Ramona Singer is a terrorist. No, she has not strapped a bomb to her body but she is just as volatile. She is a social terrorist. She just shows up at a party and BAM! she explodes, flattening everything around her and then running away before anyone can even react. They’re all woozy, stumbling up from the ground, covered in rubble and clutching their bleeding, ringing ears. That is what Ramona keeps doing this season.
She gets into a cab, and she hijacks it, telling the cabbie how to do his job and better please her, even as her dog sheds all over his back seat. (You know if she got in and there was dog fur on the seat, she would have complained about it the whole ride.) And the worst is that she thinks she’s a benevolent terrorist. She thinks that she is helping the cabbie out when she belittles him and tells him to write down the address where she’s going and do everything to her exact specifications. She thinks she knows how to do his job better than he does. She thinks she is a better business person than this cabbie and that her little completely idiotic suggestion (do you really want cabbies writing down addresses instead of like, you know, driving?) is going to somehow change his life for the better. She’s like those people on Whale Wars, and if you are not willing to live your life the way she thinks that it should be lived, then you are dead to her. She will explode and take you out with her.
That’s just what happened at the party. She went all Ka-Blooey! like a Bob-omb in Super Mario Brothers and then ran away, leaving Heather there to clean up the mess. I’m starting to come around on this Heather Holla! Thompson. Ramona emotionally terrorizes her and she just stands there calmly explaining that she hates the way Ramona fights, and she doesn’t have any problem with the woman, but every time they interact, Ramona treats her like crap. I think, objectively, this is true. This is true and Heather is right, but then she makes the mistake of saying that Ramona was “acting crazy.” This is where it all falls to pieces.
¡Que Viva!, who loves a good bit of telenovela drama, tells Heather not to call Ramona crazy in front of Mario (who fully knows that his wife is crazy, just like he knows that his hair is gray). Mario gets mad and says Ramona is not a “crazy person.” Then Heather says, “I said she was ‘acting crazy,’ not that she was a ‘crazy person.'” She apologizes. ¡Que Viva! and Mario are still going on about whether or not she said, “acting crazy” or “crazy person.” And this is the problem with all Real Housewives fights. They start off about something substantive — the fact that Ramona is a hypocrite who treats Heather like crap and Heather would like her to sit her down and talk about her problems rather than spewing every drawing room on the Upper East Side with the shrapnel of a thousand shattered pinot bottles — and they end up being about semantics. The fight devolves into something that is unprovable — exactly what wording Heather used. Who cares if she said “acting crazy” or “crazy person,” because Ramona is both of those things! That is just a reason to fight and fight and fight without anything ever being resolved, which is sort of the purpose of Housewives anyway. The snake eating it’s own tail and then putting its finger down its throat to throw up because snake meat has too many calories.
Then it just ends. Heather leaves, Ramona leaves, Taco forces ¡Que Viva! to leave because things are about to actually get spicy and he can’t handle it. It just all falls apart and what everyone takes away from it is that Heather called Ramona crazy. The terrorists have won.
Ramona needed a good night’s rest because the next day she and Sonja Tremont Morgan, of the Scarsdale Diet Morgans, had to go get some “spa treatments,” so that they would look all nice in St. Bart Simpson’s on vacation with the ladies. Sonja wants them to do something about her Tummie which isn’t feeling very Yummie. They inject it full of Restalyne, which is a filler that they usually use in faces. I’m not sure why this is a good idea, but Sonja likes getting a million needle jabs in her lady paunch. She thinks it is like being boinked with a million tiny penises, and when you have sex with as many penises as Sonja T. Morgan has in her lifetime, she knows that it’s the tiny ones that are so much easier to deal with. No mess, no pain, no problem. Everyone is happy.
It’s Ramona who is really going to have a rough time. She’s getting electroshock treatment to her butt. Apparently her ass is sad and has been experiencing some sort of mood disorder. Some days it’s perky, some days it’s droopy. It just doesn’t know anymore. Ramona’s ass is essentially bipolar, and this will correct it and pull her ass’ Sylvia Plath head out of the oven. She lies down on the doctors table with her tushie in the air and the doctor puts some electrodes on it. “Aaaaahhhhh!” screams Ramona. “I got a shock in my C-U-Next-Thursday.” “That’s not how you say it,” Sonja says. “It’s Tuesday. Your c**t is Tuesday, just like the girl on the Addams Family.” “Oh, OK. I got a shock in my Tuesday!”