Archive for July 1st, 2011

(Un)Real Housewives of NYC 101

Friday, July 1st, 2011

 

 

Crazy.  Party of 7.  Your table is ready.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Please don’t think any less of me, but I have never watched The Real Housewives of New York City until this season.  I know, right?  You would think that since I have taken on this site, and the burden of the endless search for All Things Cool & Trendy & Current, that I would already have at least one of these whack jobs on a t-shirt or Macbook Pro screen saver.

But the human body is really only genetically designed to handle just so much of any franchise.  Because of that, I had been holding off on this hen house for purely medical & safety reasons.  But through the incessant bullying of a buddy, a low battery charge in my remote, and a really slow news day on CNN, I have chugged another glass of Bravo kool aid.

So after a night of eliminations on So You Think You Can Dance (“SYTYCD” for all you hipsters and lazy typists) complete with Mary’s screaming and some uncomfortably long boy on boy good bye hugs…(They know it’s a competition show right?…and someone has to go home…and better you than me, right?…and how can that show be such a cash cow for FOX, yet they insist on dressing Cat Deeley at Forever 21?)… I decided to give RHONYC another chance.   If only to get the other late bloomers up to speed.

If you will refer to your binders that I prepared for this meeting…on the Reality TV chick fight scale, this one doesn’t slice a very big piece of the pie chart.  I love me some ATL and Jersey.  Now those beeotches know how to kick off the Louboutins and throw down. Those messes are totally worth the upgraded cable package.  These New Yawkers, on the other hand, get by on just being Krazy with a K.

The first 10 minutes tonight had enough Vajazzling to make me almost get up and manually change the channel if I could remember where the instructions were that came with the Panasonic.  Don’t get me wrong…I can party with the best of them.  But getting hot wax and shiny things on my shiny things, while sipping a Mojito, is right up there with retaking the SATs for the 3rd time.  If parts of me can’t make it through airport security after a party, then I’ll pass.  But watching a shuttle bus full of whackadoodle do it…well that is a whole different story.  Money can’t by Klass, or brains apparently.  Thank you Bravo for doing the research for us.

This batch of Housewives tend to all blend together after awhile.  The conversations are pretty much interchangeable.  Think of it as Mad Libs on Pinot Grigio.   Ramona took the (noun) from The Countess and (verb)ed it into her (noun) for 60 minutes minus commercials.  Beats reading a book, I guess, but a slap would be nice once in awhile.

Every show needs a break out star.  Since this season doesn’t really have anyone crazier than the next, by default I give it to Simon.  The (?) husband of Houswife Second from the Left, as the press packet probably refers to her, is looking to be the dark horse in this year’s race.

I guess the deal is that Simon is trying to build his Social Networking business and online blah blah blah.  So instead of purchasing a training manual or watching some You Tube videos created by 12 year olds, he has decided to pursue cyber bullying.  And he has set his four eyes on Housewife Fourth from the Right.

Now my own site is squeaky new, and I would love to get the money that those Kardashians get by posting nasties, but I don’t feel the need to pick on a Soccer Mom. Or wear kaftans.  Or wear anything else that he owns.  Let’s just say that if you do the math…add, subtract and carry the rainbow vest…well….Lucy, you got some ‘splaining to do.  For someone whose eyes are so wide open from Restylane and Botox, his wife ain’t seeing much.  She defends him to the death.  All bug eyed and no blinking.  Like the old Looney Tunes cartoons when Elmer Fudd gets hit in the back of the head with a shovel. That kind of bug eyed.

I think he needs to stop picking on poor defenseless Housewives.  You can’t see it in their tight faces, but it makes them mad.  And it creeps me out.  Learn to love your fellow man, dude.

I happen to know an eliminated dancer who needs a hug.  Then maybe you and Cat can hit the Galleria.


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