Last night’s episode of Real Housewives of Atlanta was a difficult one, in many different ways. Not only did we see the dissolution of a marriage, but we were forced (forced!) by Kandi to consider the sexual proclivities of our group of Atlanta broad, and then we had to watch a male stripper wag his peen in their faces. In fact, there was so much peen-wagging and relationship-ending last night that the episode ran an extra 15 minutes, which nearly puts it into feature film territory.
Most of what happened was stuff that we already saw coming, but that’s part of the charm of our Atlanta ladies in particular – watching them discuss old news is a thousand times more entertaining than watching almost any other group of housewives do things that we haven’t yet heard about. They have a strange magic, these people.
Our episode once against started with Kandi Koated Nights, except this time Nene, Kim and Sheree all showed up to join the broadcast. The subject turned to Nene’s sex life or complete lack thereof once again, but luckily for her, Cynthia showed up to change the subject. Unfortunately for us, the next topic of conversation was something called the “freak number.” I believe that peeing on people was also mentioned, but let’s never speak of that again, ok?
For the uninitiated, the freak number is a measure from one to 10 of how freaky or not freaky someone is, 10 being the freakiest. Kandi then asked all of the ladies present to disclose their freak numbers, with Sheree declaring herself a 9.5 (somehow I suspect that’s only if the dude is rich) and Nene low-balling (perhaps I shouldn’t mentioned balls during this conversation) at three. Kandi seems to be under the impression that Nene is just playing dumb to throw us off her freaky scent, and she might be right, but I’d be just as happy not thinking about it.
I don’t know if Kim assigned herself a number, but it didn’t matter because soon after, Kandi pointedly asked her about whether or not she liked anal sex, she said she did, and then the entire room got blurry and spinny and a little vomit-inducing over here. I’m not sure if that was a worldwide phenomenon or one limited to my couch, but it was swift and merciless. I’ve always assumed that Kim, like Sheree, is down for anything as long as the guy’s got a fat wallet, but I didn’t need to hear that confirmed. I prefer to think that all of these women are smooth like Barbies when you remove their clothes, if only so that world needn’t be bothered with their spawn in future generations.
But I didn’t even get to dwell on that wretched thought for too long because as soon as Kim got the words out of her mouth, Kandi announced that she was going to put all of their freak numbers to the test. And how would she do that? A male stripper, of course. As much as I want to make fun of the guy and his cheesy animal print outfit and the dick outline going down his thigh and the fact that he actually showed everyone his junk (I didn’t think male strippers stripped ALL THE WAY?), I was merely surprised that we hadn’t encountered a male stripper previously on any other version of Real Housewives. Maybe Luscious or whatever his name was will blaze a trail similar to that of “Tardy for the Party” and “male stripper” will now forever have a place in Housewives Bingo.
At a slightly less explicit gathering, Cynthia got together with her wedding planner, fiance and best gay to look at mercury glass and centerpiece options and let her “stylist” run his mouth about how awesome he is. While he was talking about Alvin Ailey dancers and candlelight and his “level of styling” with the man who would actually plan the wedding, Cynthia was swilling booze and Peter was playing with his Blackberry and pretending to not be able to afford anything. Which, maybe he can’t? That seems as plausible as anything. Part of the charm of the Atlanta housewives, after all, is that none of them are actually rich. I think that’s why they’re such good sports – they need the paychecks.
On a less happy note, Nene was the next person up and she chose to use her camera time this week to talk to a divorce lawyer. You could tell that she was actually upset because her hair looked like it hadn’t seen a conditioner in weeks, although her nails matched her top perfectly. She is Nene, after all. She can’t have people throwing shade on her manicure AND her hair. It can only be one or the other, even in times of marital crisis. While I was inspecting her fingernails, she apparently decided that she’d like to divorce Gregg, which seemed like kind of a no-brainer to me. I mean, we’ve met Gregg. I want to divorce him and I’m not even married to him.
On a similarly unpleasant note, Kim’s daughter figured out a perfect way to get a piece of free jewelry: tell her mom that she wants an abstinence ring! And really, that’s kind of ingenious. Kim likes to pretend that she’s a good parent almost as much as she likes to buy jewelry, and figuring out a way to combine the two while simultaneously giving Kim an opportunity to nearly a knock a titty out of her hot pink jumpsuit on camera was a masterful stroke by Brielle. That’s her name, right? I think so. Anyway, she got her ring and will probably lose her virginity at 16 or 17 like the rest of us, but by the time that comes to pass, I don’t think Kim will really care one way or the other. I’m not sure she actually cares one way or the other now.
Speaking of Kim…so were Kandi and her music buddies! They were speaking of her! Get it? That was an awkward trasition, sorry. Kandi and her producers got together and managed to dumb down Kim’s track enough that she might be able to actually understand why it’s good, but then they decided that it was so good that they might as well give it to someone else. And you know, I don’t necessarily disagree with them – when Kandi was singing on it, the track sounded hot. It’s only when the Kim factor is introduced that things start to go off the rails, although you could probably say the same of any Kim-adjacent endeavor, even if it didn’t involve singing. And since Kim’s new single is a completely different song, maybe the track is currently hiding on some B-level R&B album and no one has realized it yet. Internet, get on that! Find it!
Elsewhere, Ayden Adonis had come home from the hospital. That’s right, Phaedra and Apollo not only misspelled their kid’s first name, but his middle name is Adonis. And I make fun, but to be honest, that’s actually not as bad as I thought it would be. I would have guessed more along the lines of Adonis Ayden, or as one commenter suggested a few weeks ago, Neptune. Compared to Phaedra’s personality, the name is downright normal. And she didn’t even pick the middle name, or seem to like it all that much! Fascinating.
Lest we all think that Phaedra is the normal person in her relationship, though, she changed her eyeshadow this week from pink and blue to yellow and blue to match her new interview shirt, glared sideways at the baby in the car on the way home from the hospital and had Apollo carry her up the stairs once they got home. I’ve never had a C-section, so I’m not sure if a C-section mitigates your ability to climb stairs or act like a sane person, but I think we all know that Phaedra probably has Apollo carry her up the stairs all the time when the cameras aren’t there. Or at least she will now that she knows he can do it. He’s gotta pull his weight one way or another, even if it’s by pulling her weight. Literally. Phaedra, if you’re reading this, I have a suggestion. For your next trick, make him pull you around the house in a little red wagon.
In less happy marriage news, word of Nene’s divorce hit Atlanta radio from Gregg himself, who seemed to be a bit, uh, unhappy with Nene’s decision to file. It’s always seemed to me that Gregg and Nene sort of deserved each other (and they both deserved Bryson), but at least Nene has kept her mouth mostly shut about the nasty details of their marriage. Gregg, however, prefers the low road – he got on the radio and said that Nene owed him hundreds of thousands of dollars and that fame had gone to her head. One of those things is probably true, and it’s probably not the part where Gregg Leakes ever had hundreds of thousands of dollars. We got to watch all of the other Housewives listen to his interview, Sheree at the gym with Lawrence and Kim wearing yet another backless pink outfit while having lunch with Kandi, and perhaps the most interesting part of that entire set of scenes was that you can listen to the radio broadcast of your friend’s angry ex’s rants on an iPad. There’s an app for that!
Awkward relationships abounded last night, and up next, Sheree once again met with Dr. Love, this time to break up with him. But not before they got in a fight! We couldn’t skip the fight, because petty little crap like Sheree not talking baby talk to Dr. Love’s kid is what this show is made for. And I didn’t even make that up, that’s an actual issue that Tiy-e or whatever his made-up name is had when Sheree called his house. From that absolutely nonsensical subject, we moved on to Dr. Love’s nonsensical educational background, if he even has one. He brought his “transcript” with him but more or less asked Sheree to drop her pants and prove that she’s female before he’d hand it over, which meant that those folded up sheets of paper that he called a transcript were probably a print out of his Google Maps directions to the restaurant.
I know that people like to make fun of Sheree for being manly, but she’s never struck me as all that masculine, other than being in good shape. Not to mention that her weave looked weavetacular during her interviews for this episode, and she caught Dr. Love in all kinds of crazy lies, enough that he eventually got a little wild-eyed and insane and told her that sometimes a woman needs to just shut up and let a man talk. I’d feel bad for anyone in the face of that sort of misogynistic, lying, fraud-propagating insanity, even Sheree. Let this go down in history as the first and last time I ever say anything nice about her.
We got a brief reprieve from the ladies’ various and sundry relationship issues when Nene went in to the news station to see her cubicle for the first time and learn about the duties of her job. Like most of us who work or have worked in offices, instead of doing anything real or worthwhile, she sat down and started reading gossip blogs. Nene: she’s just like us! Except that she is the subject of the gossip blogs she’s reading, and on of her bosses came along and saw her and got mad at her for being in a gossip blog. She then proceeded to lecture Nene on journalistic ethics and the behavior clauses in her contract, which struck me as absolutely silly – why hire Nene Freakin’ Leakes if you’re going to get mad at her for being Nene? She’s a former stripper who is now famous because of a trashy reality show.
But because last night’s episode was a super-extended hour-and-fifteen-minute kill-Amanda-dead version of Real Housewives, the night didn’t stop there. No, no, next up was the main event, an argument between Gregg and Nene that I’m honestly surprised didn’t turn into a boxing match. Nene confronted Gregg with the transcript of the radio interview we heard earlier in the episode, he claimed that he didn’t know it was an interview (sort of, although he wasn’t clear on exactly how they got him on the radio without him being aware), no ground was ceded on either side.
In fact, the only progress that seemed to have been made was Gregg admitting that he probably exaggerated when he said that she owed him hundreds of thousands of dollars for his investment in her fame, and then Nene actually ran logical circles around him, which should probably tell you less about her intelligence than about his complete lack thereof. And just incase anyone was getting too emotionally invested in Nene’s anger at her husband, as if on cue, one of her fake eyelashes popped off and she stroked it for a few seconds like a tiny, hairy caterpillar before sitting it down on her kitchen counter and continuing the argument with only one fake eyelash. And if that’s not a perfect metaphor for the entirety of Real Housewives of Atlanta, then I’m not sure what is.
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