Neither Father Dowling, Matlock, Jessica Fletcher, or any other geriatric detective could figure out just who died last night on the Real Montauk Monsters of New York. Was it Sonja who got thrown from a horse? Was it Ramona who committed social suicide? Was it Kelly who buried her head in the sand and suffocated? Who knows?
The only thing we know is that the Hamptons is a very dangerous place. So dangerous, in fact, that HRH Richard, Seventh Earl of Lawson, won't go there. Also, he was tired from Royal Wedding duty last night and his other scribblings, so you're stuck with me—Dame Brian Moylan, curator of the Real Housewives Institute—yet again. Now you know how it feels to be Chelsy Davy!
Before anyone even got to the Hamptons, Sonja met Cindy for a little shopping trip in this strange forbidden land known as TriBeCa. The name of the neighborhood comes from the words Tribes Be Canibals, and it is a very dangerous place for fancy Upper East Side ladies (and Russian spies) like Sonja to go to because they will, most likely, be eaten. Cindy, being a cannibal herself, is immune to the gurgling hordes of flesh eating zombies and blood curdling celebrities that occupy the lofts and other overpriced real estate of that corner of town. Anyway, Sonja goes down there because she was promised lunch. But when she arrives, Cindy is all like, "Oh my god, I got so drunk last night, I cracked my teeth while I was eating nuts." Sonja gave her one of her a sidelong glance that said, "You know I'm going to make a dirty joke. Why do you make this so easy?" And Cindy said, "Oh god. I know I'm a cannibal, but not those nuts."
It's clear to me now that Cindy is one of those friends who you meet up with and you think it's going to be a nice, fun, relaxing afternoon, but as soon as she shows up (usually 15 minutes late) she has some sort of drama that is going to derail your whole afternoon. She did it last week to Kelly with her drama with firing the nanny and this week she did it to Sonja with her cracked grill. It's never like, "Oh, you know. I'm fine. Nothing much exciting is happening. Work, the kids, a couple of guys I'm dating, but no one special." No, Cindy shows up, throws her oversized handbag in an empty chair and says, "[Drudge Siren] Everything in my life is falling apart!!!" Today's drama precludes Cindy from taking Sonja to lunch, because she has to go get her broken teeth fixed. Sonja is pissed because lunch is the only reason she came down to dangerous TriBeCa in the first place. Hate to break it to you, Cindy, but Soylent Green isn't the hip restaurant that Eater keeps making it out to be. You're better off just going to the Four Seasons in your neck of the woods and staying safe.
While they were hanging out trying out frocks, Sonja tells Cindy she is going to have a Toaster Oven Party. What is up with these Housewives? They have Cooking Parties and Shopping Parties and Botox Parties and Toaster Oven Parties. Can't they just have a Come Over To My House and Have Some Wine Party? Stop on By and We'll Smoke Some Joints and Put on Some Joni Mitchell and Just Chill Party? Hey I Got a New Game for Wii, Wanna Try It Out Party? No, it's always some Portrait Drawing Party or Crockpot Party or I Fired the Nanny Party or We Just Filed for Bankruptcy Party. These Housewives!
Anyway, Sonja, being the spy that she is, is having Kelly and her kids come to the Toaster Oven Party and then she's going to invite Ramona to come to so that she can "break the ice" between the two of them. The ice being the fact that Kelly did a bunch of angel dust (not really, but kinda) on Crazy Island and Ramona still has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder about it. In fact, a friend of mine from the Rand Corporation is studying Ramona right now and it appears that she is actually more shell shocked than most Iraqi war veterans.
Cindy tells Sonja that she is having a Riding Party in the Hamptons. "Where?" Sonja asks. Cindy responds, but not with a word, with a strange guttural upheaval that sounds like a croak and a belch at the same time. "Quogue," Cindy says. "Oh, I don't go there," Sonja responded. "I had a falling out with the Toad King, and ever since then, he won't let me step foot in his kingdom. Sorry, but I won't be making it to your Riding Party, even though I am a champion rider. I won a gold medal in dressage at the Olympics in 1980 for the United Soviet—I mean, United States. Yes. I did."
Because Sonja is pissed she can't go to the Riding Party because of the evil Toad King, she convinces Kelly to take her riding. Kelly, who sees the world as a Lisa Frank folder, loves horses. Loves loves loves horses. And gummi bears. And making necklaces out of yarn. She tells Sonja to be careful with the horse, but Sonja is all, "Don't worry, I grew up riding horse in the Motherla...I mean, in my youth." Of course Sonja is totally unqualified to ride the horse and takes a flying tumble right off of it. You don't want me to describe it, just watch the video above. Kelly is all worried that Sonja is going to injure the horse (she doesn't really care what happens to Sonja, because no people die in Lisa Frank world) and Sonja just gets back up and puts on her best game face is like, "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I've fallen off a lot of horses in my day." That made me love Sonja again. You know that her pride was hurt and she felt foolish but that she has fallen off a lot of real and figurative horses in her day, and this was just another silly tumble. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get ready for a Teacup Carving Party. That's our Sonja.
They were all actually headed to LuAnn's house for what we thought was a Hey We're All in the Hamptons, Let's Have Some Fun Party, but when they all arrived, we realized it was a Giant Martini Glass Party. God, they can't get away from a theme. Kelly didn't get the memo. She thought it was a Bring a Native American Gift Party. God, what is this? Season Two? She shows up with some raggedy T-Shirt with a picture of a Sioux couple on it that she just picked up at the tackiest T-shirt shop in all of the Hamptons on her way over. LuAnn accepts it and says, "Where did you ever find a picture of my grandparents on their wedding day? And you made it into a T-shirt. That's so sweet. And what is that you're wearing?" Kelly says that its one of the necklaces she made out of yarn. Sonja pipes up and says, "That's beautiful. It's so Elle MacPherson in St. Barths." What's awesome is that Kelly's ex-husband was married to Elle MacPherson before he was married to her, and that is the most awesome unintentional undermine I've ever heard someone utter ever. I fucking love Sonja.
While they're at the Giant Martini Glass Party, Cindy tells everyone she is having a Riding Party in Quogue and Sonja is all, "I can't go to Quogue." And Ramona is like "Quogue is far!" And LuAnn says, "Sweetie, I've been to paradise but I've never been to Quogue." And Alex says, "I tried to rent a house in Quogue once and they wouldn't let me." But they're all saying it over and over again. "Quogue, Quogue, Quogue, Quogue, Quogue." It sounds like a swamp in an animated movie. For a second, I really wished Jill was there, just to see how she would say "Quogue."
Cindy is pissed that everyone is picking on her house in Quogue, so she pulls Kelly to the side and tells her, "When you go to Sonja's house for the Toaster Oven Party, don't bring your kids. Just trust me." Cindy, that is some fucked up shit right there. First of all, this is such a middle school game. You want to break someone's confidence, but you don't want to break it too much, but once you break it a little, you have to go all the way, because that's just the way things work. Basically Cindy was like, "I can't tell you who Mary likes, but if you guess I'll say yes." It was some bullshit like that. Secondly, you do not bring someone's kids into it, ever. Then you don't bring someone's kids into it and not tell them why. Is Sonja living next door to a molester's halfway house? Do random things just fall from her ceiling and crush children? Is he trying to make a coat out of the skins of young girls? What? WHAT?! Kelly is naturally freaked out. Cindy is like, "OK, it's because Sonja is going to invite Ramona." Kelly's head explodes and a million Skittles fly out in every direction and suddenly LuAnn feels just like when she was an extra in that Taste the Fruit Flavor commercial a decade ago.
Then it's time for the Dog Walking Party where everyone goes and walks their dog. Ramona goes off with LuAnn and talks about how she's still pissed about Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Cigars incident that happened with Cindy's brother at that wedding they were at in the Hamptons earlier this season. LuAnn says, "You should confront him at the Horse Riding Party and see what happens. Want some Skittles?"
Then we see Kelly and Sonja walking their dogs on the beach. Kelly is like, "Sonja, I can't come to the Toaster Oven Party, cause Ramona is going to be there." And Sonja is like, "What's wrong? I just want you all to get along. I want to break the ice. If you two can have fun together, you can repair your relationship and work from there." Kelly's head starts spinning like a light-up yo-you resting on the end of its string. "I can't be around Ramona. I can't be in that situation. I just can't with her. I can be around her in public, but I can't talk to her. I just...It's that...I mean...Look at the sky! It's so beautiful. Let's make sand angels!"
Sonja's impersonation of what happened is, as the homosexuals say, everything. Still Kelly's reaction makes no sense to me. Apparently she and Ramona haven't talked since Kelly's PCP overdose on vacation and somehow she blames Ramona for this. What? That's like if a bank robber gets out of jail and is like, "Sorry, Chase, I can't even walk by you because you are evil and you have really done some fucked up shit to me."
OK, now it's time for the big Horse Riding Party, which everyone else would just call Cindy's Birthday Party, but because she is now a Real Housewife it is a Horse Riding Party. Ramona shows up and immediately is like "Where's my Pinot!" I'm sorry, but that is rude. Like Ramona, I only drink one very specific thing (the boiled blood of wombat fetuses) but I have the courtesy to bring it for myself. I don't expect the host to the deepest reaches of Australia, find a pregnant wombat, and make the brew themselves. No, I bring my own and then just ask for a glass (preferably a champagne flute, but I'll settle for wineglass or even a highball, just no tumblers). It's the polite thing to do. Of course there is Pinot there (it's in Ramona's contract) and she starts boozing. It is a condition that LuAnn has diagnosed as Pinot-polar which, for Crackerjacks, is pretty funny. Good work. Personally we like it better when Ramona is Bi-Pinot, which is when she gets so drunk she tries to make out with girls.
What really happens is that Ramona, when she is drinking, just becomes unrestrained id. She is not governed my any socially acceptable limits of tact and loses what little impulse control she normally has. She just does and says whatever the fuck she feels like at any given time. Honestly, this happens when she's sober too (and is sort of Ramona's most admirable quality) but it's even worse when she's been drinking. She's just like, "I'm bored. You're ugly. This food is gross. Who wants a pony ride? Turtle Time. Let's fight. You're stupid. Is it nap time? Mario, let's fuck. Yes, right here on the ground. Now, Mario!"
First she calls out to Kelly and Kelly is like, "No, Ramona, I can't talk to you. I'm with Teddy today." We all think she means her daughter, but she actually means her imaginary friend, a giant teddy bear named Teddy who also acts as her bodyguard. She means if Ramona comes at her, Teddy will imaginarily kick her ass. Ramona is just like, "I just want to say hi and invite you to lunch." And Kelly is like, "I can't. Ramona, don't. Don't talk to me. I mean..Teddy...sky...Look, Ramona, horses!" and runs in the other direction. It's fucking pathetic. Kelly has the social skills of a woman with Asberger's syndrome who has just been deprogrammed from spending 10 years in a cult.
Since Kelly didn't take the bait, Ramon-id approaches Howie, Cindy's brother to talk about the dead man's cigars. We're still not entirely sure what this is all about. Something like Cindy's brother is dating Ramona's best friend's ex-wife and he (the brother) was smoking one of his (the friend's) cigars at a wedding and that pissed Ramona off. She approaches Howie (who is there with the best friend's ex-wife who looks kind of exactly like his sister Cindy which is creepy to the millionth degree—a chemist would say its a whole mole of creepy) and is like "Howie, we need to talk," and he just keeps saying, "No. Not now. No. No. Nope. Uh uh. Ain't gonna happen. Sorry. Nope. Stop. Don't. No."
But Ramona, the unrestrained id that she is keeps going for it, keeps needling. Finally Cindy steps in is like "Ramona. Knock it off." She pulls Ramona over to the side and Ramona just quakes and sputters and pinot drools out some story about cigars and Howie and Jeff and weddings and shaking and it was all so crazy. It was like something out of One Flew Out of the Cuckoo's Nest except no one had been taking their meds. Pinot-Polar is right.
But once Ramona is done talking Cindy hugs her and then looks over at the food table. There it was: dip. Her mortal enemy. Cindy hates fucking dip. She hates being under the thumb of the Great Toad King in Quogue, that classless part of the Hamptons. She hates vaginas with hair, and every other thing that people consider tasteless. She just wants to be fancy. She just wants to belong. She doesn't want celery and carrots at her birthday party, she wants crudités. And there will be no Helluva Dip or anything made with French Onion Soup out of a box. No, Cindy is rich now. She has made her millions mining lady part diamonds and she is going to sparkle in the sun.
But, Cindy, this is the price you pay. You opened up that Pandora's Box that is the Housewives World with their petty squabbles and theme parties. It's much more dangerous than Kelly Land, with its gelatinous treats and rainbows bursting out of unicorns. It's much much worse than where Crackerjacks came from with the wind-worn buttes and misdemeanor charges they can never make stick. It's far far worse. It fills your life with these shrieking harpies streaking across your birthday party scaring your family and your real friends. This is the price you pay. Just ask Alex, standing over there in the corner, her neck so tired from stress it can barely support her head anymore. But she's smiling at you now. She knows you made the devil's bargain. She can spot a fellow sufferer. You will never again have a moment's piece. So exercise what control you have, Cindy. Throw out that dip. Better yet, press it together in your hairless, classy lady parts and turn it into a diamond. Those are the only riches you're ever going to get. Happy birthday, Cindy. Happy Fucking Birthday.