And then one day I woke up, and I was all like Girrrl…You’re Rich, Bitch! Damn!
Girl, pleez. You couldn’t put a Readers Digest on that scrawny a** bookshelf.
I don’t even know what that means. I just spend money and make babies
Guess who can get 20% OFF the Donald Trump Collection at Macy’s? I was Miss Universe, Bitch.
Srsly? Walter can have that crazy chick. I’m about to tame them nasty fly aways with my fist.
I love the Gays. We wear the same size shoe, you know.
Girrrl, pleez.
I don’t think you’re ready for all this jelly. Or donkey booty. Or badonkadonk. Or caboose. Or cushion for the pushin’. Or IKEA bookshelf.
Or whatever the kids call it nowadays.
The Real Housewives of Atlanta were back this week with yet another crash course in Fierceness 101, and this time it was all about sassy female empowerment and big butts.
But not necessarily in that order, because sometimes harnessing the power surge from a scrumptious scoop or two can get you further than a Harvard degree. At least according to Phaedra and her ongoing obsession with trunk junk, that is.
Mmm Mmm. Girlfriend does like all that stuff back there.
Since the show has really become all about NeNe Leakes and whoever those other women are that live in Atlanta that keep showing up in her scenes, we started right off with another episode of the NeNe Show.
This time around it was the L.A. Gay Pride Parade, and Miss Thang was in her glory.
In the back seat of her chauffeured ride (…she’s rich, bitch…) NeNe and son Brentt were discussing a potential move to California. Los Angeles. Hollywood. Beverly Hills.
Swimming pools. Movie Stars. Y’all come back, now.
With poor little Brentt pinned in by his seatbelt and forced to balance one of those sissy dog carriers on his lap, he kind of looked like one of those kids you always see in a Walmart stroller completely covered in merchandise. Except instead of going to the snack bar so Mom could have a corn dog and some Cheez Whiz, Brentt was on his way to dance down Hollywood Boulevard next to someone with duct tape on their ‘nads.
So I guess it wasn’t really the same thing at all. Never mind.
But the Queens love their NeNe. Trust me…if they weren’t gay before she got there, they are now after all that fabulous screaming and posing. Glitter and streamers for everyone! There were even a few uncomfortably lengthy lesbian bear hugs that went on just thaaat much too long, if you know what I mean. Time to let go, sir.
But it was all good.
Using her freshman sitcom The New Normal as an excuse to put the top down and pretend the parade was all about NeNe, she stole the show cruising the parade route in a white convertible, waving like she was Queen Elizabeth on her way to the Chelsea Piers. You bettah werk.
Q: And how was it, NeNe? A: “I have arrived.”
Bloop!
Back in Atlanta…and reality…Kandi and Phaedra headed out for a quick nosh and some gossip. Not that Phaedra is one to gossip, of course.
At least that is how she prefaces every conversation before delving into the size of someone’s donkey booty and their lack of social skills. But she’s not one to gossip.
Lawd, I love me some Phaedra.
Is it just me, or has she gotten even more over the top since last season already? Not that I’m complaining. Not at all. But I don’t think the woman can complete a full sentence without making at least a half dozen OhNoSheDin’t PhaedraFaces. Not to mention a Hand to Jesus or a Testify fist pump.
Lawd have mercy. Love her.
Kandi had invited newbie Kenya to join them for lunch, where Phaedra wasted no time in getting to all the deets on the Miss USA thing and Kenya’s Coochie Crack phobia.
Hearing Kenya relive Cynthia‘s JET magazine photo search at The Bailey Agency last week, highlighted by the aforementioned Attack of the Coochie Crack model, nearly sent Phaedra back to church as she tried to imagine all that Coochie goodness in one place.
Everyone in Atlanta likes to say Coochie a lot.
Phaedra also had to look to the heavens for answers as to why Kenya felt that she was worthy of a Whitney Houston bodyguard when there is not one person in America who could tell you who won Miss USA last year, let alone two decades ago.
Then we were off to another part of Atlanta…and a little less of a grasp on reality.
Kim and Kroy‘s home. At least for today, anyway.
Eighty-something days from popping out Biermann Baby #2, Kim was trying to figure out where everyone was going to live since they had just been served with eviction papers. The thought of having to down-size to a mere townhouse after spreading her wigs out across 70,000 square feet was stressing Kim out and it was up to her weary assistant Jennifer Hudson to fix this mess. Now.
After tossing Baby #1 off to Nanny Pencha, Kim and Jennifer headed to the office to figure out how anyone could possibly survive without a pool or basketball court, just as I realized that I could probably vacuum my entire apartment without having to change wall sockets. Bitch.
Seated in what was either the set from Phantom of the Opera or HBO’s Game of Thrones (…seriously? Did you see that office?…) Kim and Jennifer pretty much got nowhere before Kim decided she needed a nap to make it all go away.
Why didn’t I think of that? Seriously. That’s totally how I’m going to handle all my tough Life decisions from now on. Buy something nice. Or take a nap. Kim Zolciak is a genius.
Right at the end of the scene I also realized that it was Sweetie doing all the heavy lifting, not Jennifer Hudson. You tell me Bitch didn’t steal her look.
As Kim went to catch a few Zzzz’s, Phaedra, Cynthia and NeNe hit the gym.
Yes. The gym. That donkey booty ain’t gonna squat itself.
As the three women admired each other’s rump bumpers and contemplated how lucrative a Back It Up With Phaedra workout dvd would be, Cynthia announced that she wanted to have a party for NeNe to celebrate all her recent success.
An empowered women kind of thing, with no boys allowed in the clubhouse.
Between all the badonk honks and bootified yoga moves, the women managed to get in a few zingers at Kenya’s expense and then proceeded to gawk at some juicer working out without his shirt on, which is totally against gym health codes. Wipe that down, dude. Gross.
Down on the waterfront, Kim finally woke up from her nap long enough to have a birthday dinner with Kroy on some random boat docked at the marina.
Considering that Kim has been 34 years old ever since the series premiered, I’m going to assume that she is still 34 since there were no candles on the cake.
Despite being technically homeless, Kroy dug into his football pension and gave Kim the same diamond bracelet that had apparently been a prop room loaner during her trip down the aisle on Don’t Be Tardy For The Wedding. When she realized that the jewelry didn’t have to go back to Saks at the end of the evening this time, she cried.
Which meant she was happy.
And that meant Kroy was gonna get some tonight, so it was a win-win birthday all around. Somebody was gonna be doing a touchdown dance.
Not quite as romantic though, was the dinner date between Kenya and her man Walter, who just couldn’t seem to make his point heard over the roar of her madly ticking biological clock.
Seriously. For someone so anti-coochie, Kenya certainly can’t wait to pop a baby or two out of hers. It’s all she talks about.
Walter, who has that kind of Motown hair that you always see on retrospective VH1 music specials, is a nice enough guy who made the mistake of telling Kenya that he once axed Kandi out on a date.
Yeah. He axed her. That drives me nuts.
And it didn’t go over well. Kenya got as frazzled as all those fly away hairs that are always frizzing around her weave (…you know, they make smoothing serums for that, honey…) and then she basically melted down.
But honestly, I was so captivated by the woman in the background that I wasn’t really paying much attention. Please tell me you saw her back there. Do NOT erase your DVR until you go back and get a load of all that behind the scenes awesomeness.
It was like they were filming a completely different show at the other table. Some kind of RuPaul meets Jersey Shore meets Carol Burnett skit.
I swear. If I have to intern at Bravo TV just to find out who that woman was, I will.
After some nasty triple shots and a trip to the bathroom for a major DivaSulk, Kenya came back to the table and tried to get her dinner to-go, but finally gave in to Walter’s smooth Luther “Hey, Baby. I like all that chocolate” Vandross pick up lines.
All better, Boo. Let’s get it on.
Back at Kandi’s new place, her man Todd was trying to help sort through the chaos when Phaedra showed up to talk some more donkey booty and get all MmmHmm with her girlfriend.
If you’re keeping track, the three things I got out of that scene were that Phaedra was scared of dogs because of some traumatic law school bite, something else about big butts and that Kandi shops at Target.
I know, right? Did you see the Target box? I wonder if she eats the pizza there. They have the best pizza.
Finally it was time to empower some women and watch NeNe be late for her own party.
Sure enough, even though Kim and Jennifer Hudson showed up one hour late, NeNe showed up two hours late and ran into them in the hallway as they tried to make their escape. Kim wasn’t feeling it, and tried to scoot out before NeNe even arrived, but got busted right at the doorway.
D’oh. After some forced NiceNice with NeNe, Kim pretended to go to the bathroom and then must have climbed out the window into a waiting getaway car, because she was gone before Cynthia’s welcome speech even started.
Not that Kim missed much, since the whole thing was pretty much hijacked by Kenya, who quietly mimicked Cynthia’s every word before finally grabbing the microphone and making it sound like she paid for the caterers herself.
As if. Bitch.
Then it was on. Cynthia vs. Kenya in a battle of the beauty pageant girls.
Not quite as high pitched as Toddlers & Tiaras, but almost as entertaining. They need to start serving Pixie Stix at these fancy gatherings if they really want to see the good stuff go down.
Cynthia knows how to throw shade. Kenya knows how to read somebody.
And NeNe knows how to stand in the middle and make it look like it’s still all about her no matter what. Because it is. Or it should be.
Unfortunately, it was still too early in the season for someone to throw a punch or yank a wig this time around. Calm yo’ weave down. Pump yo’ breaks.
We haven’t even met Porsha yet.
Bloop!
