Oops — turns out you do have to RSVP for dignity

A woman of highly modern values once advised us in song, “Don’t be tardy for the party. Take the Benz out for a swirl. Drop that top. Yeah, it’s my world. Blah. Blah. Something about being rich. Blah. Blah. Something about being hot. Blah. Blah. Something about being better than everyone else.”

OK, I’m paraphrasing that last bit, but let’s face it, without this Auto-Tuned wisdom from Kim Zolciak of the "Real Housewives of Atlanta" — whose “world” is a big floppy mess of synthetic wigs and married men — many of us would still be reacting to the White House gate-crashing debacle with righteous indignation instead of the righteous expectation it deserves.

Really? A “Real Housewives” wannabe elbowed her way to the front of the social order with little regard for how the rules applied to her? And then posted photos of herself to show everyone how great she is? Why, that’s just a regular Tuesday night on the soon-to-be-foreclosed-on McMansion cul-de-sac!

We should be thanking our lucky 50 stars the woman didn’t try to flip over the dinner table or ask President Obama how big his “PP” is. Sorry, I should probably explain that just in case you think it’s something crass: “PP” is what the RH ladies call private planes, and trust me, size matters big time (psst, because of all the money).

The Obamas’ first state dinner last week was supposed to honor the prime minister of India in an official sign to the rest of the world that — watch out — we’re working together. Instead, it’s now an official sign to the rest of the world that, in addition to having questionable presidential security, we’re a classless bunch of remote jockeys who’d rather talk about Michaele and Tareq Salahi than old Manm ... um ... than our partner in democracy and diplomacy. Manramen? What’s that prime minister’s name again?

Turns out Prime Minister Manmohan Singh (I just Googled it) was not really the guest of honor so much as just another face in the crowd at what will forevermore be known as the Salahis’ Super Sweet Début Party, which we paid for.

But who cares about tradition, protocol and foreign relations when it comes to partying and impressing all those Facebook friends? Who cares about things like “White House security” or treating our leaders with “respect” when it’s really all about what you want to do or say at any given moment? (Hi, Joe Wilson. Nice tie, sir.) We should just accept that the world’s stage is now officially the world’s DVR, set to tape Bravo every Thursday at 10/9 Central.

Anyway, the Salahis are insisting they have an e-mail to prove that they were indeed invited to the state dinner, which can mean only one thing: the State Department’s Bollywood-themed Evite got sent to the “don’t invite these losers” crowd by accident. Darn interns!

I’m surprised Levi Johnston, Michael Lohan and Jon Gosselin weren’t seen wandering the South Lawn in their Ed Hardy nehru jackets, tweeting about how the Obamas should really send Malia and Sasha out for some casting calls. E-mailed invitation, my samosa.

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