Real Housewives of NYC: Dog Ashes, Dog Ashes We All Fall Down!

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*The remainder of the RHONY recaps will take place, right here, at Camp IBBB.  I thank Redbook for the opportunity and will be sure to mention them in my future Emmy acceptance speech

Sonja’s dog died over a year ago so it only makes sense that this will be the episode where she removes his ashes from the box on her fireplace and have a beautiful burial at sea with a camera crew to boot.  However, before the doggie funeral can take place she must invite up old interns of yesteryear to her townhouse for reasons that are typically unclear to me.  Perhaps they’ll be there to help plan the funeral or perhaps they’ll be there simply for a quick fondling of the genitals.  The point is, I dare to you find someone in a scene with Sonja who is not a “hired” hand.  I am, of course, jealous that I live right here in NYC, write about this junk on the regular, yet have never been invited to Casa de Foreclosure Morgan for a can of Schlitz or even some light over-the-sweater petting.

Either way, before Sonja with a silent “J” can really say goodbye to her dog of 57 years, she has to have a spiritual healer and adviser come to her home to bang a drum over her body and then ring tiny bells so that we’ll all know if winter will come early this year.  I have no idea.  She could have been spading her for all I know.  I know nothing about dogs or, you know, drums and the like.  I actually feel a bit bad for the Big S because if it’s one thing we’ve learned about her it’s that she has a hard time letting go of things from the past.  This includes husbands, animals, ratty carpeting, gnawed at wooden tables, splintery banisters and a variety of other household items that have never been placed.  The “ah-ha” moment for me at least was to finally know why we’ve never seen one of those trusty/rusty toaster ovens and that is, of course, because she’s too busy laying on her back whilst a women who looks like a humanized version of Lois Griffin basically tries to perform an exorcism on her.

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Meanwhile Kristen is busy busting out her cameltoe and doing her best to a film an exercise video that will be watched by tens of people.  I’m unclear why Kristen is making a big deal about landing a “j.o.b” to her husband as she has also been hired to be on a television show.  It’s called The Real Housewives of New York.  Have you heard of it?  I hear it’s good.  Not this season though.  Moreover, her husband may or may not look like Diddles McGiggles and you know my rule about never having to justify anything whatsoever to any kind of Diddles McGiggles.  Trust me, it’s a thing.  Plus, Phaedra’s workout video consisted of lime green cameltoe and some Kid-n-Play dance moves circa 1989.  Kristen really missed the mark by not wearing a lime green unitard.  No worries, she’ll knock it outta the park for the next video.

Things take a turn for the better (?) when Aviva is back on the scene.  I was psyched to see her as I was really looking to fill my legless housewives quota this week.  I was forced to research Canadian housewives and, well, it wasn’t pretty.  Aviva is having everyone over for a pointless dinner at her house and, in order to stay relevant, she’s decided to surprise everyone with her guest of honor, her nasty father.  In case you forgot, her dad is around 80 years old and talks to Aviva about sex on the regular.  Having to watch this without Bravo flashing a disclaimer across the screen really makes me feel like I have a solid lawsuit to file…and will!  Her father, George, is what I assume Bob Barker to be like in real life.  A real pig-loser, but with money and interesting teeth.  Speaking of things that are more entertaining to watch than Aviva, how come it’s not in her contract that she has to film at least 17 scenes with Fran Drescher per season?  Seems like a simple addendum could have easily been worked in.  Missed opportunity.

Just when you think the dinner couldn’t get any more boring….it does.  But then it gets better because George surprises everyone with his girlfriend who is 25 years old…and black.  Ok, ok so before you send the hate mail I think I’m allowed to say “black.”  And I don’t mean it in a any kind of crazy way at all except that I feel like it’s really important that this is mentioned because no one else on the show will!  For real.   They all do that crazy white person high pitched “hi!” and pretend like they don’t notice that a young and black woman just walked into the room and is the girlfriend (of two years, mind you) of 80 year old overly white (yet tanned) George.  And you know what?  It’s ok.  It’s ok to say it or at least to refer to it.  It doesn’t matter that she’s black, obviously, but it’s always fun to watch whites squirm.  And they’re all doing that thing where they’re being overly nice to her and complimenting her in a way that really says, “See, I’m not racist and I am sooooo comfortable with this.”  Ahhh whites.  Such fickle creatures.  Also, I don’t know what ‘fickle’ means, so let’s just hope it’s not racist in any way.  By the way, in case you’re wondering or forgot, they met whilst George went to the “salon” to get his scrotum waxed.  So basically the same way your parents met.

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After dinner and about 15,032 sex-puns from George, they all move into the other room where he hands his girlfriend a gift-bag and then tells her a ring is inside and states that they should be engaged.  I know.  It was so sweet.  I mean, it was so sweet?  I’ll give you all a moment to wipe your eyes.  She awkwardly says “yes” and then they awkwardly kiss….just like the way that Anna Nicole used to kiss that old bag on camera during her show too.  So same/same. TrimSpa, baby! Aviva seems so excited all of this is happening that you totally know she’s about one more champagne away from running upstairs and putting on her black leg, but first she’ll have to get a “I Heart Mom” tattoo on it.  Either way, I say good for him.  I mean, it’s 1998.  An old rich white man should be able to marry a young black hairstylist on a semi-scripted-low-rated reality show without it being a big deal.

By the end of the crapisode, it’s finally time for Sonja’s funeral.  Everyone is wearing black (which is totally fine and not racist.  I said NOT racist) and looking like they’re having a great time.  The best was Carole who had netting over her face like she was a blushing bride who was getting married in the fiery pits of hell.  Of course, what funeral wouldn’t be complete with out a little pre-gaming and taking shots of champagne?  Sonja even wrote some words down about her dog.  Well, she basically spoke words into her phone and Siri f’d most of her eulogy up.  The point is, screw you because Sonja has Nigerian football team investors and doesn’t need your pity, damn it!  Her words were touching and it was nice to see her interns show up, along with that dude who may or may not dress her or still kind of be her intern and that other dude who takes photos of her and posts them online.  The people who really cared for her (and were available for a last minute dog funeral at 11am on the east-side of town…who would actually cross over from the west-side) were there.  Sonja shed a few tears and maybe even a few layers of skin and then walked down to the river and dumped her dogs ashes into the east river where all the other dead bodies are.  Sure the wind blew most of the ashes all over her face and all over the sidewalk.  Sure what she was doing was most likely illegal.  Sure Bravo probably didn’t have a permit to film there.  Sure the homeless people in the background couldn’t give two shits.  Sure the dog died a year ago and now she just got around to the funeral.  Sure Carole outed the dog on national television.  But you wanna know what?  Luann couldn’t have been more excited to get some air time.  Oh yeah!  

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