Reality Check

I think the nation's current obsession with reality shows is seriously fucking us up. There is hardly anything realistic about these God damn shows. Many of them are scripted or have added dramas to make things more interesting. Who wants to see boring real-life reality? Isn't it so much more fun when you throw a skinhead from the South together with a brotha' from the Bronx and give them copious amounts of BOOZE?! That's good TV, yo!!! And try as I may, I get lured in with their sneaky bullshit reality every fucking season to more and more shows. Sons of bitches....

I am proud that I have finally broken my addiction to MTV's The Real World. I used to watch religiously, even Tivo-ing the shows, admittedly sometimes back-to-back with other such meaty MTV nuggets such as Road Rules or the creme de la creme merger of BOTH shows, Real World/Road Rules Challenge. I have flipped over to MTV now and then and I find myself asking this question: Was I that much of a raging douche twat when I was 21?! I mean, really now. These idiots are all attractive, young, and really really eager to get wasted into oblivion and get laid. So the producers throw in people they fucking KNOW will fight like white trash tourists at a $5 All-You-Can-Carry sale at the local gift shop. The black dude and the Southern belle. The alcoholic stripper and the religious prude. The closeted guy who wears women's jeans and the bulimic who's addicted to pills. It makes good TV. They aren't idiots, they're betting that the majority of us reality junkies will remain loyal. Screw you, MTV. Show me some God damn videos again and maybe I'll switch back to watching your crap. Not buying right now.

As I stayed home with my sick daughter for two days, I struggled to find things to keep her feverish little self occupied. Enter the almighty television. I cannot stand the whiney pre-teen drivel of Disney Channel or Nickelodeon so I made her compromise with me. She tolerates the Food Network but will willingly watch TLC or Animal Planet, two channels I can handle. We watched hours of Say Yes to the Dress, a show based on brides shopping for wedding gowns with outlandish budgets and bitchy sorority entourages. In casual conversation, I asked my daughter what kind of wedding dress she'd like. One of the actual consultants on the show had a stunner which retails for $11,500. For ONE fucking dress. Really? Oh and she wants either the baker from Cake Boss or Ace of Cakes to make her wedding cake. Guess I need to sell a kidney. She's 9 years-old so I hope I can save up for all this in time for her wedding. Jesus H. Christ.

My younger daughter has recently become obsessed with Toddlers and Tiaras, a freaking train wreck of the pageant world. I know some young girls who are in pageants and in their defense, not all of them are so over-the-top. But the TLC reality show knows that the mamas with the drama and their mini made-up little diva daughters make the best TV. Asshole geniuses! The wee princess divas wear special kiddie dentures, known as flippers, to resembler real teeth. except there is nothing realistic about these falsies. They look like 10 pieces of Orbit gum hot-glued under their lips. Add mountains of fake curls and hair spray, really, REALLY pricey mini Barbie dresses. Some of these parents live in itty, bitty trailers but spend every ounce of their income to fund these pageants. Isabella said to me, "Mom, can I do a pageant? You can win A THOUSAND DOLLARS!!" I told her the little girl's talent dress alone cost $2500. She shut up pretty quickly.

Keeping Up With the Kardashians? The Hills? The Real Housewives of Orange County, Atlanta, and New Jersey? 18 Kids and Counting? All examples of the boundless assortment of reality tv which has completely overtaken us. If you have too much money and time, you can get your own tv show. If you have too many kids, a wholesome demeanor, and a fondness for long denim skirts and Jesus, you can have a show. Hell, even if you have a lot of kids and act like complete shitbag parents, you can get a show. Then when you cheat and get caught and inevitably divorced, you will garner the popularity of every trashy news rag in town on the front cover. Are you up for it? Sounds like a barrel of laughs if you ask me. Who wouldn't want a nice home, cameras running in your face day in and and day out, wardrobes for your children from Gap Kids.

As I partied like a rockstar this past weekend for my birthday, my own little entourage was lucky enough to see Brody Jenner hanging out. Who the fuck is he, you ask? Exactly. He is Bruce Jenner's son, who happens to be married into that Kardashian nightmare. I think he was on that fake and sort of scripted but sort-of-real show on MTV, The Hills. Basically a California socialite with money and a name and nothing to do but chase young girls, drink, and try to get laid. And when you've got that going for you you can get VIP treatment, your own security, premium booze, AND you don't even need to shave or look nice! Fuck, roll out of bed and don't shave, who cares! These dumb bitches will be on your jock like static cling, to borrow a line from Tone Loc.

My ultimate reality show addiction is So You Think You Can Dance. But hell, I can call that research for work. It is inspiring, not scripted, and not really catty. It isn't trashy, it exposes new music and choreographers as well as highlights amazing new talented dancers. When I saw Mia Michaels, Wade Robson, and Dave Scott (all choreographers on this fan-fucking-tastic show) at the club on my birthday, I creamed my pants. I acted like Molly Shannon doing Mary Catherine Gallagher. I was jumping up and down, mouthing, "I'm your biggest fan! I'm a ballet teacher! You INSPIRE me!!!" Mia Michaels gave me her surly and sour, "I just smelled a burrito fart" face. Attractive and dainty she is not. Fiercely talented and unnecessarily bitchy she IS. Fucking security in the joint treated me like I was fucking Bin Laden trying to have the Prez a nuke. To the gentleman wearing their black suits, wrist walkie talkies, and ear pieces, get the fuck over yourself. I don't give a shit that you are on security detail at a Chicago nightclub, you are not Secret Service, you aren't CIA. You get to decide which skanky pussy is acceptable for the wealthy son of a has-been Olympic athlete. And guess who these bitches DON'T want to fuck?...... YOU!!! Reality is a bitch, ain't it?