ramona on speakerphone. Big mistake.

First off, Jill is calling from LuLu’s phone. Ramona should have known better than to say all that stuff about her being a slut during her marriage to Count Ugula. I’d probably cheat too if I was married to an old man who smells and probably can’t see over his belly far enough to clean his foreskin properly. Not everyone can be married to charasmatic serial killers, Ramona.

Second of all, who puts a friend on speakerphone with an injured party sitting right next to them? They are fighting, don’t make it worse! This is the kind of crap that evil girls do in high school when they want to play friendship roulette, maybe move up the popularity chain at some poor gossiping girl’s expense. As rude as Ramona was to go off topic like that, Jill should have never brought the Mario thing up. It’s not her place to fight other people’s battles.

I get it that your friend is single and vulnerable these days, so why would you expose her to a loose cannon like Ramona? If you have to use speakerphone so that the Bravo sound guy can hear it, take it outside on the patio!

And one more thing, LuLu never said a word. If Ramona was lying she would have corrected her so fast that her Blackberry would have caught on fire and sent her Cameron Diaz hairdo up in smoke. Plus, Jill interviews that she doesn’t know if it’s true or not.

Umm hmm. You are protecting your friend. I get it, but it doesn’t exactly make me believe that LuLu was some dutiful wifey who spent those long months while the count was cheating crying into her Battenberg lace pillow shams, and wringing her monogrammed handkerchiefs between ringless fingers by rain streaked mansion windows. Please, she probably spent most of her time trying to match phone numbers to the pile of head shots she wrangled from Manhattan modeling agencies she used to work for.

And I do not agree with her assessment of people that criticise other people’s marriages. It doesn’t automatically mean that yours is troubled. Jill is just trying to mask the fact that LuLu got a taste of her own medicine. She has been judging everyone for ages, and now that Ramona has her chance to get back at her, why would she waste it?

Their talk turns to drinks with Bethenny, and LuLu’s version of events. Woman, don’t say that Bethenny invited you to the Copa, we all know that’s a joke. What’s not a joke is that she chose her man over Jill. As for the old adage that men come and go but your girlfriends are here to stay, there is no denying that it’s true more often than not. Just substitute gay college friends for girls in my case.

Anyway, it’s sad that Jill thinks that they’ll never be friends again. She’ll never get to see how happy Bethenny is now that she’s found herself a good man. And where are the two lovebirds at this very moment? At a restaurant bar at night, gazing lovingly at each other in dim romantic light.

I’m talking 17th century candlelight dark, Gasmii. Barry Lyndon style, fumbling through the night, knocking out other patrons with the tiniest flick of the chin. God, it must be a blood bath in there by the time they worked their way to their barstools.

The Jaw actually looks really pretty, like Karen Allen. Not quite Animal House era and not Raiders of the ost Ark era either. Somewhere between The Sandlot and Briar Patch. We’ll go with that.

Jason says that she’s soooo complicated and she adds the descripters “tortured, damaged and mentally disturbed.” I will add ……………nope, that’s good enough for me. Maybe I’ll throw bombastic and mean into the mix. I’ll let you guys take it from there.

Jason brings up their living situation while rubbing her leg. He tells her that he wants to unify their houses, he wants to share his space with her multiple personalities and giant ego. He’s willing to sacrifice his love of clean edges and unchipped furniture to cohabitate with The Jaw.

Wow. Big step. What a change from the other Jason. I’m very happy for her, she looks so sweet when she gets teary and they agree to communcate and be realistic about their differences. Yay! You won me over for five minutes.

Avery is back. She doesn’t look all that different except her teeth. Did she get some braces removed? Is that it? I really hope that she grows up nothing like either of her parents. All that crazy cancels each other out, right?

They are getting ready for the party which will consist of only eight people since Jill pulled out. Ramona tells Avery that she doesn’t understand why Jill can’t make an appearance even though LuLu isn’t comfortable enough to attend. “Because she’s staying at her house,” says Avery. That poor child knows more about proper conduct that her own 50 something mother. Sheesh.

Over at LuLu’s they are firing up the barbecue as Kelly arrives. She forgot her pants again and you would too if you had gorgeous tan legs like that. Heck, I’m going to run upstairs and apply some more self tanner as soon as this is over.

She has a big serious secret to discuss which LuLu assumes is more boy trouble, but no! She’s doing Playboy! Bad, bad, dirty masturbation fodder for college boys and lonely husbands. She won’t be showing the full monty, it will be tasteful and arty. Just titties, no vagazzling and no bleached puckery bits, thank you very much.

Well, THAT’S a relief.
She might be on the cover, she might not, and she told everyone except her daughters. Jill thinks that it’s inappropriate and a conversation that her daughters shouldn’t have to be faced with. Whatever. If you’ve been reading my recaps for any length of time you know how I feel about nudity. I could care less, go topless in January or wear assless chaps to church, just don’t be a hypocrite about it.

Nobody is forcing anybody to look at it, and until we stop fetishizing every little thing that has the teensiest whiff of smut, yeah, kids on the playground are going to give other kids crap for having a mom in a girlie mag. I’m fighting the fight in my own way.

If you come to dinner at my house, there’s a pin-up calendar on the kitchen wall and a framed photo of yours truly with her breast exposed under a shark’s jaw in the dining room. It’s ART, I tell you. ART. None of my family was freaked out when I flashed my bosom for Pirelli, any more than they were when I exposed my naked back in an Absolut ad. They were all, ‘meh, how much did you get paid?’ And if you let me swim naked in your pool, I will. End of story.

Bawby agrees with me if his stash of Playboys is any indication. The Fabric King has a complete collection of the magazine from ’69 to ’98. Atta boy, Bawby!

Anyway, LuLu says that she would consider posing too. Damn, girl. Now I’m really starting to think that the old broad needs money. Her excuse is that Europeans don’t have the same hang-ups that we puritanical Americans have, and then she informs Kelly and Jill that she was on the cover of Playgirl. WTF?!?

I’m sorry, but that’s awesome. Seriously, she should frame it and put it in her foyer. Loosen up the place and give it a cheesy 80s vibe that’s been so popular lately. I would. I totally would. Hell, I think I’ll go photoshop myself onto that same cover this weekend. Let’s ALL do that, start an entire Housewives modeling photobomb website. Get Miss Andy in drag, and put his head on Kelly’s topless body. Oh wait, he’s probably done that already.

Anyway, I find it ridiculous that LuLu covers up the picture when Noel walks up. She needs to embrace her inner freak like, yesterday. And, Jill? You don’t want to be judgemental BUT you’d never ever do something like pose nude? Fine.

This exchange is followed by Ally’s driving lesson. It’s a good thing that Bawby is in the front seat supervising because Jill spends the entire ride looking and talking about real estate. Why did they sell their house, only to turn around and look for a new one? I don’t get it. Maybe it’s just a compulsion. Some people get off on real estate the way that Bawby gets off on his old Playboys.

He’s wearing one of those obnoxious Polo shirts back at the deLipschitz’s. I hate those giant polo player logo shirts. It’s like, not only am I going to wear Ralph Lauren but I want to make sure that you can tell that I am wearing Ralph Lauren from your shitty little house in New Jersey.

I like the guy, though. He’s sweet. He’s a good husband and he loves his Jill no matter what. You saw what he let her do to their apartment, right?

He raises his glass to Kelly’s Playboy spread while making a mental note to pick it up later. For some bizarre reason, Kelly is skeeved out by this but who cares? The only thing to worry about at this point is the safety of Bawby’s mother. Bawby said that his back issues were in her basement and I am willing to bet that Noel finds her on Google Maps before the steaks are done.

Jill and Kelly chat about Silex and the fact that Kelly wasn’t invited to Ramona’s. She doesn’t care but Jill does. Her gossipy little mind is dying to know what is going on over there, like she expects Ramona to be crestfallen. She just wants to know what they are saying about her, most definitely.

The answer is, nothing…. yet. Bethenny and Jason are arriving at the Singer’s door which is tastefully festooned with a fleur de lis. I couldn’t see it because it was on the other side of the door, but do you all agree with me that between the O.C. stoner cuffs and Crazy Eye’s jewelry line, that symbol is completely played out? I used to think that it was so pretty. Fuck. Overexposure and mass production strikes again.

I love Bethenny’s outfit. I just wish that the strapless dress fit her fake boobies better, she spends half the night hiking the neckline up so it doesn’t expose her skinny nipples. It’s patchwork too, which I didn’t even realise was in style. Maybe it’s not and Miss Frankel is starting a new trend.

Kind of appropriate, considering what her dad did when he was alive. I’m assuming that is where she first got her exposure to giant obnoxious hats.

She’s worried about seeing Alex because of the logo Ms. McCord whipped up for Skinny Girl that Bethenny discarded. She nixed it in favor of something more generic that didn’t resemble her so much. I don’t know, Alex strikes me as the last person that would care. Sure, she would probably love the big paycheck, there’s a particularly fabulous leather harness she’s been eyeing for MONTHS you know, but the woman is nothing if not logical and she probably understood and forgot about it the next day. To quote the Godfather, it’s business, not personal.

And what was the bottle that the skinny girl logo was on? Was that wine? The infamous margarita recipe? I haven’t seen it anywhere around here, that’s for sure. We NEED our fat in the winter. And by the way, I went to her website to find out what it was, and none of the products ‘are available at this time.’

Who is this girl’s manager? This is one of the dumbest and most glaring of missed opportunities in recent memory. I was totally going to order that shit for my trip to see one of my gay buddies in May. Now what? You are losing customers, woman! Get it together! By my watch you have two months. If there isn’t anything up by then, I’m going to have to get that shitty etiquette book for comic relief. A good guest never forgets to bring a gift for the host, you know. Did Jill bring LuLu some fabric?

I guess that I could order it from Astor Wines. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll just print out the logo and slap it on some rotgut. I’m classy like that. And I’m joking. Before somebody tears me a new one, I am well aware of the fact that Bethenny is busy and pregnant. Unless it’s skinny babyfood I’m after, I can just forget it.

Silex arrive, hugs all around. They reiterate how surprised and excited they are to be getting along all weekend. Everyone looks good and healthy and happy in their varying degrees of exposed flesh and sun kissed skin. Enjoy thes days while they last, people. Before you know it, it’ll be October and we’ll be heralding the pasty days of Winter all over again.

Bethenny decides that she’s lost too many friendships this summer and confronts the logo issue head on with Alex. She says that she appreciated all the work that kinky girl did on the logo but her manager guided her along another direction, one less artistic and more cartoon-y if you ask me.

Alex is surprised to hear her cop to it so quickly, especially with all the trash that everyine (Jill) has been talking about her the past couple of days. Such a nasty person is showing concern for someone else’s feelings. Hmmm. I’m confused again. You people and your complicated emotions. Why can’t you be one dimensional like the O.C. gals?

Just kidding, I love the changing dynamics. They keep me interested. Unfortunately, it takes me twice as long to write my recaps, but at least I am being entertained by women with brains in their heads instead of bong resin and botox.

I have another query. Alex tells Bethenny that she wasn’t upset that her logo wasn’t chosen, she was upset that Bethenny said that she went with one that was BETTER. It seems to me that she’s splitting hairs here. It was better FOR HER needs, not in some kind of objective sense. Is Alex one of those Ayn Rand-ites? I seem to remember her quoting the author in one of the reunions. Something about checking your premises. Is that why she wants to make clear that her design wasn’t inferior? That whole objectivist insanely rigid moral standard? Ugh. I cannot believe that I’m even talking about philosophy in the context of a reality show. I need a drink.

So does everyone there, and they all drink up and eat their food in the knowledge that they are all on the same page, there are no hard feelings and nobody is talking behind anyone’s back. For now.

Bethenny asks why LuLu and Jill didn’t attend this soiree, and the whole count-less can of worms gets opened up again. TIRED. Bethenny thinks that there has to be something more to the story since everybody talks about everybody else, so why this time? Why this countless remark?

They talk about the Bethenny/Jill feud and Mario says well, you were needy the summer before and now you are not. The Jaw is getting upset again as she recounts her days as a Lonely Skinny Girl, drinking margarita after margatita and sucking on the limes of spinsterhood.

Ramona says that there are two sides to every story and then her friend Jennifer butts in and reminds Bethenny that Jill is really hurt by her behaviour and remarks. How does she know this? Jill is her good friend. They share the same custom blind rep.

And here we go again. I was starting to like The Jaw, the warmth of feeling was beginning to rise, and then, and then? She makes some holier than thou comment in interviews about Jennifer, saying “how dare you tell me about Jill, who are you, the caterer?” Aaaaaand, we’re back to cold as ice.

She hikes her dress up again, and wonders aloud why Jill would turn to LuLu when she has trashed her so vehemently in the past. Could it be the house in the Hamptons? Or, here’s a thought, could it be because Ms. deLippitysteps is on the down and outs, where Mama Jill likes all her sidekicks to be? Were you thinking that too, Gasmii? You know you were, admit it. Jill likes to be the big cheese. She can’t have it any other way.

At the other house, the beautiful day of nudie mags and the finest potato salad is drawing to a close. Leggy Kelly, the beautiful dolt, has to leave to get to bed early so that her breasts look well rested at the photo shoot the next morning. The left one still isn’t talking to the right one and it only gets worse when they don’t get their eight hours.

Noel is dreaming of a day when he can kiss girls without snagging braces, maybe visit Hugh Hefner’s Playboy mansion before it’s reduced to Hustler caliber girls and an old man who gets his colostomy bag changed more than he used to get his knob polished.

Back at the Singers, Alex and Simon are considering stopping in at LuLu’s. Oh, no you don’t. HELL no. Ramona doesn’t care if Silex never turn down an invite, she could care less if Jill needs a new gay husband, Simon and Alex are staying at HER party, dammit! And that’s final, or Mario is going to break out his body bags again.

Ramona is upset because she thinks that Jill is tinkering with her guests by extending the invite at the last minute. Poor Alex Francon is stuck in the middle. What will she do? Can she get out of this jam with all her objectivist principles intact? I’m on the edge of my seat!

She calls up Jill and tells her that leaving such a small party would be glaringly rude, so they are choosing to remain with the Singers and people that DRINK dammit, not teetotaling judgemental caftan wearing harpies. Oh, and she made the call OUTSIDE where no one could overhear it. Jill, are you taking notes here?

Nope, she’s too busy haranging Alex Taggert for gossip. GOSSIP.

I raise my hand to my heart once again, letting out a sigh that could shake a city block, and thank the powers that be for granting me good friends and the good sense to choose them wisely. I am going to call one of those friends at this very moment, make some plans to go for a bike ride in the Metroparks, maybe grab a bite at Melt, all without tearing anyone down or climbing over anyone to get on the board at the Cleveland Clinic.

Thank you, Miss Andy, for reminding me again what a lucky, luck girl I am.

Love and Kisses,
Twunty McSlore