DanThat'sCool!

 

The Housewivus Atlantaris species often orally signals their mate that it is time to get busy.

 

 

Often the male of the species nervously contemplates abandoning the aggressor female when no one is paying attention.

 

 

When in heat, the larger Housewivus Atlantaris reverses direction, backing dat thang up to confuse their prey.

 

 

Both the male and female Atlantaris like big butts and they can not lie.

 

 

When distracted, the male of the species can sometimes become wedged between boulders.

 

 

The male Atlantaris is capable of lifting over 3x its own weight. And that’s not counting any rachet weave.

 

 

 

 

Math is hard.

 

 

 

Pack yo’ bags and pat yo’ weaves.

We’re going to the beach, Girlfriend.

Apparently, The Real Housewives of Atlanta aren’t wasting any time this season when it comes to drama or travel plans.  And after last week’s throw down with Kim Zolciak, they could probably all use a vacation.  I know I could.  

And nothing takes the edge off of driving a co-star out of a restaurant and into her own spin-off series like a trip to Anguilla, right?

But before the Wives and ManWives could head to the pristine booty poppin’ beaches of the Caribbean, we had to finish up where we left off last time.

Kim’s final RHOA scene.  And it was enough to knock your wig off, so you might want to clip that thing down a little tighter.

As you will recall, Kim had just bolted from the table, where everyone had gathered to finalize the travel plans.   After changing both her mind and her due date at least four times (…Kim apparently uses the same 265 day calendar that Porsha referenced last week…)  she and NeNe went another round or two before Kim finally had had enough of the dramzzz and waddled out of the restaurant.

Yeah.  Being preggo definitely takes some of the oomph out of a dramatic exit, but I’ll give her credit for trying.  She was done.  For good.

In what appeared to be an homage to VH1′s Mob Wives, there was screaming and (bleeping) and microphone booms in the shot as everything collapsed into Reality Gold outside on the curb.  There was even some serious shoving of Bravo’s expensive equipment as Kroy went all Roid Rage, dropping F-bombs in an effort to protect Kim from the cameras like a caveman would do if a wooly mammoth was bearing down on his woman.

Must.  Swear.  And.  Kill.  And.  Threaten.  With.  Lawsuit. 

Finally, after some random off-screen producer yelled at him to get his hands off their s*** and get Kim the heck outta Dodge, they both squealed off into the horizon.

Never to be heard from again.  At least this week.  On this show.

And at least until Don’t Be Tardy For Whatever It’s Gonna Be Called premieres.

Somewhere out there tonight, Big Poppa is smiling a big smile.  Tag.  You’re it.  She’s someone else’s problem now.

While Kroy was blowing an NFL-sized nutty outside, the girls were all inside making fun of Kim and her seemingly endless supply of excuses.  NeNe even spontaneously busted out into a song about Excuses right there at the table.  For realz.

Because she’s very rich.  And she’s on Glee now.

And that’s kind of their thing.

Next we paused, for what I like to call A Minute With Momma Joyce.  Because Momma don’t play.

Over at Kandi’s empty cavern of a new home, Momma was dispensing her usual pearls of wisdom as they dissed All Things Kim.

Who works their schedule around a Nanny?  MmmMmm.  Who has her own mother taken out of a wedding reception in cuffs?  Oooh, Girl.  The way she done her Momma.

I could literally listen to a Momma Joyce book on tape in the car and never even realize I missed my exit ramp.  Love me some MJ.

Not feeling the love however, was Cynthia.  At least when it came to Coochie Crackphobe Kenya.

As she and Peter met up with newbie Porsha for a little nosh, Cynthia was still having a hard time getting over how disrespectful the former Miss USA (…not Miss America, thank you…) had been at the Bailey Agency during their recent casting call.

And once Porsha recapped her own interaction with Kenya at the Hosea Williams fundraiser, it didn’t take Cynthia long to do the math and realize that inviting Porsha along on their upcoming trip was guaranteed to push all of Kenya’s buttons.  And that sounded kinda fun.  And there’s always room for another hater, don’t you know.

So get your passport, girlie.  You’re going to Anguilla.  And bring that hunky football player husband of yours if he ain’t busy, because it looks like Peter is already working up a pretty uncomfortable ManCrush on that beefy Kordell “Slash” Stewart.

You might want to keep an eye on yo’ man, Cindy.  Peter was positively giddy at the prospect of a former NFL dude sharing the hot tub when they all got to the Caribbean.  If it hadn’t been for bad cell service at the restaurant, I’m pretty sure the dude would have pulled out his Hello Kitty Sidekick and OMG’d all his BFFs.

Since Peter couldn’t wait another minute to fist pump with Kordell, it was time to head to the airport.

With her husband tripping all over himself reciting every NFL stat he had memorized the night before, Cynthia hung with the girls as everyone pulled up to the Loading Zone with their excessive collection of luggage.  How many bathing suits does one person need on a trip, you ask?  Don’t ask.

Even Kandi’s new beau Todd made the flight on time after originally bailing  on the trip, and she was so surprised I was afraid she was going to pop a Kegel and put someone’s eye out before the plane even left the tarmac.

As soon as Kenya made her entrance, all shrink wrapped in yet another booty hugging dress, it was clear that she wouldn’t be sharing a room with Porsha anytime soon.  Especially since she couldn’t see her.  Or at least that’s what she pretended as she walked past Porsha like I do when someone on the sidewalk asks if I have five minutes to Save The Planet and I’ve only got enough cash on me for Starbucks.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m no fan of global warming.  But trust me…the world is also a much better place when I’ve got some caffeine in my system.

Finally everyone piled onto the plane, grabbed a cocktail and pushed their faces way too close to the FlipCam lens as Kandi recorded their journey for posterity.  Between dental records and downloaded video files, someone should be able to identify the bodies by the time this mess was over.

Seriously.  Housewives on Road Trips are like little kids who keep touching a hot stove.

You know someone is going to get burned, but everyone still keeps going back for another poke.

As the plane hit cruising altitude, the only thing louder than the cabin pressure warning signal was the ticking of Kenya’s biological clock.

Girlfriend needs a diamond.  And a baby.  And a root touch up.

And not necessarily in that order.

From the flight to the van ride to their arrival at Ani Villas, all Kenya talked about was getting married and popping out little Junior Miss contestants.  So much so that poor Walter ended up with that kind of thick upper lip sweat that people always get in gangster movies when they’re held captive in a coffee warehouse.  Dude hadn’t blinked once since Atlanta.

The only time she really stopped squawking about putting a ring on it was when she commandeered the wheel of their small transport boat and gunned it so fast that Cynthia’s boob popped out of her dress.  That delightfully unexpected visual was also probably the only thing that kept Walter from throwing himself overboard.

Once Cynthia tucked her stuff back into her dress and everyone clipped a few tracks back in place, they all checked out their Caribbean accommodations to varying degrees of approval.

For a simple little Reality TV blogger, the place looked pretty sweet.  My floaties and plastic snorkel would have no problem spending a week or two in any of those rooms.  But to Kenya and her delusions of pageant princess royalty, her suite was unacceptable.

So much so that she even had a bit of a 6 year old Toddlers & Tiaras hissy and laid on the bed with her face smothered in a pillow while Walter tried to decide if he could make the whole thing look like an accident and then seek asylum in Anguilla.

Dude doesn’t stand a chance.  Run like the wind and don’t look back.

After unpacking and discussing the pros and cons of hot tub Clorox in your Honey Pot, Phaedra and Apollo joined everyone down by the pool to unwind.  But unfortunately, Miss Universe had other plans.

It has already been well documented that Kenya thinks Apollo is one fine piece of a**, so as soon as she got an eyeful of his American Eagle board shorts it was Game On.

Splash.  Kenya pushed Apollo in the pool.  Because she saw that on MTV ‘s Real World, and it looked fun.  At least when wasted 20 year olds did it.

Scrunch.  PhaedraFace activated.  She and Momma Joyce don’t play.  Keep yo’ hands of my man.

Splash.  Soaking wet Apollo retaliated by picking up Kenya like a caveman picks up a side of raw T-Rex meat and dumped her in the pool.

Scrunch.  PhaedraFace overload.  It was time to release the nukes.

And that she did.  The next morning.  At breakfast.  And they were all covered in fishnet.

Wearing nothing by a black thong bikini under some loosely crocheted stripper yarn, Phaedra showed Kenya how the big booty girls do it when someone else moves in on their turf.  She brought her milkshake to the yard, bitch.  Hands off.

I know you’ve seen those stories on the Discovery Channel about dolphins caught in tuna nets.  It was like that.  Except they were genetically enhanced dolphins.  Or dolphins that swam too close to a nuclear plant and now had mutated donkey booty super powers.

Damn.  Baby got Back.

If you don’t own a widescreen plasma, you missed the best part.

After a few iPhone photos of all that badonk, it was time to split up and discover what Anguilla had to offer.

Kandi and Todd slammed down a few cocktails that sounded like something a porno director would yell into a megaphone while Kenya and Walter talked marriage and babies.  Again.

The rest of them must have either gone to their rooms to knock boots or were too boring to film, because we never did find out where they went during the day.  But by dinner, everyone was back together again just in time for some entertainment.

To thank Peter for arranging the trip, Phaedra had tracked down some Caribbean cheerleader dancer types who busted out a little island dance…Rihanna style.

Complete with white umbrella ella ellas.

The whole thing was so jammin’ that it even inspired NeNe to relive her stripper days and show them all how it’s done.  Divas to the dance floor.

Girl, pleez.  She may be very rich, but she can still pick up a dollar bill like a Dyson picks up a bowling ball on that infomercial.

Next thing you knew, Kenya and Cynthia were bumpin’ and grindin’ up against Peter so hard I was afraid he might break a hip.  It was like backing a car up into a guard rail without even looking.  He’s no spring chicken, girls.  Check your rear view.

By the time NeNe showed Kenya how to do a lap dance I thought we might lose Walter.

The Housewives have arrived.

Hello, Anguilla.

Buh bye, Kim.

 

All I know is that my fancy a** hat is on straighter than that rug you’re wearing.

 

 

 

 

Five episodes into this season, and yes…I’m still very rich, bitch.

 

 

 

Lord, give me the strength to not kill this heffer before Glee Regionals.

 

 

 

I’m pretty sure one of my marbles just fell on the floor.

 

 

 

 

Pleez. I’ll give that Apollo one Giant Leap For Mankind.

 

 

 

Hosea Feed The Hungry? I thought it was for Tommy Hilfiger hosiery.

 

 

 

 

Beyoncé sez if you like it, then you better put a damn p**** ring on it.

 

 

Girl, pleez.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.  I don’t wanna hear any excuses as to why you can’t read my recap of The Real Housewives of Atlanta, because this week’s episode already had enough sob stories and WTF faces without your drama, thank you.

So grab a cocktail, sit your donkey booty down and let’s dish.  ATL style.

The whole thing started out with a big mouthful of pizza as Kim shoveled down a few slices with daughters Brielle and Ariana.  After an exhausting few days of watching Sweetie do all the heavy lifting after re-relocating back to their old townhouse, Kim figured she would take the girls to a little outdoor pizzeria for some quality Mom Time.

First off…chew and then talk.  Or talk and then chew.  Seriously.

Did you see the three of them chowing down?  I had a Honey Boo Boo flashback.

Since Kroy was currently off at Training Camp and couldn’t be harassed while trying to eat his Sugar Smacks, and Kim pretty much refused to be filmed with any of the other women this season, you kind of get what you get with her scenes.

During their verbal food fight, we learned that one girl was a planned pregnancy and the other one just kind of popped out one day when Mom was 19 years old.  We also learned that all of that Don’t Be Tardy For The Wedding dramz must still be going on in the court system somewhere, because Kim didn’t have anything nice to say about her own Mom when the subject came up between chomps.

We even learned (…again…) that Kim was hot and cranky and pregnant, since she never gets to say that enough, right?

And most importantly we learned that I can never remember which kid is which, and that we all could have probably done without that whole scene altogether.

I’d like those 5 minutes back, please.  Love me some Kim, but she’s way more fun when someone is pulling on her wig.

Down the road a bit, Doctor of Donkology Phaedra and her BoyToy Apollo were waiting to meet up with newbie Kenya and her boyfriend.  Miss Phaedra was determined to move forward and create the universe’s first-ever non-sweaty Donkey Booty Workout DVD, and was obviously hoping to get a few comped hours with Kenya’s production company.

I’m not certain if it was the hot Atlanta sun beating down on them or what, but as soon as Kenya and Walter showed up outside the predetermined Go Kart Land meeting spot and she laid her eyes on all that Apollo ManCandy, her own radiator overheated all over the track.  Yeah, she was dripping some serious oil.

MmmMmm.  That Apollo is so fine.  Kenya like.  Kenya really like.

As Phaedra introduced herself to Walter, whom she vaguely remembered from one of her numerous 100 Black Men interactions (…insert your own joke here…) Kenya was checking out Apollo in his Puff Daddy shades and ripply muscled shirt.

As far as our weekly RHOA Drinking Game goes, if you were taking shots every time Phaedra made a PhaedraFace it’s a safe bet that you probably missed anything that came after this scene.  I think this one broke the all-time Bravo record for PhaedraFace sightings.

Kenya couldn’t get over Apollo’s veiny muscles, which she apparently was able to see through the fabric of his long sleeved shirt utilizing some kind of ultra-secret Miss USA super-powered x-ray vision.

Phaedra’s plan for the video was to utilize items found around the home and incorporate them into the butt burning exercises.  It was also pretty clear that she would have no problem slamming that same 2 pound jug of milk into the side of Kenya’s head if she got any closer to her man’s junk.

Luckily, they all hit the Go Karts before Kenya actually mounted Apollo.  Miss Phaedra better keep her scrunched up eyeballs on that one, mmmkay?

Next we popped the cork on a $200 bottle of wine over a Cynthia‘s.  NeNe and horny tagalong Gregg were on their way over, and NeNe’s rich now.  So that calls for the good stuff.

Except the wine had gone bad.  Two hundred dollah bad.

Which was just one more reason to stick with a wine box and some cheese balls.  NeNe’s gonna be dinking around on her cell phone the whole time anyway…she’ll never even look up to notice.

This year’s required Bravo Trip was planned for Anguilla because Peter was in tight with the person who does PR for the island.  The whole island.  That is either one big a** job, or a pretty tiny piece of land.  But either way, all the girls had juggled their hectic schedules and finally set a date.  And this time Boys were allowed.

The plan was to get some sun, get some relaxation and to get some…period.  Because you know how Boys are when they go on vacation.

Peter had a secret plan to renew his vows with Cynthia (…this time with tropical birds instead of a gigantic T-Rex skeleton.  Remember that museum wedding?…) and Gregg had plans to bloop NeNe until her earrings fell off.

That pretty much sums it all up.

Newbie #2 Porsha and her husband Kordell were up next as they dropped by the clinic for a quick ultrasound.

Just when I thought we were finally going to make it through one whole RHOA episode with no Coochie Crack, we ended up on the Coochie Crack Mothership.

Coochie Crack pictures on the counter.  Coochie Crack posters on the walls.  Coochie Crack brochures.  Even a Coochie Crack ultrasound TV screen that kind of looked like what the Star Trek bridge used to see right before they were sucked into a wormhole.

I’m giving it all I’ve got, Captain.

Earlier in the year Porsha had miscarried, and she was back for her 6 month check under the hood to see how much longer the couple needed to wait before trying for another baby.  As we’ve already learned, both Porsha and Kenya are on Baby Watch…and time’s a’wasting, people.

Luckily, they only had to hold off one more month before getting back to baby making.

And according to Porsha’s iPhone research, that meant it was time to stock up on canned yams, because yams make you have two babies at once.

I really need to start reading labels more closely before I make dinner on date nights.

Even though she is jaw-droppingly ditzy, it’s nice that Porsha is still able to have another child if she really wants one.  Or two.

Popeye came into the examination room and said I” Yam What I Yam” and then we were all off to the Hosea Williams Foundation House for a meeting with NeNe and Cynthia.

From the start it was pretty clear that the Foundation definitely spends all the money they raise on food and supplies to feed the hungry and not on furniture, because the place was empty.  Literally.  Just a couple of chairs and a bookcase.  NeNe’s red bottoms echoed like a scary movie.

At first I thought they had been robbed, but Porsha seemed in a pretty good mood, so I guess it’s just the look they were going for.  Regardless, she had set up a meeting with Cynthia and NeNe to see if they would be willing to shoot some PSAs for the Foundation and gossip about how Kenya had popped off at the last benefit gala.

Porsha explained that feeding the hungry was not just a Thanksgiving project, but something that needed to happen 265 days a year.

Because apparently, no one goes hungry for the other 100 days.

Gah.  There has to be a gas leak at the Stewart house that no one has capped yet.

And then it was time to whip out the credit cards and pop in the kegel balls, because Kandi and Phaedra were going shopping.

Hitting up one of those little gifty type shops inside a normal house where everything either has a bow or a sea shell hot glued to it, Phaedra was all excited that Kandi had brought her a present from the newly released Bedroom Kandi line of nasty toys.

Girlfriend was X-cited.

Seriously.  I think the last time I saw anyone get this excited over a toy was when the new Star Wars came out and you could buy Darth Vader with a removable helmet.

Freak Out with your Geek Out.

Miss Phaedra had her heart set on a noodle ring for Apollo, but all Kandi brought her was a box o’ balls.  Kegel balls.

Google it.  I’m all Coochied out.

Kandi even had her set all up in there somewhere, just to prove that you could drive stick and not shoot out your windshield like a BB gun.

At some point in their retail excursion, Phaedra got all gospel and fiercely asked WWJD? (…What Would Jesus Do?…) and Kandi made a sound that reminded me of when you first break a rack on a pool table.

I’m pretty sure the salesgirl at the register took a PTO day after those two left the shop.

I might not even go to work tomorrow.

Then finally, it was time for all the girls to get together and nail down the deetz on their Anguilla trip.

Cynthia and Phaedra arrived at the restaurant first, where Miss Parks presented Miss Bailey with a massive floral arrangement to apologize for getting caught last week talking smack on NeNe’s voicemail.

This thing was massive.  Like David Tutera My Fair Wedding massive.  I honestly expected it to be delivered to the table with a fog machine.  Or at least with someone on a trapeze.

Cynthia deleted the message and the two of them agreed to move forward just as everyone else pulled up to the curb.  Even über preggo Kim made an appearance.

The trip was planned for the following week, and had been scheduled around Kim’s due date.  Everyone had rescheduled their busy lives.  Glee stuff.  Macy’s stuff.  Trial stuff.

Even Kenya, who wasn’t even invited, had apparently rescheduled stuff and somehow managed to invite herself along before the appetizers even arrived.  I guess it’s a good thing she had already cleared her calendar.

Cynthia asked if everyone was on board and ready to go.

And then it all hit the fan.

The only thing Kim likes more than naming her wigs, is coming up with excuses.

She wasn’t sure if she could go on the trip now.  Her due date had been changed.  Her Coochie Crack (…again with the CC?…) had shortened.

It would have been nice right about now if Bravo TV had run a scroll across the bottom of the screen telling us to all grab our calculators, because Kim was about to do some seriously F***d up math.

She was 28 weeks pregnant.  And then she was 30.  And then she was 8 months pregnant and couldn’t leave the country.  And then she had 2 months left before she delivered.

By my calculations she will either give birth to a bouncing baby or a Harvard graduate.

Plus, she and Kroy were already going on a trip next week.  Say wha—?!

NeNe flipped out.  Kandi got mad.  Phaedra unleashed a couple of never before seen PhaeadraFaces, which only made her slightly askew church hat that much more pleasing to the eye.

Cynthia got frustrated.  Kenya started moving her s*** into Kim’s Bravo dressing room.

And then Kim just lost it.  Baby Hormone lost it.  That kind.

After either yanking out her microphone or squeezing her boob, she pulled a major Teresa Giudice and said she was done.  Done with all this.  DONE.

Unfortunately, her baby belly didn’t allow her to get close enough to the table to actually flip it over, which I found quite disappointing, but she did manage a pretty good nutty for a pregnant woman.

And then she was gone.  Shoving camera men and pedestrians to get back to her vehicle.  Somehow Kroy even came to her rescue.  No clue where he came from, but I’m going to assume that he was sitting in the car the whole time like a hired valet.

Then it was nothing but chaos and (bleeps) and swinging microphone booms and more (bleeps) and Kroy all up in the lens going full on football cray cray and making the camera fuzz out like Porsha’s ultrasound.

Zolciak out, bitches.

 

I know my coochie crack can pick up cable transmissions, but I don’t recall any donkey dialing.

 

 

Seriously. Listen. It sounds like she’s holding one of those giant bean bag cushions over the receiver.

 

 

I don’t have time to pack. It’s not like those (bleepin’) donuts are gonna (bleepin’) eat themselves, bitch.

 

 

I think Miss USA gets a crown and Miss America is the one with super powers, right?

 

 

 

Please. With an a** like that she could dial the Kremlin and not know it. Heffer.

 

 

 

Hold up, girl. I think I’m getting a Tweet down there right now. MmmMmm.

 

 

Close your legs to high cell phone bills and roll-over minutes, bitch.

If you’re gonna back all dat up, you better make sure you’ve got an unlimited data plan and a fully charged battery, because Donkey Booty don’t play when it comes to reaching out and touching somebody.  Just ask Phaedra.

Yeah.  I like big butts, and I cannot lie.

But apparently the women attached to those sturdy bottoms sometimes can, as we found out this week when Doctor of Donkology Phaedra Parks used up a few of her AT&T minutes by unknowingly talking a little smack after sitting on her Blackberry.

Stay tuned for all that dramzzz.  First things first.

It was Moving Day on The Real Housewives of Atlanta as Kim cussed and cursed her way out of the Biermann Dream House and back into last year’s townhouse, all thanks to a Twitter War with landlord/decorator/twatter Kendra.

There are a lot of versions out there as to what exactly went down between Kim and Kendra since the Don’t Be Tardy For The Party wedding.  Everyone is talking shizzle about each other, usually in 140 characters or less, so it’s hard to really know all the deets with so much gossipy goodness out there to digest.

According to the magazine at CVS (…hey…the line was really long…) Kim and Kroy either refused to pay rent by the first of the month, or Kendra evicted them, or Kim made a decision to move out while Kroy was wolfing down another mouthful of cereal or pizza, or some other excuse.  I basically just looked at the picture captions.

So we’ll probably never know.  But whatever it was, they pretty much had to move out by yesterday.  So it was a little chaotic, to say the least.  Kim was freaking out.

(Bleepin’) freaking out.

And suddenly the Dream House was also haunted.

I know, right?  Because Indian burial ground poltergeists lurking around your Wig Room sounds way cooler than admitting that you just got evicted.  And way more believable.

As Kim scuffed around the house in her Ugg slippers, swearing and rubbing her preggo belly in the same creepy way that the Wicked Witch always palmed that over-sized crystal ball full of Flying Monkeys, Kroy fueled the Machine with another fistful of pepperoni and basically just sat their while she whipped him.  Dude does love to eat.

Right on cue, his little bulldog puppy waddled by wearing one of those velcro cone collars that you have to wear until the stitches on your missing niblets dissolve, and for a moment I wondered if he had chewed them off himself.

The dog.  Not Kroy.

But since you mentioned it, what do you want to bet that Kroy and the puppy have to share that cone, if you know what I mean?  Snip.

Baby KJ, who totally looks as though he belongs on a 1950′s sitcom with all that slicked back Little Ricky hair and those Beanie Baby eyeballs, just sat back in his highchair trying to learn as many new swear words as he could while Kim (bleepin’) melted down.

Luckily his baby arms were too stubby to reach the carton of cigarettes on the counter, so at least temporarily, KJ was saved from one of Kim’s vices.

Hey, lady.  I pooped my diaper and I’m (bleepin’) freaking out over here, dammit.  Clean this up and bring me a menthol, Sweetie.

As everyone tried to figure out what to do next, Kandi and Momma Joyce were across town in their own pile of boxes.

Moving into her own new home, Kandi was beginning to realize that Momma’s plan all along was to also move her stuff into an upstairs bedroom.  Joyce was the one who originally found the house while it was still on the market, and it appeared that short term payback included her own parking space.

Kandi managed to pretty smoothly avoid the topic by dissing Kim’s delusional grasp on reality instead, including Mrs. Biermann’s theory that Kandi had just paid a realtor over half a million dollars commission to still live in the ‘Hood.  For someone with so much artificial hair on her head, Kim has a pretty warped concept of what actually makes someone gangstah.

Back at Casa Biermann, Kim (bleepin’) flipped out on a few of the guys from the moving company and made Momma Joyce’s analysis that “You don’t explain Ignorance” seem too legit to quit.

Yeah.  MJ just said that Kim was Ignant.  Momma Joyce will show you gangstah, bitch.

Speaking of cutting somebody…it was time for a haircut.

It was Ayden‘s 2nd birthday, and time for his first real haircut, so Momma Phaedra and Baby Daddy Apollo took him down to Rocky’s Barber Shop for a fade.

I’ll pause in order for you to appreciate the irony of Rocky and Apollo together in the same sentence again after all these years.

“Adrian!!!!”  If you get it…it’s HIGH-sterical.

If you don’t…Google a Sylvester Stallone movie and try to keep up.

Rocky’s Barber Shop was an old skool neighborhood joint, full of black combs sitting in sterilizer bottles and 47 guys all reading magazines waiting to get the same haircut.

Phaedra was quick to point out that by trade, Apollo was a Master Barber, which should have immediately caused anybody paying attention to wonder why he didn’t just cut his own kid’s hair and save the cab fair.

But by now you know that questioning anything Phaedra does is both exhausting and an exercise in futility, so we all just needed to except the fact that Apollo brought his own set of clippers and pretty much sheared off Ayden’s hair by himself while Rocky stood and watched.  It was kind of like going to the dentist and pulling your own teeth.  But whatever makes Phaedra happy.

And what was going to make her happy this week was spending $20,000 on a Georgia Aquarium Birthday Party for a 2 year old who would never remember the event after nap time.

But again.  Whatever makes Phaedra happy.

And she was keeping Ayden’s hair and the party all Tight and Dwight.

Dat’s rite.  Wannabe Housewife Dwight Eubanks made a return visit from the Salon Crypt to plan yet another one of his faaaabulously festive…umm…festivities.

So Dwrong it was Dwight.

But before the party, it was time to scramble some eggs, and a little bit of the English language, over at Porsha‘s home.

As husband Kordell got yet another recap of her parking lot throw down with Kenya at last week’s Hosea Williams Foundation Event, Porsha tried to get a handle on the different application requirements for the Miss USA and Miss America competitions while multi-tasking some wardrobe decisions for an upcoming wedding.

She admitted that maybe calling Kenya by the wrong title during her introduction was simply a Fraudulent Slip, which kind of made my head hurt, followed by Kordell rambling on about how one bad apple can’t make the pot…something something…

I swear there’s a gas leak in that house.

Meanwhile, Porsha’s nemesis Kenya was down the road a bit on Restaurant Row introducing boyfriend Walter to her family.

With Aunt Lori leading the inquisition, Walter was forced to deflect questions on topics ranging from their first date to his intentions to their future wedding plans, as Kenya nervously chewed her lettuce and waited to ovulate.

Kenya wants to make some babies.  ASAP.  Time is money, people.

The only topic they never got around to was how Lori manages to keep getting her foundation all smeared up into her hairline.  Come on.

If you’re gonna go bleached platinum, you need to get a handle on all that.  Nice enough lady, but it was like eating lunch with Christina Aguilera.

I mean.  I just can’t.  Here’s a napkin and some spit.  Lemme get that for you, honey.

By the time Walter proudly proclaimed that he was the Martin Luther King of Towing, I had to ask for a doggie bag for my leftovers.

I have a Dream.  And a boot on my Kia.

Then it was time for Dwight’s cameo, some cake and an aquatic theme park show.

Being in storage for a season definitely made our girl Dwight a little rusty, because she certainly was not as Fierce as I remember her back when she was always up in NeNe‘s face.  But it was still Dwight, and she still had a crazy a** bucket hat on her head.  So that made me happy.

The party was your typical 2 year old birthday party, complete with a locomotive train parade entrance into the venue, a private water show and $100 bills paper clipped to his OshKosh shirt.  Memories to last a lifetime, if a 2 year old could actually stay awake for all of that excess.

When Dwight licked his lips during some cruise ship singer’s ode to a pair of dancing dolphins, I knew it was time to go home.

And then things went all Badonkadonkers.

NeNe’s 4 minutes of screen time this week still chewed the scenery as she and Cynthia got all OhNoSheDin’t over some potentially serious Donkey Dialing.

Turns out that Cynthia had passed on Ayden’s Under The Sea extravaganza due to a prior commitment.  And you don’t say No to Miss Phaedra.  You just don’t.

Because it seems that Phaedra can’t control her temper, or the junk in her trunk, and had somehow butt dialed one of NeNe’s people as she was mouthing off about Cynthia to an unknown third party.

She even said the F Word, which she claims to never use.

NeNe had somehow managed to secure a recording of the actual booty dial off the mystery phone (…what is this…CSI ATL?…) and when she played it for Cynthia over lunch the two of them pretty much plugged in the organ and Testified.

As they plotted Cynthia’s confrontation with Phaedra, NeNe milked her 4 minutes like it was an audition for BET.

MmmHmm.  You go, girl.  And give that hat back to Dwight.

Before Cynthia met up with Phaedra we had to sit through another few minutes with Kenya and her ovaries.  But this time she and Walter ate outside, and…no lie…the crickets and tree frogs were so loud that they actually drowned out the ticking of Kenya’s biological clock.

It was a sound tech’s nightmare, but it was a nice break from the usual blare of her baby making parts.

By the time Cynthia and Phaedra met up, Mrs. Bailey wasted no time in getting right to the point despite being momentarily distracted by Phaedra’s skin tight aluminum lamé super heroine pants.

Seriously.  Did you see those things?  The scuba girl feeding chum to the birthday penguins was shrink wrapped in looser fitting latex.

But anyway.  Phaedra denied the butt dial.

Actually…she didn’t recall making the call at all as she nervously fidgeted with her studded Wonder Woman cuff and chewed on taco chips while making every PhaedraFace in her extensive arsenal.

But Cynthia wasn’t buying it.

So when all else fails?  Use your boobs, girlfriend.

Phaedra suddenly noticed a red spot on her jigglies, and  complained that they were itching.  And that some bug must have wanted some of that chocolate awesome sauce.

Then like a newborn child discovering her own toes for the first time, Phaedra latched onto the goods and never looked up again, leaving Cynthia to sit there on the opposite side of the table watching the whole floor show until the check finally came.

Well played, Ms. Parks.  Well played.

Now back dat thang up over here and call me a cab.