RHOA: I Now Pronounce You Utterly Screwed

Gasmii Dearest—

Here we are at the very last episode of this oh-so-lengthy season! I don’t know about you, my pretties, but I feel like I’ve been stuck on the Kim & Kandi tour bus and/or insideThomas Kramer’s Villa Molesta forever. And I find it very, VERY hard to believe an entire 90m was required tonight to get codependent ex-supermodel Cynthia married to her insufferable elderly Gramps Charming and to remindl us that Kim, Phaedra and especially former fave NeNe are colossal Georgia buttholes. Congratulations, Sheree, you’re only the 5th biggest mess on the show now! I’m exhausted and we haven’t even started yet.

Aurum. It’s some snazzy cocktail lounge where Kandi’s second aspiring drag queen-pop star, Flawrence, is finally going to quit fighting nature and appear on-camera as the woman s/he really is. A female make-up artist dolls Flaw up with giant false eyelashes and a thick coat of lip-and-cheek-stain. Make-Up Girl notes that Flaw has nice lips. “That’s what the boys say,” Flaw smirks. And we’re off! Bravo won’t rest until TV is All Gay, All the Time. Just the way I personally like it. Kim arrives, slave assistant Sweetie in tow, and greets Phaedra, who looks like she slapped some leftover Halloween bunting onto her head and is calling it a hair-do. Kim says this is the first time she’s seen the ladies since Villa Molesta, although Cynthia is notably absent, busy with wedding-planning, Kim says, “if that’s still happening.” Kim, like your Recap Artist, understandably needs lots of alcohol to get through tonight and starts slamming back shots.

Don’t you just love what Countess LuAnn has done with her hair?

In come Kandi and her mom Joyce as Kandi interviews that she wrote the song “Closet Freak” “specifically for Flawrence”, but that the sassy she-male songstress has taken full control of tonight’s “performance” so Kandi has no idea what to expect. Since NeNe just walked in, bursting out of an ill-advised corset creation, accompanied by humorless thug new BFF Diana (aka The Hulk), expect loud, belligerent aggression. “I honestly,” NeNe tells us, “will not have anything else to do with Kim, evah!” Apparently sitting on the same couch with her doesn’t count, because that’s just where NeNe plops her big tuchus, with only Joyce and The Hulk separating the mortal frenemies. Kim says she has nothing to say to NeNe, then Salahi-bellows “Hi, LOOOOVE!!!” at Sheree as Her Ladyship enters the bar and we experience massive douche-chills. Sheree considers Flaw so much more than her personal weave-queen, he’s her #1 Gay, and she “wouldn’t miss” his debut performance “for nuthin!” Not even that grammar and diction tutorial I begged Miss Andy to provide every group of Housewives before those embarrassing Reunions start vampirizing our TiVos next week.

Kandi introduces her protegee: Kandi found something special in this remarkable young tran, and it’s time to share it with the world! Please welcome, MISS Flawrence! Tonight, Flaw’s rockin’ a Rihanna Meets Grace Jones black leather look, and has go-go girls and a fog machine to help sell Kandi’s song about one pissed-off faggot who’s tired of being some closeted DL bisexual stud’s unacknowledged plaything. NeNe says Flaw’s vocals and performance abilities score him well above Kim in the Kandi-Koated Entertainment sweepstakes. Flaw is a gender-blurring black tornado and receives a standing ovulation from the 95% female crowd. Sheree and Kandi go backstage to shower praise on the boy, Kandi interviewing that unlike Kim, Flaw takes this shit seriously and is looking at transvestite pop stardom as a viable career option. Kandi says an album is next. Flaw shrieks with glee. No comment from Wiggy, but in her defense she’s probably plastered on Grey Goose Pink Grapefruit, and I just might be joining her if I can get the Rock of Ages chorus boy last seen naked in my bed to go out and find some before the liquor shoppe closes up. And don’t go to the touring company website and try to guess who it is.

Best Gay Housewife Mascot EVER! Seriously, Lisa VanderPump just offered him her guesthouse.

Casa Cynthia. Poor doomed bride-to-be Cyn fusses over her wedding war-room, stuffed with items we can see (bulletin boards, index cards, lists) and those we can’t (ulcerous regrets and insecurities that make the blood run cold). Sister/Assistant Malorie pops in with their mom Barbara to find Cyn fretting about her incomplete dress and lack of bridesmaids’ frocks, and when Mom scoffs at Cyn’s suggestion of a Target run for the non-brides in the wedding party, Cyn insinuates they don’t have money for anything more than that now that Gramps’ restaurant/club is closed for business. There’s 2 days left until the Blessed Mistake, and today Cyn says they have to tackle “the beverage situation”. There’s a minimum $3K basic bar that the museum requires and Cyn’s wedding planners have been trying to talk her out of an oh-so-gauche cash bar, two words no one you want to wish you well likes hearing together. As soon as you cheapen your Special Romantic Fairy Tale Night with making people pay for drinks, you might as well cut your losses and elope to Reno. Or ask your dad to kick in the 3 grand. Which is what Cyn does when he conveniently calls and regretfully tells her he doesn’t have it this month. There’s also Laughlin.

Phaedra’s tract mansion. Top Entertainment Attorney-2-Da-Thugz Phae gussies up for her first day back at work since her little bundle of joy, Ayden Adonis, began literally suckling the very soul out of her. Since hunky trophy-bride Apollo also has a top corporate career and grandma Pastor Rotunda is busy fighting off the Satanic temptations of Krispy Kremes and corn fritters, Phae has enlisted the aid of top friend Melanie, mother of three and top nanny. “I was surprised at how emotional I got leaving Ayden for the first time,” Phae interviews. You and us both, honey. Don’t try to fool us with those crocodile tears coursing through all that eye make-up– we saw how eager you were to get the hell out of town to go party in Miami. Phae confides that leaving him for the day is akin to “rippin a piece out my heart”. Ayden has a different reaction, filling his diaper with a nice, wet farewell dump. You can practically hear Phae’s Mercedes tires squealing out of the subdivision.

“Tell the truth, woman. You’ve just purchased me, haven’t you?”

Kandi’s home studio. Kim arrives for what the previews assure is a long-overdue butt-reaming. Especially after Flaw’s fabulous public debut last night, it’s high time for her ass to get dropped from Kandi-Koated Records. Kim does that thing where she says how cute the other person looks without actually looking at them, but she doesn’t call Kandi “LOOOVE”, so I’m happy. Kandi has good news and bad news: Good– she’s going on tour with Fantasia. Bad– Kim and Kim’s “people” went around Kandi’s back to “Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing” co-producer Focus trying to pull some shit, specifically trying to figure out what he was going to bill them for his participation on the track. Kandi says that from now on, Kim’s lawyer needs to speak to Kandi’s manager and they’ll work out the nasty money business, to preserve their wonderful, non-exploitative, resentment-free BFF-ness. Kandi interviews that working with friends always creates financial issues, and says that she knows you’re supposed “to give your friends discounts, but DAYYYYUM.” Meaning Kim is trying to screw her. Again.

Kim proves this by telling us the producers only work on a track for “a day or two”, but she’s the one out there performing and selling and promoting the song, and she’s about to get her boobs re-done, so “the artist” deserves more, right? Um, wrong. You don’t write the shit, you don’t produce the shit, you don’t make shit. If you’re unhappy with this arrangement, there’s an ex-Hitler Youth named Thomas in Miami just waiting to take you Rolls shopping in exchange for a baby-oil massage.

Audition. In a sad effort to get us interested in hating her again, Sheree squeezes into a Handicapped parking space and enters a cattle-call for some movie called If These Hips Could Talk. Sheree is immediately thrown to see “a panel” sitting in judgment of her, mostly consisting of scowling fat broads humorlessly fanning themselves, and a non-fat but still humorless person identified as “Terri Vaughan, Actress/Casting Consultant“. A guy named Randy is brought in to read the scene with her, but Sheree can’t get two lines out before she’s stopped and told to quit “posing”– her body-language is all wrong for the scene. So what does Jackee Scary do? She argues with them: She was doing it the way Sheree, not the character, would do it, she explains. Start again. OK, stop. You wonder what they cut out of this, because Terri becomes super-frustrated, stands up at the table, and demonstrates the attitude they want, which isn’t what Sheree’s giving them. Sheree argues some more, actually telling them she wasn’t doing what they’re telling her they just saw her do. Buh-bye, we’ll be in touch, don’t call us, we’ll call you. Sheree prissily interviews that she was very happy doing it her way and scoffs at the “cliche angry black woman” character they were trying to force upon her. But of course Ree-Ree knows best– she’s been actressing for a whole 4 episodes now.

“Hello, Sheree. You’ll be reading the role of Evil Skinny Bitch #3.”

NeNe’s tract mansion. We haven’t seen NeNe’s lumbering pot-head wastrel eldest Bricen in a while. Did you miss him? Me neither. That child’s ugly as sin and has the personality of a cow flop. If you care, NeNe laid down the law and gave him 90 days to get his act together and get a job and move out and stop banging hoochies and selling cheap Mexican X in strip-mall clubs. She tells us he’s been making some progress, but that sounds like bullshit. NeNe makes it clear via interview that unlike Kim, she has no desire to be her children’s friend. I’d applaud that, but who wants to be friends with a lummox like Brice? Unless he has a good Adderol connection to get me through two Reunion shows and a Lost Footage debacle. On the plus side for NeNe, he buzzed off his hair. On the minus, he doesn’t seem at all interested in finding employment. Lucky for him NeNe REALLY hates dreadlocks, so she’s going to let him live at home “until he becomes more independent”. The only way this kid’s leaving that house is in a bodybag.

Casa Cynthia. It’s D-Day. Or in this case D-G-Day. That’s Death by Gramps. Just to make sure she spends every dime possible, blubbery blase Celebrity Stylist Kithe Brewster is there, wearing sunglasses indoors and giving his breakfast order to Cynthia’s mom, who not only has to put up with his tired queenery all day, but Mom just shelled out the 3K so everyone can get too drunk to remember what they were forced to witness. Kithe tells Cynthia he has a car with a full tank of gas in case she wants to make a break for it. Then Malorie corners her and asks if she really wants to go through with this. Yes, Cyn whines. Because you seem very tense, no make that SAD, on this, supposedly one of the happiest days of a girl’s life. And who wouldn’t be bummed out? Broke, non-hot Gramps is marrying a still-gorgeous ex-supermodel who’s not a total bitch– the least he can do is act a little grateful and be nice to her! This has all the trappings of a 48 Hours Mystery episode entitled “Beauty and the Beast”. Malorie pleads with her: If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. Cyn: It doesn’t feel right. But I love him and I want to do it. I have a very queasy feeling that if this were NOT part of a hit reality show season finale and she didn’t have to answer to Miss Andy and “Lulu From Little Rock from bravotv.com” she would have ended this long ago. So, honestly Gasmii, it’s YOUR fault that this poor gentle creature is about to ruin her life. I hope you’re happy!

Malorie’s not, and breaks down in tears after mentioning the insanity of blowing massive amounts of cash on wedding and starting married life in financial trouble. Cynthia tells us she’s never seen her sister cry and that means Mal’s uber-concerned. Is it finally starting to sink in? Cyn goes out for a walk, no make-up, Fred Sanford t-shirt, and as she strolls down her block, desolate, we end on a close-up of a stop sign. Cyn darling? Now even the RHOA director is trying to tell you something.

Subtle.

Park. Cynthia’s mom finds her moping on a bench. They embrace and weep. And wouldn’t you know it? Mom’s “not a very emotional person”, according to Cyn, and here she is sobbing in public. Are we ANY closer to this sinking in? Cynthia tells Mom she’s following her heart. Mom says she doesn’t have a good feeling about this. She doesn’t like the way Gramps handles business and she feels he’s “abusing you financially”. Be careful, Mom, they’re taping this! Once Gramps sees this he’s liable to beat your daughter with a sack of oranges. Mom is sick of Cyn doing all the giving and wants Gramps to take care of Cyn and her child. She wants Cyn to be the “beautiful black strong woman” she raised. “You big dummy.” Mom doesn’t say that, but the camera focuses right in on what’s written on her Fred Sanford t-shirt, so she might as well have. Cyn doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do– God could have made her fall in love with anyone, but He chose Gramps! Well, maybe now He’s choosing Mom, Malorie, Sheree, Kim, Kandi, Brielle, Flawrence, Phaedra, Ayden Adonis, Miss Andy’s colon hydrotherapist, the director and the camera crew to tell her to cut and run. He does work in mysterious ways… at least that’s what the nuns would tell us in grade school when someone’s mom died in a bar fight or got eaten by a shark.

NeNe’s tract mansion. Gregg comes waddling up from his basement bachelor pad. In case you forgot, that’s NeNe’s husband, who she decided she hated at some point last season or this season or oh who gives a fuck. Life on NeNe’s shitlist ain’t no bed of roses, apparently, since Gregg has deteriorated to the point where he could be Gramps’s dad. NeNe deigns to grant him an audience with her and her titties, which are flopping alarmingly under what looks a catamaran sail from the S.S. Flashdance. Gregg is winded from climbing the stairs (or maybe just from pouring two glasses of wine) and miserably declares that he’s had “a lotta sleepless nights and a lotta thought over the things we had spoken about and last time you and I met to talk, it ended up brutal”– my nuns loved sentence diagramming and even they wouldn’t touch that one. “Rightly so,” NeNe replies. “It wasn’t a nice situation.” In FLASHBACK we see but mostly hear NeNe screaming about how he done her ROANNNNNG!

“And Gregg, if you see a ‘NN’ on da box, dat’s MAH wine!”

Gregg, who’s obviously had a session or two with the mandatory shrink supplied by reality shows to their victims casts, apologizes for “not acknowledging” NeNe’s “hurt”. NeNe tells us Gregg has apologized “a million times” over the years and she just doesn’t buy it. It certainly doesn’t make her want to “reconcile”: “What I’d like to see change is Gregg’s behavior.” What I’d like to see is NeNe stopping the wedding and claiming Gramps for herself. Preferably in the next 5 minutes, so I can get back to planning my Girls-N-Gays pajama party Blu Ray screening of Dario Argento‘s classic Euroshocker Deep Red. Flipit, I have you down for baklava! Perhaps sensing this isn’t going so well, Gregg says that no matter what happens, they’ll both be good parents to cuter, younger son Brentt. “I wouldn’t have it no otha way,” NeNe snorts– not about to waste good grammar on this triflin-ass foo. She runs down a not-quick-enough laundry list of everything wrong with their marriage: “damage… dishonesty… no loyalty, misplaced trust”, cramping, temporary blindness, minute tears of the urethra and tarry stools. NeNe hopes they can still be friends. But she knows her worth. And God didn’t make no junk. Old enough to bleed, old enough to seed.

Casa Cynthia. 6 hours until It Happens. Cynthia is getting her weave rolled in the kitchen, surrounded by the most subdued bridesmaids in history, when Malorie somberly enters with the news that there are no wedding bands and Madame Bossy Pants Kithe wants someone to run out and fetch them. Cynthia tells us that providing the rings was Gramps’s responsibility. Senility is a bitch, Gasmii. Cyn says tough shit, she’s not going to worry about it. She just wants to have more blush champagne. She says if she’s drunk, it won’t hurt when she falls down later. Or when Gramps gives her her first punch in the face as husband and wife. Cyn shares a warm moment with her very poised and lovely 11-year-old daughter Noelle, who’s the one person on Earth happy about the nuptials. It makes me feel a tiny bit better about the whole thing because this would seem to indicate that Gramps isn’t a total asshole. Or maybe Noelle’s just blitzed on Vicodin. It is, after all, a special occasion.

But wait till you see the dress.

And that’s only the top part.

Fernbank Natural History Museum. Cynthia rented it out for the wedding and reception, remember? She’s kooky like that. So kooky, in fact, she’s allowed Kithe The Jaded Bitchy Wedding Fairy to talk her into walking down the aisle in a poofy silver-grey couture creation one might wear to an inaugural ball in the merry old land of Oz. I don’t care how hot the designer, Rubin Singer, is (and he is!)– this dress is RIDONK. Any sympathy Cyn may need from anyone she might wish to loan her money to rescue her from the poorhouse? Not gonna happen. Not when they see she paid good money for this flabbergasting frock.

Just because you have low self-esteem doesn’t mean you should get married in a giant tied-off Hefty bag.

Kim’s townhouse. In a scene straight of Designing Women, Kim (as Suzanne Sugarbaker) reclines on a day-bed clutching a sure-to-remain-untrained-but-precious-for-now teddy-bear puppy. She’s recovering from her latest boob-job (Kim, not the dog. I’ve had one, and I can’t imagine paying triple if I had six teats) and using a mic and speaker to summon Sweetie, who rushes in and compliments her new fun-bags as she helps her wedding-bound, surely-pain-medicated mistress to her feet. “I don’t think NeNe looked that good,” Sweetie fawns. “NeNe looks a f*ckin mess, but you get what you pay for,” Kim snips, then interviews “Did NeNe even really HAVE a boob-job? They’re like, such saggy titties. Get a refund, bitch!” There’s no way Kim’s kids DON’T watch this show, right? Just checking. At least with Facebook, they can get instant support from Danielle Staub‘s girls.

Kim staggers to the bathroom mirror and admires the now-even-bigger twins, forcing Sweetie to come in and join her. “Touch them!” Kim commands. Somebody get that poor exploited black woman a sexual-harassment attorney. Kim jiggles with delight at the thought of her new paramour, but-his-face NFL stud Kroy Biermann, who’s been giving it to Kim and her former tits hard since she first noticed his ass him at Sheree’s dance recital. Kim has doffed Pig Boppa‘s monster engagement ring, which could seriously pay for several years of college if those nitwit daughters of hers could get in, and is ready to show off Kroy and his round edible rump to the HW’s at tonight’s gala trainwreck. Sweetie thinks this “serious” relationship can only help Kim’s image. But let’s face it– anything short of a child-molestation charge could do that. As Kim curls her wig, the doorbell rings and chubby tween Ariana admits Kroy, dolled-up in a suit and looking less homely than I remember. A great ass IS super-important in a boyfriend, don’t you agree, Flipit?

Oh, Kroy… as long as I have a face, you’ll always have a seat.

Kim would like you to know that Ariana and chastity-trumpeting teenage wang-tease Brielle simply ADORE Uncle Kroy! Please. They just have to endure less shit at school when Kim dates an unmarried man, that’s all. “Hi, LOOOVE!” Kim Salahi’s (say it for me), sashaying in wearing a black gown that shows off those new ta-ta’s with a neckline that just clears her nipples. Kroy reddens (and he’s already on the red side) at Kim’s saucy tit-talk and agrees that they should stop for a drink before heading to the museum and its $3K worth of alcohol.

“I love your ass so much I asked them to put it on my chest!”

Fernbank. Cynthia’s mood has brightened considerably as a glam-squad tarts her up. Gramps’s mother, Eugenie, who’s so old she literally has no teeth, appears to presumably thank Cyn for taking her grumpy broke son off her hands. She mentions she hasn’t seen Gramps all day. Cut to the groom emerging from a chauffered SUV and shuffling cluelessly into the building. “I’m so f*cked up right now,” he babbles to chunky leprechaun Wedding Fairy Tony Conway, and Gasmii, he looks it! Medical marijuana? Benzos? Opioids? Geritol? How incredibly thoughtless and rude. Him, not us. “Where have you been?! You know you have a wedding,” Tony sniffs, perhaps starting to realize bankrupt grooms don’t have to pay their bills. Tony remarks that Gramps “smells smashing”, which I’m not sure is a compliment, then orders him to stay put and “not wander off”. Gramps demands vodka.

“You think Charlie Sheen’s out of control? You should have met Thomas Jefferson.”

90m left. Cyn’s still in the chair, as if anyone’s going to be paying attention to her face when she sweeps in wearing those mylar drapes. Kithe enters to tell her the “good news”: Gramps is here and he looks “stunning”. The cocktail hour begins. Kim’s wig designer Derek J and Flawrence arrive in partial drag. Sheree shows off her Manolos. Cynthia tells us she’s “too calm” and feels like the realization hasn’t hit her yet. Oh, it will. Then she gasps, remembering she’s forgotten “the license”. THAT’S what you’re worried about?! Well, apparently it IS a big deal. “In the state of Georgia, no one can perform a wedding ceremony without a valid marriage license,” she explains. That’s to keep those sneaky gays from trying to pull a fast one by attempting to exercise their civil rights. Sorry, gays, not in this state! Go to Vermont with that twisted shit. Reverend Pollard says someone needs to run to Casa Cynthia and grab it. And BTW, why didn’t they ask Pastor Rotunda to marry them? She probably would have thrown some corn fritters in with the deal.

There’s some sort of manufactured bullshit suspense as Cyn and Malorie try to figure out where the license is– at home, on someone here at the museum, or perhaps where it should be, in the fucking shredder. OK, I was wrong. This is sort of interesting, because Malorie and Cynthia’s mom have the license and are now privately debating (on-camera) whether or not to give it to her, because if the rev doesn’t see it, the marriage won’t be legal and then can presumably be more easily annulled. Mom asks Mal if she would want her family to withhold HER marriage license, and Mal says “If it was to the wrong person, I would.” Wow. Mom definitely seems to agree that Gramps is the wrong person, but says that Cynthia can’t see that “right now”. You go, meddling ladies! Malorie starts to cry.

“And you must be Cyn’s Aunt Loretha!”

 

So glad Aunt Derkita could make it, too…

Kim arrives next, with her own bottle of wine, for which she makes an arrangement with a lucky waiter to keep her glass full at all times. Kim interviews that she had to take this drastic step because she knew cash-challenged Cyn wouldn’t have the good stuff. You booze-swilling, huge-titted bitch. Speaking of tits, here’s NeNe, with guard dog Diana in tow. NeNe’s squeezed into a strapless red number with the aid of plenty of ta-ta tape. Kim gives her a dirty look. Kandi and Joyce are next, and I can’t help wondering if Joyce is thinking about the wedding Kandi narrowly missed having to her late, fertile ex-fiance AJ. Dwight‘s here, too, in case you’ve been missing his tired pulled-back ass.

“And you’ve already met my areolas. If not, look closely. My right, your left. Good thing this shit ain’t in Hi-Def, huh?”

Who got a red BMW for marrying a yappy amphibious top attorney? I’ll give you a hint– he’s the hottest semi-straight man in the place and named after a Greek god. “This is our first time as a couple goin out to a formal event since I had the baby and I’m feelin pretty confident,” Phaedra interviews, “because I’m showin off my figure and my lactating breasts…” If things get dull later, she can try shooting milk into a champagne flute. Everyone takes their seats. Kim, Sheree & Phaedra snipe to each other about the lack of flowers and other “cut corners”. Phae insinuates that it’s bastshit-crazy to spend a million bucks on a wedding when you’re “in foreclosure”. I begged them to bring Suze Orman into it but nobody listens to me. (Except of course you, my beauties.) THAT’s who NeNe should have interviewed on the news. She could have spent the afternoon golfing with Suze and then they could have dropped by Casa Cynthia for a financial intervention.

…So of course she didn’t bolt. Despite Malorie’s slightly nauseated expression (mom Barbara isn’t exactly beaming either), Cyn glides down the stairs in her Hefty bag after interviewing that as soon as she saw Gramps standing there, she knew she was doing the right thing. Gagbarfpuke. The rev is right-on when he says that marriage “should be entered into in fear” (of “Almighty God” but still, that’s weird). Oh, shit, they wrote their own vows. Cyn: Blah blah give myself to you blah good times and bad blah blah eternity blahbitty blah solemn vow blah. Gramps (with reading glasses): Blah blah inspire encourage blah good times bad times blah blah my queen blah. By the homophobic power vested in him, they’re married. Welcome to bankruptcy and at least 2 years of extreme crotchety moodiness before he drops dead (although he does have a 136-year-old mother so let’s not place any bets yet). NeNe thought the ceremony was extremely short and oddly ring-less. Forget rings, honey– repo men are out there removing the Just Married banner from their vehicles right this second.

“Damn… I never should’ve sold my Converted Brand Rice recipe to Mars, Inc.!”

Laughs finally come when Celebrity Stylist cash-flusher Kithe takes the stage and announces “Mister and Mister Peter Anthony Thomas”. Then he says it again, then finally corrects himself, as Phaedra makes one of her faces and everyone wonders just how tranked-up IS that crazy queen Kithe anyway?! Jesus Christ, Tammy Faye Bakker had it more together when she was hallucinating and walking into the backdrop on The PTL Club! As they begin their overwhelmingly romantic first dance, Kim tells us she’ll “put money on the fact that Gramps and Cynthia won’t be together in a year.” LOL. Booze, boobies, dancing to generic cheap replaced music, Cyn’s foxy ex Leon from Oz and the “Like A Prayer” video, and Dwight tipsily introducing people to his equally fruity escort Derek, who’s white, face-lifted and wearing an obnoxiously festooned federby hat. Are there ANY tops in Atlanta?!

NeNe reminds us that she had a loud, drunken, screaming “falling out” with Dwight 40 or 50 episodes ago “and since then, we haven’t talked.” Liar! He pulled her aside for a slurry rapprochement at Kandi’s preview concert, and for some reason, that’s happening again. Dwight plucks some of the scant floral decoration off the wall and presents it to her, insisting that he’s missed her and it was divine seeing her tonight. She’s a little lit, too, so she pulls him to her rampaging bosom for a beneficent hug. No one can stand either one of them so they should really re-team, if only for camera-time. Then they dance. And finally, finally merciful Jesus, it’s over… and time for Last Looks….

NeNe says she’s grown into a new person and although she doesn’t know what the future holds, she’s determined to “get my happy back”. If not, there’s always more plastic surgery to be had. Just ask Dwight.

“With her divorce pending, and Gregg still in the basement, NeNe dreams of a move to LA… to get her happy back.” Really? Because Louisiana is like the saddest state in the continental US.

Kandi tells us she’s looking to find Prince Charming and have another kid, but if that doesn’t pan out, she’ll “replace it with work like I always do.”

“Issues with ‘The Ring Didn’t Mean A Thing’ remain unresolved and the single unreleased. Kandi travels to promote her new album… but not by bus.” Kandi, we still heart you long time. Mwah!

Phaedra’s drunk and snappin’ up a storm! And why not? She feels “complete”, since she has everything “I prayed for… I know I can have it all, and I believe that I do.” Redundant much?

“Phaedra balances litigating and diaper-changing. She is planning Ayden’s baptism. Dwight is busy planning the party.” Lawd have mercy, honeychile!

Sheree also has it all– kids she sometimes speaks to, men lining up to date her, and a white-hot acting career. There’s plenty of gold left to dig and she’s “coming out of my shell” and going for it! You know, because she was so demure before.

“The producers of the film called– Sheree got the part. She’s still dating… but checks credentials first.” That must have been one shitty casting session.

And goodness me, Kim ALSO just happens to be amazingly fulfilled and bursting with happiness. And saline.

“Kim & NeNe haven’t spoken since Miami. She and Kroy are home-hunting to make room for their growing family… a baby is expected in June.” What. A. Slut.

Kroy in 5 years

“Cynthia is learning to separate romance from finance and remains happily married. Peter is opening a small lounge in Atlanta. Cynthia is not investing.” No comment.

Thanks to all of you for sticking with me for this epic season. I hate goodbyes, and so does Bravo, because there’s 3 hours of Reunion trauma plus a Lost Footage fillerama in all of our futures. In the meantime, please check out my semi-regular Horrorgasm blog. Because this show just wasn’t horrifying enough!

NEXT UP: DEEP RED (1975) !!!

Besos,
LLB