For six seasons, I starred on the hit Bravo TV show, The Real Housewives of New York City. Part of my job was to write a recap of each week’s episode after it aired. Like viewers, I was seeing and hearing for the first time what the other ladies said about each other - and about me, in the scenes I didn’t film. I was also seeing all of those snappy little confessional interviews for the first time. And, yes, I cringed at some of the things I said. (Did I hear that right? I really said … “butt f—k?”)
Also, like the audience, there were episodes where I laughed from start to end and others where I sat jaw-dropped in front of my television, speechless. There were times where it was harder to watch the show than it was to film it. And, of course, Bravo had the daunting task of editing 100 hours of tape each week into a 43 minute show.
But the weekly blog was the thing and I did it dutifully. For my first two seasons, I posted my insights, observations and witticisms, and enjoyed interaction with readers through their comments. Our viewers had an uncanny ability to see through bullshit. I sat out season 7, my third, when Bravo did away with the comments. (I asked network execs why and got the equivalent of a mother telling her child, because I said so. ‘If the readers can’t comment,’ I said. ‘I’m not writing.’)
I took a break again in season nine after my blogs on the election episodes were sent to network attorneys. First Amendment, anyone? Hello?
Those gaps aside, I loved it. It was fun, after all, to give my take on the insanity that ensued on screen.
Comic novel? Historical account of RHONY 5 through 10? Research for a new entry in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders? You decide.