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The Real Housewives of New York City Recap: Finally, Some Crazy Time

Finally! These chickens are acting like the cuckoo birds we need them to be. And it’s a good thing that Ramona is officially off whatever anti-psychotic meds kept her renewed in seasons past, because suddenly, The Real Housewives of New York City is watchable again. Also, Heather calling Ramona “crazy” to Mario’s face — as one might reasonably assume would be his batshit spouse’s wont — is the understatement of the always. Truly. Ramona Singer ran head-to-head with the meth-loving grandma’s on last night’s Intervention premiere for “Most Irrational and Manic,” and Ramona won the silver. And yet, Heather’s accusation of her banan-itude is so controversial, it necessitates a “To Be Continued” at the end of the episode? Anyway, let’s start at its beginning.

The show began at Cool Carole’s Holiday Party, which hosted Aviva’s horny dad George, Sonja, and twelve-thousand accessories that Sonja wore on her head, neck, and body.

There were also other people there, and gifts that George made sex jokes about, like a wine coaster that he called a “cock ring,” a salamander that he called a “clitoris lizard,” and a ball gag that he just grinned at, like it was a photo of his grandchildren. I know a lot of you think George is an unacceptable sex offender, but as long as he doesn’t actually touch anybody with his “Wood Medicine,” he’s all right by me. The guy makes me laugh! Hear that, Jerry Seinfeld? Maybe it would be nice to get coffee in your car with George instead of Ricky Gervais for an episode of your web show.

After that, Heather and her Put-Upon Straight Person Graphic Designer Pal loitered patiently in a photo studio with a food stylist and a hunk. They were waiting for Sonja, who arrived an hour late for her toaster oven photo shoot, at which she mostly ignored people, flirted, got distracted, and spoke loudly and proudly about taking out her tampon, which, she made sure we all knew, was soaked bloody. Sonja’s tampon announcement made everybody hungry for toaster food, but there was modeling to be done first.

The hunk did a great job on the shoot, and so did Heather, whom I’ve come around to. Everybody was pretty professional once Sonja was in hair, makeup, gown, and tampon, and the hunk setups went well. Then it was time for Sonja to take the photos of her own design, which were hunkless. Heather and her P.U.S.P.G.D.P. were dismayed to see the hunk-free shots, because they knew Sonja would pick those, and she did. Because I suppose where she grew up, hunks grew on trees and you could just be really wasteful about them. Despicable.

This scene was sad because Sonja was so frazzled and Heather was so frustrated, and you could really see what a joke Sonja’s brand was and how bad her instincts are in promoting it, despite the reasonably good advice she solicited. Also, never do somebody a favor. That’s the other thing I learned from this boondoggle.

Then Carole hosted the ladies at her bachelorette pad, which won the backhanded praise of “buy low, sell high” Ramona when she called it “petite.” Heather wore a stupid long-sleeved T-shirt with some words on it and Carole’s suggestion to order a pizza was met with the same kind of reaction I give when a party hostess asks me if she can fix me a shot of wheatgrass cum, or whatever that green shit is called. So instead of pizza — which is GOD’S FOOD — the ladies picked at personalized M&Ms and shared one takeout salad while they made plans to go to St. Barths. And there was some talk about Aviva being scared to go because the plane you need to board to get there is very small. So she asked whether she could bring her husband, Reed, and Ramona made a face like “If you do, you’re the new Alex, and I will eat you alive like you’re the opposite of a pizza.”

Once the St. Barths Trip seeds were sown at Carole’s, it was time for Ramona to host a party celebrating the fact that she invented Ramona Merlot and that she was Photoshopped into oblivion for the covers of two different-size magazines nobody has ever heard of. Sonja showed up to Ramona’s party wearing a ruffled Austin Powers dickie under a butterscotch leather blazer and Heather wore a black, smoky eye. Ramona wore another one of her stupid necklaces over a drop-waisted strapless dress. I’ve given up on her. Anyway, the Sonja-Heather-Ramona tensions were HIGH at this party, which you kind of got the feeling Bravo orchestrated, or at least fanned the flames of beforehand. Like, did they switch out one of Ramona’s anti-psychotic pills with an estrogen supplement?

You see, Sonja, who makes everybody sad, told Ramona, who is so crazy she might be legally considered dangerous, that Heather didn’t want her on the set of her toaster oven photo shoot. And that was like setting off a firecracker in front of somebody with untreated PTSD. Ramona completely lost her mind as she masticated the possibility that somebody she already knows dislikes her neglected to invite her to something, and then, on top of that slight, didn’t even call her to tell her she had made that non-decision. This was Ramona walking into the pool with her clothes on, but unlike Skyler from Breaking Bad, bitch wasn’t faking it. Also, in this metaphor, the pool is a metaphor for her own brain, and it is not filled with water — it contains a multitude of nonsensical thoughts and emotions.

So naturally, Ramona ran around her own party like a headless hen looking for Heather so she could sit her down and confront her about not calling her to tell her that she wasn’t invited to be on set at Sonja’s toaster oven photo shoot. This was insane. It was literally the craziest idea that has ever been expressed on this show, and I’m including the Kelly Bensimon seasons. With this scene, Ramona took her misguided “tell it to my face” philosophy — sort of a perverted Taylor Dayne way of going about one’s life, really — and applied it to a situation that was completely inappropriate, using her own methodology in the process. In other words, it is insane to tell somebody to their face that they should have told you to your face that they decided, at some point, not to include you in a thing that had nothing to do with you in the whole fucking first place. Also, it’s not fair to run away before you give somebody a chance to respond. That doesn’t make you a “good businesswoman.” That makes you a confrontation-averse monster.

Heather reacted to Ramona’s garbage words by remaining calm, which drove Ramona even crazier than she is. Heather said she never told Sonja specifically not to invite her, and that made Ramona run over and verify that with a befuddled Sonja. Sonja thought out loud, an effort-strewn activity that caused her dickie to ruffle into even more tiers, and finally gave a noncommittal, ditzy answer, which caused Ramona to shout “LIAR!” at Heather, then run away. Which was fine because, by then, everything at the party — and arguably, in life — was officially ruined. What a mess. What a shit-show. Burn it down. Start from scratch. This mess is un-Photoshoppable.

Finally, Sonja invited all the girls to the home of a terrifying man with an unpronounceable three-part name and a real estate personality who wore feather fluffs instead of straps on her sequined frock. And this was another event that reeked of even more artifice than usual. As in, don’t you think the Bravo producers wound up their dolls a little tighter than usual before this shindig? Or maybe just gave Aviva an ultimatum— stir the pot or pack your bag?

Because sure as sunshine (or “yellow roses,” if you’re Ramona; “T-Shirt Slogan fuel” if you’re Heather), Aviva confronted Luann in what was edited to seem like moments into that party. She told Luann that the Pinot Trick was bullshit, and Luann was like “Uh, that was at least four episodes ago,” then called over Jacques to defend himself, then play the piano. And again, this was an “everybody loses” sort of deal. Aviva was dumb to dig up old bones and Luann was wrong not to apologize. At least now we know that Jacques can tickle the ivories!

After that, Aviva took her case to the dirt-hungry, greasy, pointy ears of Mario and Ramona, who classily made fun of Jacques’s accent in response. And Heather overheard that and found it to be gross, so she complained about the loathsome behavior of the Singers, first to Carole, who was so cool-neutral about it, it was almost as though she was miscast, and then to Aviva. And because this show is now a British farce, Ramona overheard Heather’s grievances and flipped whatever was left of her corroded lid. “YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK AGAIN!” she squawked like a live macaw being lowered into boiling oil, then flew away after lobbing her grenade, as is Ramona’s Way. And that was it for Heather. She finally got really mad — and not just at whoever told her it was fine to wear another long-sleeved T-shirt with dumb random words on it to a cocktail party. After Ramona’s flight, Heather confronted Aviva and Mario about the accent business and called Ramona “[Mario’s] crazy wife.” And that made Aviva say “that’s mean,” which was not only a gesture that indicated she had appointed herself the chief of the Meaness Police, but also a glove slap; a call to arms; a declaration of loyalty. And Heather reacted accordingly. The duel’s on, you birds. And may the least crazy among you fowlers win the prize.

What did I miss? Was Ramona’s behavior more loony than usual or just typical and harmless? Did Aviva have a point? Was Sonja out of line? And what do you think that hunk did with the rest of his afternoon? Let me know your favorite moments in the comments below and I’ll see you next week!

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