Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Welcome back, train wreck television. Mob Wives, it was good to see you. It's been too long. Renee, stop whining and moaning about the complications of your elective surgery. Elective is the key word. There were risks, you knew about them, and you chose to do it anyway. You grate on my nerves and are not an eighth as fabulous as you think you are. Karen, get over yourself. You are inconsequential unless you are linked with the fabulous D'rita. D'rita, you keep on being you. You are hilarious and fill me with glee. Box it out, girlfriend. Carla, are you still on the show? Do something.
Guidos and guidettes, I will check in with you on Thursday.
And you...oh, you.
The last time I watched The Bachelor, Andrew Firestone was on, I shit you not. This year, it happened to premiere when I was freshly without a Monday night show - The Closer and Rizzoli & Isles don't come back until this summer - and I thought eh, let me get in on this.
I only watched the one season because the very premise of the show is complete madness. You cannot form a lasting relationship that starts out with 25 people chasing 1 person. Will you accept this rose? No, but I will shove it up your ass, you tomcatting rose throwing marauder.
That bachelorette Trista, who is married and has kids with the guy she met on her show, must have a magic hooha or they clicked immediately and she faked liking anyone else. Theirs is the only relationship in the franchise that has ever worked out. Obviously the formula is stupid, but the insane drama, while stupid as well, is also hilarious. This season, the blogger is frightening and the model is a psychotic SWF. I cannot wait to see this shit unfold.
Look, what else am I going to do on a Monday? Or write about on the first Wednesday of the year?
Freezing my ass off (fuck me please do not let the Polar Bear Plunge take place on a day like today),
p.s. Happy bday yesterday to Laura, today to my aunt Sue, and tomorrow to my father-in-law.