For a season finale, this episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta sure did feel like it was starring a whole bunch of new chapters in the face; or at least its characters were.
Here’s a surefire way to tell if someone isn’t over something. They’ll tell you how “over it” they are. Also, a good test for knowing if something is bothering someone: They’ll tell you that they can’t be bothered by it. Now, I get that Nene can’t be bothered with Claudia trying to have a dramatic conversation with her while they’re at a philanthropy function for young men. But in the big picture, she has to be bothered with it.
Thank the lord, nobody got dragged today.” —Kandi
Pretty much no one and nothing escapes these Real Housewives shows without tarnishing their character to an irreparable degree, embarrassing themselves, and wearing some weave/statement necklace-chandelier/booty short that will one day haunt their dreams. But the Philippines has done the unthinkable: It came in, it made a splash, it solved everyone’s problems, and it exited with its head held high, nothing but Porsha’s ass imprint on the back of a tiny horse left as proof that Bravo was ever there at all.
I don’t know what’s happening. I did not think this day would come, and I’m not sure if I’m willing to accept it. On a scale of sane to 10, the women of RHOA have been hovering somewhere around an eight (fighting about ass exercise DVDs) on their best days this season, and a 10 (scepter-induced anger rage blackouts) when under high stress.
If the complete and utter destruction of my marriage with RHOA was eminent (it is), and I was asked to think pros and cons about the show (sure, why not), and was able to think of countless cons (the amount of breasts being strangled within an inch of their lives in interview outfits, “accu-lades,” contractually obligated group dinners, “textses,” Peter), but only one pro, that pro would be these women’s shameless ability to just decide to reinvent themselves and their social circumstances whenever the script calls for it.
The one who smelt it, dealt it, y’all. Always. Nene smelled the sweet scent of a redemption storyline for herself and drama for others, and ended up in a bit of a pickle—a pickle where she hired a psychologist to tell eight of her closest enemies that they’re wrong for thinking she’s ever mistreated them, but ended up telling that psychologist that she didn’t hire him to be a psychologist, so why doesn’t everyone just stop trying to attack her and move on without ever discussing anything.
Somebody must have left a self-help book lying around the green room between Gregg’s Ensures and Peter’s SlimFasts’ at the last RHOA reunion because tonight, the cast is all about mental health. Can you possibly imagine anything worse than going to counseling with six women you can’t stand and one you don’t even know (Demetria—seriously girl, who is you)?
You’ve got to stop calling each other sluts and whores. It just makes it okay for guys to call you sluts and whores.–Tina Fey in Mean Girls
For me, watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta is kind of like a personality test and a test of mental strength all in one. Yes, Meyers Brigg can tell me that I’m an outgoing introvert, or what have you, but only this show can make me question my concept of reality with every scene change.
Tonight’s episode was low on plot but high on sheer idiocy, which is really the best you can ask for in a series that spends 60 percent of its airtime recapping what happened in the episode that came before it (the other 40 percent is statement lipstick, horse eyelashes, and false bravado). Cynthia, however, spends most of her portion of the hour making it abundantly clear that she has never set foot inside a sports bar, and is therefore clueless that Peter can and will run her into the ground before this fiscal year is up.
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