One Sentence Summary: Season 6 comes to an end with a bang… on the table.
Haven’t we all had enough?
Rachel: Okay my jaw dropped when LuAnn left with Harry last week. Tell me she doesn’t know Sonja’s been seeing him. I’m so not buying that. And what a dick Harry is. He’s a Harry dick. LOL… Sorry, couldn’t help it. But I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this tonight. Can we also please get to the bottom of Ramona now? I’m so done with her. But let’s be honest, we’re all just waiting for the leg toss heard round the reality world. You’d have to be living under a rock – or watching real news about the world – to have missed the story about tonight’s drama. So, let’s get to it…
There’s Got To Be A Morning After
The wrong part of Sonja’s body got banged last night.
It’s the morning after and Sonja is licking her wounds. Well, she’s making her interns lick them, because she doesn’t do anything. In the midst of having to deal with her friend leaving the party with her man, she’s also having to deal with a sore ankle. Ramona & Kristen show up to the drama and some tears. Sonja tells them the story and it seems she tripped on her fishtail while running after Harry. Lady, we don’t literally chase boys. Continue reading
One Sentence Summary: Carole is queen of the mermaids while Aviva faces her fears as the two battle it out for most fabulous… in their own minds.
Oh, it’s about to get real up in this hizzy, beotches.
Rachel: Can someone please explain to me why Carole insists on engaging Aviva? I really thought she was smarter than that. I mean the woman has more nuts stored away in that brain of hers than a squirrel ready for the winter, so why oh why would you bother trying to take that on? And all that happens is Carole devolves into a bitchy insult-slinger just like her friend Aviva. I was all kinds of proud of her for apologizing to LuAnn and then… meltdown. I actually get embarrassed for these ladies. I do. You’d think after all these years, I’d be immune, but I’m not. Their immature sniping and scene-causing still makes me uncomfortable. On the other hand, Heather telling Aviva’s friend, Amanda – who is clearly there to jockey for the next open slot on the show – to deck her is pure gold. I love when the Diddy Days come flooding back and Heather goes full ‘hood while wearing a $500 maxi-dress. Ah, if only Bitchy Von Attention Whore would really haul off and hit Heather. Not that I’m condoning violence… well, I am a little… But to see Heather take it to the mat just once would take that golden moment and elevate it to platinum. So, let’s see how this goes down (or doesn’t).
One Sentence Summary: Carole and Aviva finally agree on something: they don’t like each other.
Wait, no one hates me. I’m confused.
Rachel: So yeah, it’s happened. I’ve rejoined the real world and gotten myself a day job. Well, I had a day job this whole time, but it was working for myself… at home… with no one paying attention to whether or not I took a Candy Crush break. But now, I have to set an alarm and it’s hard. But you probably already know this. And you probably have very little sympathy for me. OK, no sympathy for me. I don’t blame you. Anyway, the point of me telling you this is not to complain – I’m actually pretty happy – but to explain why it’s been pretty quiet over her at Two Winey Bitches. Once I’m back into the swing of things, I will get back up to speed. But please understand that if I’m behind or miss an episode, it’s because I chose to end the day in a bottle of wine and passed out before I could type anything. Trust me, it’s better that I don’t in that situation. OK, so… the RHONY. I’m still Team Carole and still want to beat Aviva about the head. That much has remained the same. We’ll see how the rest pans out…
Rachel: There’s that moment in every woman’s life when she comes to the harsh realization that time is indeed marching on… across her face. My moment came crashing down on me this week like a Wile E Coyote anvil. It’s happening, people. I am losing the battle with gravity. I had already conceded the win to gravity in the battle with my ass. I was hoping it would give me a small reprieve when it came to my face. Not so much. In fact, its assault on my body is ruthless and unrelenting. I’m pretty sure I’m going to wake up any day now and find 75% of my skin around my ankles.
Oh it’s not that I haven’t noticed any signs of aging – I’m not that naive or blind – but maybe I’ve been in denial about what is truly happening north of my neck. And maybe that lovely girl blowing my hair dry last week – the one that told me I looked a decade-plus younger than I am – was just fishing for a better tip. But my visit to the esthetician for a facial woke me from my Cybil-Shepherd-with-a-filtered-lens dream. Who knew that when I purchased that deal on Living Social that I was getting a discount on bad news?
I thought the worst part of my visit was going to be the 40 minutes I had to wait because the “computer” screwed up their schedule. (What did we blame for our disorganization before computers?) Oh, how wrong I was. As I finally settled in for some TLC for my visage, my esthetician started the requisite “Let’s see what we have here.” overview. You know when they take the 1000x’s magnifier and tsk tsk you as your skin rats you out for of all the bad things you’ve ever done to it. Yeah yeah, I know. Sun damage on my nose. Lines on my lips from too many years of smoking (For the record, I’m 6 years nicotine- free). And yes, I still count glasses of wine as part of my required fluid intake so I expected to hear about dehydration and the importance of drinking water. But I didn’t expect to hear, “Oh, we’ve got some loose skin here.” as she ran her fingers over my cheeks. I’ll be honest, I’m sure she used more professional language than that, but that’s what I heard, and that’s all I heard, as visions of Droopy Dog danced around my head. Gravity’s now turned its attention to my cheeks. Bastard.
But the steam and the aromatherapy and the cleansing lulled me back into denial. That is until the beating began… That’s right, she starting slapping at my cheeks as if to scare them into submission. Turtle it right back up into tautness. Begone you jowls from Hell! I’m pretty sure I looked a lot like this. It was alarming. It was unsettling. It was amazing! I couldn’t believe it. I actually looked like a younger version of myself as I walked out that door into the bright Florida sunshine. Take that, gravity! I am a facial ninja and I have beaten you at your own game!
But then… morning came. And whilst I slept, secure in my victory, gravity snuck in under cover of night and undid all the do. Yes, I woke to find the sag once again. This time, I couldn’t ignore it. There it was, mocking me. Using the shadows from the overhead lights as a weapon of mass destruction of my confidence. I know I shouldn’t be so vain with all that is going on in the world. Blah blah blah… But you know what, I’m mad. I’m mad as hell and I’m not gonna take it anymore!
That’s right, gravity. I’m coming for you with my weapon of mass destruction and thy name is face yoga! You heard me. I saw Ranjana Khan on Real Housewives of New York and she looks amazing. And she looks amazing because of face yoga. And probably some very expensive facial products, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s my turn now! I’m gonna fish pucker my face back ten years! I’m gonna yawn with such exaggeration that people are going to call me the Marty McFly of dewlaps! Oh it’s happening… just as soon as I figure out exactly how it works. In the meantime, I think I’ll drink some water…