REAL HOUSEWIVES PHOTOCAP: How You Gonna Have Some Poetry With No Poet?

And they’re off! Yes, The Real Housewives of Atlanta are back, and they truly are better than before. The second season premiere hit the ground running in a frenetic, dizzying way — a far cry from those lazy early days of the franchise pre-zeitgeist. It’s almost impossible to recap everything that happened in the hour, but I can assure you it was all hilarious and ridiculous. I could start with Shereé (Sherayay? Sheree-ay?), but I’d rather not. I like to save the best for last. Instead, let’s discuss the new girl, Kandi. So far she seems fine. Actually, Kandi came off surprisingly well for a newbie. She seems smart, well-spoken, self-aware, and fairly respectable. Sadly, those characteristics usually mean she’ll be boring as hell, but if the season preview is any indication, it looks like she’ll be stirring up trouble with the best of them. It seems like it’s in the air this season. Even Lisa Wu Hartwell seems a bit feisty this time around. Last season, she was affable and sweet, but borderline bland. I mean, she was no DeShawn “Snoozefest” Snow, but between her special evenings of “Drinks & Dialogue” and “joory” trunk shows, Lisa sometimes left us wanting a bit more pizzazz.
Luckily, Lisa has Ed, and the two of them together are great. They’re both very likable — and let’s admit it, easy on the eyes — and that’s always a good thing. But unlike last season, this time around, Lisa has found herself in the middle of the drama, as first seen surprisingly in last season’s contentious reunion. Long story short, Lisa pretty much hates Kim. Well, actually, they all seem to hate Kim. Even Sherayay has backed away from the wigged one — something I bet not even Kim’s psychic advisor would have expected. And we all know those psychic advisors speak the truth. Why, Kim’s was so clairvoyant, she even saw BUSINESS IN HER HAND! That’s right — in all seven years Kim had been going to Miss Cleo, never before had “business” surfaced in the creases of her palm. But now… now there was business! LADY BUSINESS!

Yes, there was business in Kim’s hand alright, and I’m not referring to the erect manhood of Big Papa (Kim announced that they had broken up. Mourning across America). Kim’s new endeavor, it turns out, was to develop a line of specialty wigs, as inspired by her own wig which she received after having survived Not Cancer. There’s no word on what this Kim Zolciak approved wig line will be called (I suggest “Zols” — as in “I wear my Zols everywhere I go!”), nor is there any suggestion as to what these hair pieces will even look like. But rest assured that the lucky ladies who don a Zol will most certainly be confused for a drag queen within seconds. Success!
Of course, you may be wondering if Kim has the capabilities to actually spearhead a line of wigs. The answer, in short, is no. The fledgling designer attempted to learn about hair by auditing a beauty school class, but clearly she seemed more interested in finding new ways to recycle Paris Hilton’s “bitch” phrase (as in, “love you, bitch!”). It seems that Kim’s managerial style is about on par with her singing talent, which means there might be a lot of shoddy wigs hitting the market soon.
If there’s anyone who needs a wig these days, sadly it’s Nene. Look, we all love Nene. She’s the life of the party. When she adds “chiiiiiiiile” to the end of a sentence, everyone across America laughs (with her, not at her). But the haircut is doing her no favors. It’s supposed to be some sort of Mary J. Blige / neo-Waiting To Exhale coif, but all it really does is age her about ten years and make her look like a boy. Seriously — there were points in last night’s episode when I thought she might just recite the poetry of Sappho, if you know what I’m saying. And then there was the top. You all know what I’m talking about. About three-quarters through the show, Nene appeared on camera in some strange outfit that seemed to have a rectangle cut out of her midsection. It was almost as if she’d adorned her chest with some sort of ill-conceived, vaguely Roman window treatment. I really don’t think I’ve seen cleavage presented in such an odd, odd way. I can only imagine what her friend Dwight would have said about it.
Actually, I can imagine what Dwight would have said, and I can guarantee that it wouldn’t have been terribly funny. I don’t love Dwight, you see. I object to the way Andy Cohen simply DECIDED that okay, he’s the “sixth housewife.” He’s not. Granted, Dwight has given us one of the best lines of all time (“a fashion show with no fashions”), and his interaction with Nene is pretty amazing. There’s just something creepy about him that rubs me the wrong way. I get the nagging sense he’s auditioning for his own show. That being said, I did laugh out loud when a horrified Dwight stared at a disco ball and muttered, “That’s stressful.” Maybe he just needs to grow on me.
However, as prissy as Dwight seems to be, he’s nothing compared to The Party Planner From Hell, which brings us to the star of the episode, Sherayay P. Whitfield (ed. note — I’m not sure if Sherayay’s middle name starts with a P, but I’m going with it). It takes a real crazy person to ever make me take Sherayay’s side (she of the scary EYE FLARE in her title card), but that’s pretty much what happened last night as she attempted to make a few modest requests (poet, helicopter — no big whoop) of the local Party Planner To The Stars. Needless to say, screaming ensued.
But first, let’s give some context to this ridiculous situation. Sherayay, as it turns out, had recently downsized from her giant mansion to a horrifyingly small mini-mansion, on account of the news that her ex-husband had not been paying the mortgage as promised. You’d think she’d be a bit more proactive in keeping an eye on the finances, but alas. I think we can all agree this does not bode well for Sherayay’s managerial style; although, should we be surprised from a woman who put on a fashion show with no fashions? No, not really.
Anyway, Sherayay was now in a smaller but no less luxurious domicile; although, to hear her talk about it, you’d think she’d just passed through Ellis Island and was now crammed in a tenement on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. I personally found the new space to be a massive upgrade. Sure, it no longer had a cavernous living room in which she could yell to the heavens “YOU RUINED MY JOY!”, but at least the house wasn’t as glaringly tacky and full of pseudo-French chateau touches. I’m getting off topic though. The point is that Shereeeay was now an independent woman; so what else to do but throw an Independence Party! Yes, Sherayay was gonna have a party to celebrate herself — a night that would be all about HER for once. Never mind that pretty much every episode last season seemed to feature Shereé proclaiming, “This night is not about them. This night is about me. This is MY night!” What can I say? The woman has a lot of nights. And they’re all about her. This night, however, was going to be especially about her; so Sherayay marched down to the offices of Anthony, the aforementioned Party Planner To The Stars, and discussed all the plans for her Independence Party.
Everything seemed fine at first. Sherayay wanted just a simple, no-frills party — you know, the kind where she arrives in a helicopter and then a gaggle of bodyguards ferries her through a bowing crowd, all while some poet waxes lyrically about her struggles and strengths. So you know, nothing too fancy. If you think I’m joking, think again. These were literally the details Sherayay and Anthony discussed, causing me to wonder if these sort of ostentatious displays are the norm for Atlanta (and knowing reader Jennifer30307, I’m thinking yes). It’s pretty horrifying on My Super Sweet 16 when the teens demand (and often receive) these absurd parties, but hearing a grown woman literally demand a helicopter and then not even bat an eyelash at the narcissistic suggestion that a poet be commissioned to capture her every quality — it’s just, well, AMAZING.
As you can imagine, Sherayay was very adamant about staying involved with the process, but soon everything fell apart. With four days to go to the party, she hadn’t heard squat from Anthony OR the poet. She did the only thing she could do: call up and speak in her accelerated Claire Huxtable voice. We didn’t hear what Anthony said on the other side of the phone, but according to Sherayay, he was something of a diva — furious that anyone would question the progress of the mighty party that he, the doyenne of parties, was planning.
Justifiably not happy with this sort of response, Sherayay headed into another meeting with Anthony to discuss what in the hell was going on, and for the first time in the history of Sherayay, I was squarely on her side. This Anthony guy was full of attitude, acting as if he were some sort of artiste when in fact he was just a party planner. And guess what? Sherayay was sort of awesome. She absolutely schooled this dude. When he started to get prissy with her, she did not back down. She busted him with all his logic, or lack thereof, and as their voices grew louder and louder, employees gathered around, not sure if they should close the conference room door or merely gawk. The latter option prevailed.
Well, the tensions mounted and mounted, until Anthony said “You better watch yourself before you get checked!” This caused Sherayay to cock her head to the side and ask ever so perfectly, “Who’s gonna check me, boo?” This led Anthony to lean back speechlessly… and then it was AWN. I swear, I wish I could remember more of the fight, but there’s only so much one can take in when you’re gasping for air in between peels of laughter. I just remember Sherayay telling us that if she were in Cleveland, she’d call up some Pookie character to whoop Anthony’s ass. And let’s face it, how could you not be rolling on ground when you hear two grown people literally shouting about helicopters and poets. I particularly liked Sherayay’s frustration in never having heard from the poet. “You can’t write a poem about me if you’ve never talked to me!” Truer words were never spoken.
Eventually, around the time when Anthony started screaming “YO’ MOMMA’S A BITCH!”, his employees dragged him out of the conference room before he could do any further damage to his company, leaving Sherayay to calmly ask America “Whatever happened to customer service?” So true, Sherayay. So true.
Anyway, enough babbling. Let’s take a look at some pictures:

“I’m seeing business in your hand.”
“Business? That’s so funny! I’m starting a business!”
“Ah. That might explain the sudden appearance of failure too.”

“BAM! It’s a Niecy Nash birthday party!”

Sherayay: “Hey Niecy, who the hell is throwing this stupid birthday party anyway?”

“Here’s the thing, Nene. Your haircut makes you look like a professional golfer, if you know what I’m saying.”
“BAM! That’s a veiled insult!”

“Pardon us, we’ve had a bit too much Drinks & Dialogue.”

“BAM! It’s a reconciliation!”

“UGH. This is awful. Is this what it was like listening to me sing??”

Nene: “Dwight, baby, what’s wrong?”
“I’m just thinking of a sexual innuendo for this orange juice.”
“What’ve you got so far?”
“I was thinking something like ‘Girl, it’s like some Tropicana just CAME in my glass.'”
“Oooh, that’s good. Keep working on it.”

“I’d like to remind you, Sherayay, that I am a top level executive party planner, and I deserve respect. Do you even know what I do? I call people and RESERVE THEIR TIME!!!!”

“And for your information, we have booked a VERY influential poet for you. His name is Reginald, and he’s extremely talented. Enterprise Rent-A-Car should be honored to have him as an employee.”

“Let me tell you something. I’M PLANNING THIS PARTY, AND I’M PLANNING IT FOR YOU!!! Why would I ever need the input from you about your party?? I mean, how does THAT make sense?”

“WHERE THE HELL IS MY POET? YOU’RE RUINING MY JOY!!”

“Yo’ momma’s a bitch, and you a bitch too! But your husband is fiiiiiiiiine. Shit, did I say that out loud?”

“I don’t know who Pookie is, but he don’t scare me. I eat bitches like you for breakfast… along with a few cinnamon rolls, some grits, biscuits and gravy, a stack of pancakes, more cinnamon rolls, a few donuts, an éclair, and sometimes a pork chop.”

“Guess what. I read that poem. And you know what it said? ‘You a whore!’ That’s what it say, bitch. That’s what it say!”

What did you think about the premiere? Thoughts on the new girl? Thoughts on your returning favorites? What about Nene’s hair?