Love & Hip Hop Atlanta Season 5, Episode 13 + 14 Recap


I know what you’re thinking: Where have you been Hostile Negress? It’s been two weeks Hostile Negress! We need our fuckery and foolishness Hostile Negress! To that I say: Why you still talkin’ about old stuff? I’m back just in time to preach a sermon on this week’s episode of Love and Hip Hop Atlanta, Season 5. Praise white Jaysus! This week brought us a shady (but for once, completely accurate) D. Smith AND K. Misshapen Michelle, an emo Tammy (aww, that was low-key sad for real), revelations surrounding the status of Mimi’s coocoocachoo and a race to the bottom of foolishness, care of Karlie Redd and Lyfe Jennings.


Someone hand me my Mahalia Jackson fan.

So when we last left off, Karlie Redd was lunging chin first to the ground, having just been presented with a ring from one, Lyfe Jennings and resorting to stunts, shows and/or hyper dramatic antics. Oh Karlie. Now, Mona Scott likes to play with a sista’s emotions I see, since she’s been teasing us with this momentous pinnacle of fuckery all damb season, only to ultimately deliver a lukewarm outcome. Whe’n I tell you Karlie Redd popped up offen that ground this week and resumed conversation like she didn’t just do an Olympic-level dive onto the concrete – and didn’t Lyfe just sit there lookin’ at her like bish whet the entire time! Perhaps that’s because he had an even fiercer twirl in mind, explaining moments later that this is in fact, a promise ring – a promise that you’ll never find another ninja like me! And with that he twirled on his heel and sauntered off “fuck this shit, I’m out” style. Karlie, in true foolish style, somehow ends up chasing him down the street barefoot, talm ‘bout, I’ll change! GWURL. Won’t he basically the equivalent of a homeless man selling oranges under the freeway, back when you was all in the lubs with Scrappy? Later, she explains to the camera that she felt Lyfe had a double standard and that she’s tired of men telling her she’s not doing enough. In her words, it’s the same old story.  Well if that story is you refusing to let yourself win, I concur.


In other loose ends, Ariane is still on her “Mama, I wanna sing” thang, and believes that D. Smith is the one to help her get started. Girl, what has D. Smith started this season but all manner of drama? Iown know, but apparently Ariane thinks she can get her career together, and so, it is with stars in her eyes she sashays to her appointment with the reigning Empress of Messy. And naturally, she’s barely through the door before the shenanigans begin. D. Smith has company! A music coach girl, and he swiftly starts doing runs that Ariane is expected to match. I don’t have to tell you her stairway to heaven sounded more like a rusty fire escape in Hoboken, a fact Smith immediately pointed out, highlighted and circle in red ink. Ariane complains that she had no idea she was there for a tryout – hell, she’s been singing her whole life. Well hayle, so have I, and I still sound like I swallowed a bag pipe. Ariane may be doll baby cute and an iconic wearer of Brandy-style hats, but them pipes gonna need all KINDS of work – which Smith tells her in the most sensitive way in which you can tell someone they sound like a severely injured emu. The scene ends with D. Smith lamenting that something is blocking Ariane from the music. Yes. Talent. Even K. Michelle can see that, and she says as much when Ariane pops up on her doorstep seeking guidance during a New York video shoot. Now, K. Michelle may be shaped like an obscene ice cream cone, and her weave may cause my bowels to move, but I must admit, she is in fact the only one on this show with continuous, current mursic – no matter how regrettable it may be.

So when she tells you that you should find other things to do with your life that don’t involve chasing musical stardom, well, shit girl. You should probably listen. But Ariane doesn’t, and instead takes K up on an offer to shadow her. Nothing could go wrong there! Nothing except every damn thing, as a solid 24 hours later, we see a rushing K. Michelle leave Ariane stranded after an event. Look, if Ariane is serious about this, it might be time to consider a voice machine. I mean, if it’s good enough for T Pain and Mama Dee…

Speaking of Mama Dee is, she’s in the booth working on her “album” with Yung Joc, when in walks J. Nicks and his uncomfortably large face. For reasons unclear, Joc feels like this is the best time to talk to his “friend” about smashing off Amber Priddy, aka lil White Chocolate. Cue dramatic music. Will Big Face Hunneds slap the buckshots out of Joc’s head? Nope. After some fake tension, the two dap up, Nicks excited that this apparent treachery provides him an exit strategy from him and Amber’s comatose relationship. He’s so excited, in fact, that he decides to bring Tiara to Amber’s inexplicable cosmetic line launch – because who hasn’t looked at her and wondered how they too could look 20 years older than their chronological age. They show up. Foolishment ensues, with Tiara hurling insults about Amber’s pole-assisted vocation – to which Amber replies that she ought to know all about her skrippa tea, seeing as she bartends at the same club. Can we just agree that you both qualify for Peach Care and be done with it? I could truly have lived without this scene.

Let’s get a little serious yawl. Shit ain’t working out for Tammy and Waka – or at least it wasn’t at the time of filming – and they’ve decided to separate. Tammy baby, if his refusal to participate in this show is any indication, he separated from you mentally a very long time ago. While the Hostile Negress in me wants to clown, I legit felt bad for Tammy, who breaks down crying at her fashion show as mom-in-law Deb Antney follows suit. Awwww sugah foot, you got clear skin and a big ol booty. The world is your oyster! While Tammy is getting herself together, Scrappy done popped up with roses and a “Let’s Stay Together” smile for Bambi, who just came down off the runway. They both lonely, he says, so fuck it. Bambi may have an obscene amount of weave and her gums may be tall, but she ain’t slow: She’s heard the hook, refrain and the intro to this song before, and politely declines. Yes gawd! We’ll see how long that lasts.


What would an episode of LAHHATL be without a closer from the Mimi/Joseline/Stevie J. fuckness triad – now co-starring Messica Dyme?! They’re all still out in California pretending to be relevant. Stevie J. has decided to have a grown and sexy pool party (ugh) and naturally, this means Dyme, Tiara and Karlie Redd will all be in the mix. Why? Girl that’s that Mona Scott logic. So Karlie decides now is the best time to tell Tiara that she was layin’ up with Scrapp DeLeon. Who now? Ah yes, that ninja who’s locked up. Remember when I said Karlie Redd stay playin’ herself? So Tiara calls predictably tosses a purse at her and calls her old, but no shade, y’all look the same age, so who’s zoomin’ who? Anywho, Messica takes this as her cue to start some bull shit as well, which she accomplishes by name-checking Shenellica aka Joseline, who I must admit looked snatched in the face, even if she was rockin’ Willona Woods’ “first day at The Boutique” wig. Somehow this turns into an argument about whether the latter is truly married to Stevie J. or not. Who gives a shit – nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’. Haven’t we established his relevance – and cash – is firmly ensconced in the past?

Apparently not, since Mimi is still after child support. Them Poetic Justice braids have her feeling herself as she rides home from the airport with Tiara, explaining that Joseline has encouraged her to take Stevie J. to court for child support. She admits she may have been a fool for not doing so earlier – may have? – and manages to also work in that there is a new boo in the mix… and yes, boo has a vadge. Points for sticking with this thesbian theme Mimi. Apparently she’s still been talking to Stud Bae, but she hasn’t notified Bruno Mars’ gay sister that there’s someone else in the mix. I predict her and her bouffant will be back on camera very soon. That beats them flyers I keep seeing her on around Atlanta!


Until next week!

Dhiraj Naseen (The Hostile Negress) is a renowned ratchetologist and advocate of foolishment. A blackbelt spinster, she holds advanced degrees in crochet, cats, crystals and being socially awkward.

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Can we talk about Mimi's boobs? There is a weird amalgamation of symnastia and tan lines that give them a four dimensional look.