What is it with these ladies on Real Housewives Of Atlanta? NeNe Leakes‘ husband Gregg is having serious health problems, and Kenya Moore‘s grandmother – who raised her! – just died, yet they’re all OK, let’s ditch everything to go party in San Francisco because Sheree Whitfield‘s life coach decided she needs some ME TIME. So, let Sheree take that ME without YOU time – y’all have other things going on!
So Sheree’s ‘doctor’s note’ means she decided to become a life coach herself and stage a rejuvenation from drama bonding trip. Remember how well that worked for Phaedra Parks?! Excuse me, but didn’t NeNe and Kenya actually hate Sheree like 15 minutes ago? Also, why San Francisco? Is there some secret prisoner’s girlfriend seminar happening?
Last night, NeNe Leakes hosted a party with a theme that sounded more like a choose your own adventure book. It was girls and gays wearing white who should never forget while eating seafood. We’re not sure what they’re not supposed to forget since NeNe never made that clear. My guess: they’re supposed to remember that NeNe Leakes is the queen of Real Housewives Of Atlanta.
The strangest thing was, this party happened the day after Gregg was released from the hospital for something having to do with an irregular heartbeat, and instead of researching pacemakers, NeNe was researching topless male waiters and choosing themes from the Sheree Whitfield Collection Of Castoff Party Flops. Also, this was after NeNe was late to Gregg’s surgery so she could attend Sheree’s 70’s-70 party.
I’ll tell you what is about the most disappointing thing that could ever happen on a Real Housewives Of Atlanta episode – that I did not get to experience Sheree Whitfield Vs. Party Planner: The Resurrection. I was all excited for a revival of the infamous “Who gon’ check me boo?” moment (like basically my favorite real Housewives moment ever), and instead I got a lackluster mini-fit of Sheree tearing off her mic and acting like a normal person under stress. Let’s just call this what it is – unacceptable!
See, I depend on Sheree to act like, well, Sheree. Sheree of yore, that is. Like “Budget, what’s that?!” This new evolved, life-coached Sheree, who is essentially your average busy-body after an extra pumpkin spice latte and behaves strangely mature-ish (for her), is a real snooze.
Meanwhile, Cynthia Bailey is stranded at the lake all by herself with no one but the leaves to talk to. If it sounds like the start of a bad – very bad – horror movie where a desperate, lonely woman turns to the wrong kind of guy, you’re right! After a relaxing bath, Cynthia finds herself on a date where she is blindfolded and wandering the dark and creepy hallways of a chicken farm while getting her photo taken by Malcolm X’s long-lost twin, Evan.
Last night was the season premiere of Real Housewives Of Atlanta, and things are all a’crazy in the great big blender of Bravo. First of all NeNe Leakes has made her triumphant return to claim her crown has the queen of the peaches. That’s what she thinks anyway. Also, Kenya Moore is FINALLY married. Hallelujah – Jesus exists.
Phaedra Parks is sadly no longer with us after she threw herself a Phuneral By Phaedra with her epic lie about Kandi Burruss last season. Which means Porsha Williams is allllll by her-seeeelf. No Frick, only Frack. Just a girl and her Hennessey and the menz will soon follow, or something!
Kandi continues her quest for world domination with fried chicken. And like fried chicken, everybody wants a piece of Kandi! Her life has become like one of Aunt Bertha‘s sweet potato pies – cut in a million different slices with no one getting a big enough slice. The OLG Restaurant is going great – so long as Kandi is there. Apparently no one is visiting for a Mama Joyce sighting – or they’re afraid she’ll spit in their food.
Phaedra guffawed that she needs to hook up a lie detector test up to some vaginal lips – and isn’t that so ironic?! Girl… you need one here, down there, and everywhere… from your tiny baby toe, to your eyebrow!
Hand me some smelling salts, cause I have the vapors after part 4 of the Real Housewives Of Atlanta! Well all knew it was coming, but somehow seeing Phaedra Parks expose herself as a bonafide liar and a fraud of the sort that even surpasses Housewives nastiness was still a shock! And I don’t even know what to call her, an emotionless vessel of shade that has reached its sell-by date, but that nonsense went TOO FAR! Actually it went beyond crossing the line into crossing the galaxy.
There we all are, sitting on the reunion stage in our sparkly dresses, with our hair all puffed up, and our smirks frozen into irritated condescension, our voices permanently poised at a register for battle and self-defense, when out PorshaWilliams came out with the revelation Phaedra is the one who told her of Kandi Burruss‘ alleged plan to drug and rape her one fateful night. Phaedra related that she heard this information this directly from the Kandi Factory – more specifically from Kandi’s mouth.
Since this was no word on the street, Porsha decided it was believable, and “asked” Kandi about it in front of millions, then spent months defending herself against accusations that she’s a liar.
And of course, tacked onto the very tail end was the astounding revelation that, for some God-forsaken reason, Jesus, or possibly the devil put it into Phaedra Parks‘ prayer cloth that she should start a totally baseless rumor that Kandi Burruss is a secret lesbian menage-a-trois stalker who plotted to drug and rape Porsha Williams. Yep – fun times in libel-land from everybody’s favorite lawless lawyer!
Apparently earlier this year, Phaedra told poor, innocent, unsuspecting (Ha!) Porsha this lurid tale, then sat back on her donkey booty through the entire season to watch as Porsha defended herself and kept Phaedra’s confidences. And never, ever, not once, did Phaedra utter a word that it was SHE who started this rumor about Kandi. I’m sure Phaedra will handily dismiss it as “shade,” or something she heard ‘on the streets,’ then swat it away with her handbag, give herself a spritz of holy water then waltz into the church pew for some restoration. Except honey-butt: NO – you have burned the place down. Call Willie Watkins and fire up the band cause this big, ole fraudulent lie was your Phuneral By Phaedra!