It’s been a while since I wrote a photocap for Real Housewives of New York City, and I can explain why very easily: I’m lazy. Truth is that I have more in common with Sonja Morgan than I’d like to admit. Basically, we both like to sit in bed and read about our “friends” in the New York Post (and by New York Post, I mean Facebook). Nevertheless, RHoNYC has ratcheted up the crazy the past two episodes, and I think barely one scene has gone by that hasn’t been totally, utterly cringe-inducing.
Take this week’s episode, for example. The show began with Heather and Sonja butting heads repeatedly over a toaster-oven photo shoot that looked about as pleasant as if I had stuffed my head into said toaster oven and turned the machine to broil (that of course assumes Sonja’s hardware actually works, which is not necessarily a given). Poor Heather looked positively frustrated as she stood around, NOT getting paid, waiting for Sonja’s lazy ass to show up. When Sonja did arrive, she had so many requests and demands that even Faye Dunaway was probably “Chill, girl.” It’s no wonder she needs a small army of interns to follow her around like ducklings. The crazy woman has so many needs at any given time that it would take at least five people to tend to her every whim (not the least of which pertains to bloody tampons. Ewwwww).
They’re baaaaaaAAAAAACK. Well, at least three of them. I speak, of course, of The Real Housewives of New York City, which has been revamped with new opening credits, a new artistic direction, and of course a new(ish) cast. Gone are Cindy, Kelly, Jill, and Alex. In their place come three fresh faces. Well, I use the term “fresh” loosely. I wouldn’t call Carole and Aviva the paradigms of natural beauty. Poor Carole has done such strange things to her mouth that she often looks like she’s in a permanent state of Invisalign shame. Y’all know what I’m talking about.
Of the three newbies, Carole most certainly made the smallest impression. On the plus side, she seems to hate kids, which is hilarious, and even better, she hates when mommies talk about kids. Already she’s won me over. However, after that glorious revelation, Carole kind of become blah and forgettable. She talked about being a widow a lot (all the while simultaneously suggesting how annoyed she was about having to be pigeonholed as a widow), and she managed to humble brag a few times as well. Hopefully she’ll serve as something of a Greek chorus to the rest of these women because if there’s anything that has remained consistent with this series, it’s the high level of bat-shit craziness on display.
Spring is in the air. I guess that would make sense since it’s Spring, and all, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is that the weather is getting warmer, and the TV is getting HOTTER (now I sound like a promo writer for ABC). Not only are our beloved Real Housewives of New Jersey about to reclaim their trashy, suburban spot on our DVRs, but now come the revamped and retooled Real Housewives of New York City. This iteration has always been my favorite of the bunch, but after a cast overhaul that saw Jill, Kelly, Alex, and that other woman (I mean… seriously?) dropped like a stale bagel, I’m not totally sure I’m ready for this new bunch. All I see are a lot of strange, toothy mouthes. Of course, I’m totally open to it all, and with Ramona and LuAnn still fighting, there’s no way this could go wrong. Already we have LuAnn’s stellar quote of the season, “What other dirty tricks do you have to pull out of your PINOT-FILLED ASS??” not to mention Jacques saying “A BAAAABY???” in the most amusingly French way possible. Plus, drunk, naked Sonja galavanting in a pool with a martini glass. IT’S LIKE A SCENE RIGHT OUT OF MY LIFE.
Above, check out an extended preview of the season, which was teased last night on the utterly ridiculous disaster known as Watch What Happens: All Stars or something like that. New York City has yet to have a dud season, and this appears to be no exception.
Well, it’s over. The fourth season of The Real Housewives of New York City managed to survive the departure of Bethenny Frankel by serving us an extra helping of catty in-fighting for sixteen glorious episodes. I think just about everyone fought with everyone… except for Kelly, who emerged as the most mature and level-headed woman of the crew. How did that happen? Have we slipped into some strange gummy-bear-fueled parallel dimension? If so, how do we fix it? Clearly Santa will be of no help.
Nevertheless, this final episode centered around the one year anniversary of LuAnn and Jacques. The Countess decided to stage a festive party on a boat, which got me excited if only because we knew it would inevitably lead to her singing yet again. And I use the term “singing” loosely. The big surprise for the guests would be that the one and only Natalie Cole would be joining LuAnn on the mic. I guess the idea is that a rising tide will lift all boats, with the tide being Natalie Cole and the boats being LuAnn; although, it’ll require a tsunami to dredge up the shipwreck that is LuAnn’s singing voice. Too soon for tsunami jokes?
What if you made a music video, and no one came to be in it? Would it still make a noise? That’s the philosophical question that I’m sure someone asked when watching last night’s catty, penultimate (sniff sniff) episode of The Real Housewives of New York City. The big news was that LuAnn was putting together a music video for her soon-to-be radio smash “Chic, C’est La Vie,” and naturally all the women would want to be in it, right? Not so much. First Ramona expressed concern because she felt the video would send a poor message to Avery. Then Alex dropped out because she simply a) hates LuAnn, and b) hates the idea of a song that celebrates jetsetting and “class.” In fact, we learned that Alex hates the word “class” entirely, noting that those who have it don’t flaunt it. Point well taken. However, as Alex and Simon grumbled about LuAnn, I couldn’t help but cringe at the inevitable clash this would lead to in the reunion, especially when Simon suggested taking the “o” out of “Countess.”
“Ladies and gentlemen: this is the Countess speaking. We have arrived. On your phone.”
That’s what I imagine LuAnn De Lesseps’ new iPhone app says when you start it up. Yes, you heard me correctly: LuAnn has a new iPhone app. Money can’t buy you class, but it can nab you “Countess LuAnn” for $0.99. The application offers many useful tools, such as a primer on etiquette, an “Ask the Countess” feature, and most importantly the ability to create images of you and LuAnn. That alone might be worth the dollar.
Additionally, users can take “Etiquette & Manner” polls and thumb through LuAnn’s bio, photos, and videos. There’s also much, much more, which only makes sense for someone enjoying the “Chic, C’est La Vie” mobile lifestyle. Features that don’t appear to be included:
Create your own dismissive insult.
A haughty laugh recording that allows you to punctuate any dig by pressing a button and hearing LuAnn’s guffaw.
A GPS feature that seethes, “THIS IS NOT THE PLAZA HOTEL. THIS IS Ralph’s Italian Ices of Syosset.”
A Groupon-esque feature that with every deal always reminds you, “See, I share my deals with you. I’m not like Ramona, who won’t share HER deals. That’s an awfully BITCHY thing to do.”
A camel safety video.
Push notifications for the app to occasionally ask you, “Would you believe she called me a snake? How nasty! The mouth on that one!”
We’ve all written off LuAnn De Lesseps’ latest trifle as something of a drag queen treatise on the good life, but here’s the surprising news: LuAnn isn’t releasing her spoken-word songs on some random label willing to cash in on her reality fame. She’s actually with Ultra Records, which also is home to the omnipresent Pitbull, not to mention The Chemical Brothers, Tiësto, Shiny Toy Guns, Basement Jaxx, Deadmau5, Grum, and Kaskade, to name a few. So how did LuAnn manage to join a roster of such critical darlings and dancefloor mainstays? I’m really not sure. Chic, c’est la vie indeed.
Thanks to Neil for the above inevitable video tribute.