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Last night a bunch of petty criminals tried to shuck and jive their way into the world of the big mafia. It was dark and bloody and was just like a Martin Scorsese movie. But none of the Real Hellhounds of Gotham were injured, though. No, this war took place on Twitter.
There are many things a Real Housewife loves, but there are few things they love as much as Twitter. It's because Twitter is a very public gauge of just how many people like them are want to hear what they have to say. It's also an easy way for the public to talk to the Housewives, and that's their favorite thing. Each little @reply and RT they get is like Pac-Man eating the power pellets, they become big and strong and invincible against the forces of irrelevance. Yes, they are huge on Twitter and they say things and people say things to them and they all say things to each other in a smart phone circle jerk that feeds all their insecurities and megalomania. Yes, a Housewife loves Twitterz.
When Zombie Cindy isn't hunting New York City to try to eat poor people's brains, she's doing very important charity work. This time she was throwing a party, a very important fundraiser for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They needed funding to bring the Crown Vajewels of Micronesia to the museum and Cindy was helping them raise money, because letting the world see these very important vajewels is very close to her heart. Actually, it's very close to her waxed lady parts, but as far as Cindy goes, that is her heart. (Can we talk about Cindy and sleeves for a minute? What does Cindy have against sleeves? Is she allergic to like regular sleeves? Everything she owns either has a hole in the sleeves or giant slits in them or keyhole cutouts or latticework or some sort of complex oragami to only cover part of her arms. Maybe that's why she couldn't care for one of her twins for more than 5 minutes at a nice restaurant without calling for help. It probably had something to do with sleeves. Its' not like she doesn't have nice arms, but can't she just wear a conventional sleeve even once? Don't you think that would help to keep the stench of your reanimated rotting flesh close to your body and not, you know, out in the open?)
Cindy is giving everyone vajewels if they donate $5 to Vajewels for Justice, a charity that spreads vajewel awareness and helps bring vajewels to hairy people in third world countries. While this is happening Simon, Alex's husbear (who is dressing more and more like André Leon Talley everyday), approaches Jill and says he wants to have lunch to talk. This is such a classic Housewives move, "Let's have our contractually obligated lunch so we can talk about our issues." If someone did this to me in real life, I would punch them in the face, which would certainly give them even more to talk about at our Grievance Repast. Seriously, if you have a problem with me don't be all "I have a problem with you. Let's talk about it at an indeterminate time in the future," so that I can sit around and go over every interaction we've had over the past few months trying to figure out if you were upset because I said your new boyfriend wasn't as cute as the last one or if you were pissed that I didn't show up with a bottle to your last party because I just came from work and couldn't find a liquor store or if you went to the doctor and found out that, yes, I did give you the clap. Just tell me and be done with it.
Anyway, Jill agrees to have lunch with Simon, even though she thinks they have nothing to really talk about. In fact, Jill and Kelly are right, it is a little creepy that Simon wanted to have lunch with Jill. After all, last week at Ramona's You're Sixteen, You're Beautiful, and You're Grounded If You Even Touch a Boy party for her daughter, Jill's husband Bobby approached Simon and was all, "Why are you hate blogging about my wife." Of course Simon was like, "I'm not." But that's how you handle it. Jill talked to her husband to talk to Alex's husband to tell him to knock it off. If that pissed Simon off, he doesn't have to bring it up with Jill. Know what he should do? Not talk to Jill! He's not forced to go on vacation with her like his wife is. He can just say, "Hi Jill" at all the next Vajewel Balls (ew, vajeweled balls!) and then keep on walking and go talk to someone else, like whatever dude Sonja is fucking this week. They're always good for a dirty joke or two.
Yes, this whole thing was cockamamie, but it was Kelly, little orphan Kelly, who was sitting in the corner slurping up the rainbow milk from her latest bowl of Fruity Pebbles, that really took it over the edge. "Oh, Jill, you can't have lunch with Simon. He Mean Tweets me. And he's weird." OK, first of all, for someone who is a borderline mental patient, Kelly KillKillKilloren Bensimon places way too much emphasis on "normal." To her the worst thing one can be is "weird" or "odd" or "strange" or "different." She just wants everything nice and uniform like North Korean factory workers and episodes of The Snorks. So, at Kelly's urging Jill tells Simon she doesn't want to have lunch.
First of all, it's amazing that Kelly, who is physically allergic to confrontation, is telling Jill to do this. Why can't Jill just not solidify plans with Simon like a normal person. "Oh, yeah, we'll have drinks soon." You know there will be no drinks, you're just going to blow that person off until the next time you see them at a cocktail party. Sure, it's passive aggressive, but it's effective. Why not do that, Jill? But this is where I really lose what is happening in the fight. Jill talks to Simon and she's like, "Kelly said lunch with you is weird and inappropriate, so I can't do it. I hope you understand." And Simon is like, "But I have a problem with you and I want to discuss it." And Jill says, "I'm sorry, it's not going to happen." And Simon says, "Well, watch out."
Of course Jill interprets that as "cyberbullying." First of all, Jill accusses Simon of "ganging up on her" over the internet, which is impossible because he's only one person. Also, Jill is latching onto the buzzword of the month to try to get some sympathy for herself. It's like when every PSA at the end of Jem was about runaways. Apparently runaways were a very big problem in the late '80s and the cartoon shows were endlessly addressing that. If Jem were alive today (damn that accident at the glitter factory!) she would have PSAs about "cyberbullying." Anyway, Simon is maybe perfectly disgraceful to people on the internet, but, know what, just ignore it! Everyone says bad things about everyone on the internet. The internet is only good for three things: porn, lies, and hatred. That's it! As soon as you adjust to that, you have nothing to worry about.
OK, so Jill's all a-Twitter (get it?) because Simon said, "Watch out," and so Kelly, the Queen of non-confrontation, goes up and wants Simon to talk to Jill. Wow, why is Kelly arranging drama in front of the camera? Simon freaks out on Kelly and refuses to talk to Jill citing Real Housewives Clause 23, which is similar to the Fourteenth Amendment. It reads, "I hereby have the right to start or refuse to start drama with our without a reason, rational explanation, or just cause and do not need to explain my motivations at the time of the drama, in interviews, or at the reunion special." So, Simon just leaves.
Later Crackerjacks, Jill, and Kelly are all sitting around in crappy clothes watching someone else paint an apartment (I'm not entirely sure what was going on, because I was being ignored by hot guys on Manhunt, so I wasn't really paying as much attention as I should have been). Anyway, Jill explains that Simon is "cyberbullying" her with some sort of "hate blog." God, it's so hard to be a teenager today, with all these hate blogs and things. I mean, when I was a kid, there was just an informal "I Hate Brian Moylan Club" that would convene outside Mrs. Denahey's class after third period, but it's not like they had a website or anything. The worst part about this chapter of the "I Hate Simon van Kempen Club" was Crackerjacks being all, "He's trying to use his friendship with us to further his career." Hello! Isn't that what all of you Real Housewives are doing, trying to capitalize on your fame to launch a fashion line or a dance single or brand of wine or some other ridiculous book or gizmo? And this coming from the woman who just tried to enlist the whole cast for her latest music video. Rich, Crackerjacks. That's just rich.
This is when Kelly goes off on Simon again that he sends Mean Tweets. I'm not sure exactly what these are, but they seem to be little electronic dispatches with bombs attached to them so that when the person receives them its like a suicide bomber made of pixels and emoticons that can scar you for life. Kelly hates Mean Tweeting. She really really does, and she thinks Simon is dangerous and doesn't know how to stop his Mean Tweeting. I know how, Kelly. There is this wonderful function on Twitter called "Block" and once you press it, you can't ever see what the person is tweeting at you ever again. Yes, it is a built in Mean Tweet Suicide Bomb Shelter. Why don't you click on that?
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Anyway, Kelly is really concerned about Simon's Mean Tweeting so she had breakfast with Alex to talk about it. Here is the end of their baffling fight for you to watch. Kelly, shockingly, did the right thing and brought it up to Alex. She is (contractually obligated to be) Alex's friend and not Simon's, so she went to the right place. Of course, however, Alex is going to take Simon's side, and if Kelly didn't realize that, she's as bonkers as we always make her out to be. But Alex did the whole, "Simon and I are different people, you have to talk to him," thing, which is kind of annoying because before she was all, "If you're friends with me, you have to be friends with Simon," which doesn't make sense if we're going by the McCordian Separate People Doctrine.
Where it all goes against Kelly is how painfully disingenuous she is about the whole thing. As soon as Alex argues with her, she's all like, "The reason why I wanted to meet with you is because I'm concerned about you." No it's fucking not, Kelly, and don't pretend like it is. You met with her because you wanted Simon to stop sending you Tweet Bombs and you can't figure out how to block him with three clicks of your mouse. Then Kelly is all, "I'm always defending you Alex and telling people you're having a hard time." As Alex says, she's not and she doesn't need Kelly's pitiable (and probably made up) defense. God, Kelly comes across like such a jerk here. Then she tells Alex to stop getting red, like her stress-induced blotches are something she can control. And then she's like "Why is Simon bothering me? I'm nobody." Please, Kelly, did you and your little gaggle just accuse Simon of trying to ride your coat tails and now you're pretending to be nobody? Rich.
I know Alex is no saint and her and Simon can do some weird stuff, by why is everyone also fighting with Alex, and how come as soon as she fights back or tries to set the record straight, they call her "odd" and get all upset and indignant with her? I'm glad that Alex found her inner bitch, because some of these ladies really need someone who will stand up to them.
Oh, why are we talking about all this hullabaloo and bother? Hm? Let's talk about something much more fun and lovely, shall we? Let's talk about Sonja Morgan, who is 100% my favorite. Sorry, girls, I said it. Our scene opens on a sunny winter afternoon in Manhattan where Sonja is at her wits end because she has two things: a clogged toilet and no money. She doesn't know what to do, but finally she booty calls Paulie, this plumber who she used to let snake her pipes back when she was a restaurant hostess (and every so often since then when she needed a really big beefy stud to weigh his calloused hands on her shoulders and really give it to her good). "Come over," she texted, ambiguously. When he got there, he tried to put the make on her, but she said, "I'm sorry Paulie, but I can't today, because the feng shui lady is on her way over, but I really need my toilet unclogged. But it would cost so much money and I don't have any more household staff. I even had to let Michael my buttling butler go, and now it's just me in this big old house all alone and I don't know what I'm gonna do!" She bats her eyes at him and he can't say no, but he adds, "I'll help, but I'm not doing any of the dirty work."
Paul goes in and looks at the toilet and knows there is something nasty in there. "You're going to have to reach in with your hands an pull it out." Sonja gets down on her knees and gets to work, with Paulie telling her what to do. "Yeah, reach your hand right down in there. Get it in the hole. Yup, nice and deep. Yeah, reach for it, dig for it. Right there. Yeah, right there. Now jiggle it. Jiggle it around a bit. Oh, yeah, just like that. Just like that. You're almost there. Don't stop. Just like that. Come on. Come on. Come on. Yeah. Yeah, oh yeah, you got it. Oh. Ohhhh. Ahhhhhhh."
And she did get it. What did Sonja pull out of her toilet? A BlackBerry. A motherfucking BlackBerry. What the hell? How did that get in there? Did she drop it in the toilet and just forget about it? Didn't she realize that her BlackBerry was missing? Did Michael the Buttling Butler throw it in there when she let him go? Did she actually eat the thing and it passed through her body without being digested, like a key or a quarter, and she just pooped it out? What the fuck, Sonja! But honestly, it doesn't matter because who but Sonja Motherfucking Morgan would have a toilet clogged with BlackBerries. The only thing that could have been more awesome is if her toilet were clogged with diamonds and she could have paid off all her debt with the sparkling, turd-infested detritus that is giving her plumbing problems. If only.
Sonja, of course, is overjoyed that her toilet is fixed and now it's time to deal with the Feng Shui Master. Sonja is really excited about this appointment, because she thinks if she can rearrange her furniture she can rearrange her whole life. She's so jazzed in fact, she keeps singing, "Everybody have fun tonight. Everybody feng shui tonight." She doesn't even realize those aren't the words. Anyway, after some teary confessions Sonja gets some good advice and finds out that she should always be facing East, because that's where prosperity is (because everything is made in China these days). And they light some candles and burn some sage, trying to get rid of all that negativity and bad energy. Then Sonja has a good cry, weeping for what used to be, for everything she's lost. As long as she's facing East. Go East, old lady.
But she can't cry too much because she has a party to get it! It's Ramona's birthday party, but Ramona, knowing how rough things have been for Sonja lately, decides to invite a bunch of Sonja's friends too and make it a surprise joint birthday party for Sonja. Ramona arranged this elaborate rose ceremony like The Bachelor and when Sonja walked in she had that strange combination of shock and happiness and rage that one only gets at a surprise party. After kissing and greeting all her friends (and a few enemies, and more than a few guys who have helped her "unclog a toilet"), Ramona dragged Sonja off to a little room on the side.
As soon as the door opened, Sonja was amazed, not by the room or the decor, but by what was on the wall. "Oh, Ramona!" Sonja said, holding her hand up to her mouth. It was a slide show of old pictures of the two of them, when they were younger and prettier, but just as skinny. They giggled a little bit just like you do when you see old pictures, that mix of nostalgia and regret for that tight flesh and those silly fashions. "God, look at us. Look at that hair!" Ramona said, remarking on a picture where she looked just like a blonde Tiffani, with a side pony and her eye alight with the promise of the future.
"Oh, those were my Madonna days," Sonja said, to a picture of her standing in front of a fountain in a rag tag outift. "That's when I first moved to New York."
"God, Sonja, do you remember that awful walkup you lived in on York Avenue? The one with the..."
"Bathtub in the living room. Yes, and the roaches. God."
"Oh, and that's the summer when I met Mario," Ramona said remembering how good he first felt pressed up against her body. And she looked at his hair, still handsome, but oh so gray.
"Holy shit, that's my graduation!" Sonja shouted. "From college? No! High school! Oh my god, Ramona."
Earlier, when burning the sage in her house, Sonja thought this is what she wanted again, that old independent Sonja who worked and lived on her own and made ends meet in even the most impossible situations. But it wasn't. Watching these pictures, she know she would never be that girl again. Her face would never be that tight, her hair would never be that blond, and she would never be that desperate. No, she had learned so much since then, so many wonderful times (so many wonderful men!) and so many lessons, so so many lessons. You can't have the past again, and you're a fool to think so. No, what Sonja wanted right then and there was to whisper all her secrets to that little girl and drag her into the future. Get her up to speed on where she went wrong and set her free in the present. That is what Ramona gave her for her birthday.
And then the picture of Sonja getting into her wedding dress came on the screen. "Are you OK?" Ramona asked, seeing Sonja looking at the picture, her eyes filling up like a blade of grass about to be doubled over with dew.
"Yeah, it's just..." Sonja choked out, looking at the screen, which she suddenly realized, was facing East all along. "It's just that...It's just. Well, I think this is going to be a very good year."