Dear DJ James Kennedy (Part Duex)

Dear DJ James Kennedy,

Hey girl… it’s me, Jackie. Again. Hope you’re doing well. Just kidding, you are literally the worst. Before I begin my second attempt at contact, I would like to clarify that your hAtErZ are not your MoTivaTeRz because you are a fucking busboy at Sur. Also if you are reading this and telling yourself that shit like this makes you relevant, please know it doesn’t… I am simply low on material and love an easy target that is not intelligent enough to defend themselves and proudly displays their douche-ness to an extent that I am able to comment on it without repercussions.

As a journalist I find it my civil duty to make contact with you. Like Carrie Mathison risked her and Brody’s livelihood by hunting Abu Nazir and Diane Sawyer ventured to the Middle East for a nationally publicized sit down with Sadam Hussein, I too am reaching out to sit down face to face and go over some of your questionable behavior. My problem is not the fact that you dress like Kate Moss, think you are headlining Coachella (#saharatent) because you can make playlists on Spotify OR the derogatory way you speak to and about women. It’s your inability to acknowledge what an asshole you are. Perspective is everything… did I just give you your album name?

From one slender physiqued young lady to another, help me, help you, help myself, help the world, you’re the help. You is not kind, you is not smart, you is not important. I wish Octavia Spencer delivered a shit pie to your shared apartment. When you told Lisa that you are responsible for her burgeoning business at Pump, I almost vomited. Just because you have a free 30-day trial of Garage Band, a disappointing H&M blazer and a Yelp profile does not mean you are Calvin Harris. “You can read the yelp reviews, they are waiting for a cd.” I literally want to get this tattooed on my forehead. And then stab myself in the forehead.

I understand that you were probably very perplexed upon learning that you inadvertently ate another mans ass… the true shame is that he was a football player and not LA Reid or someone that could get you an internship at a record label. Music executives need their dishes cleaned too, share your gifts James.

Sometimes I think I am being too hard on you James. But then you start speaking and I feel complete permission and validation in my words. Please know you have an invitation to discuss our issues face to face perhaps over some mini bottles of Seagrams. Dance like no ones watching, rap like no ones listening and eat ass like you have never been hurt.

Love always,

Jackie

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Dear DJ James Kennedy

Dear James,

There are a myriad of reasons I dream about hitting you in my luxury European vehicle that I don’t take selfies with because #decency. Firstly, I truly envy your ballerina body. I have always dreamed of having the same body type as Maureen from Center Stage minus the whole bulimia factor. Cooper Nielson would totally fuck you and give you the Swan Lake solo so congrats on that.

The way you talk to not just women but human beings in general is appalling. I don’t know how to politely tell you this but I’ll give it a go … you are a mediocre looking busboy with an entry level BMW and a laptop with some fucking stickers on it. You have no physical, mental, emotional or social qualifications to behave the way you do. Nobody does, but especially not you. Who spits on somebody’s door and then justifies it by saying “it wasn’t even a loogey”. I am so embarrassed for you.

You say you were born into the music industry, not sure if anyone told you this but having George Michael as an estranged godfather and rubbing peanut butter on the backs of your arms so your bff aka George’s dog can lick/bite it off and give you an erection does not make you some musical prodigy. I am fairly positive you will not be in consideration for a Grammy with this shit.

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Payne? Cuzzi in the SWEET (*suite)? Dumb or dyslexic? You decide.

Watching you on Watch What Happens Live officially sent me over the fucking edge. I can handle your butt chin, your size 23 waist, your delusional ego and even your Jimmy Nuetron hairdo but NO ASSHOLE FUCKS WITH MY DAILY NIGHTCAP ENTERTAINMENT. You and Lala are like a cautionary tale for our generation. I burned 3,000 calories just from pure rage watching that nightmare.

I am hopeful this letter finds you well. I can imagine my thoughts will inspire some new smash hit “fuCk dA hAteRz feat LaLa KenT” and you will headline Coachella this year if someone can cover your shift at Sur. The invitation to appear on The Bitch Bible podcast is on the table if you would like to settle our beef before the New Year. I will bite the shit out of your arm. Ain’t nobody that I’m feeling like I’m feeling you.

Love you forever. Never change.

Best,

Jackie Schimmel

VIVA LA VANDERPUMP

There are three things in this big beautiful world I love unconditionally; triple crème brie cheese, my dog (son) Leo and Vanderpump Rules. If you are reading this and don’t know what my third treasure of the heart is, just fucking leave this blog and never come back. I am sure all you “intellects” (my target audience) are rolling your eyes GUFFAWING at me, a seemingly uneducated blonde proclaiming my unwithering and at times challenging love for reality television. Sure the housewives are like family at this point, Patti Stanger similar to a loud cousin I try to sit away from at Yom Kippur, but these kids at Sur have captivated me in a way I am afraid I can’t put into words.

If you ever want to see me come ALIVE in a social setting just ask me about “Style by Stassi” aka the home of sub par statement necklaces and unfortunate layering #goatcheeseballs. Between bringing her own wine to dry restaurants, visits to her mom’s tri-level cabin in Big Bear with uneven drywall or just cruising down Melrose in her Toyota convertible, Princess Stassi never lets me down. True story: my housekeeper Jazmine was over yesterday, she only comes like once every 4 years but I am kind of obsessed with her in an unnatural way. I give her all my old clothes and she feels obligated to wear them when she comes over and it’s both highly unpractical and adorable… Something about sequins and Clorox warms my heart. As I was 3 hours deep into a Vanderpump Rules marathon, Jazmine politely asked “What crazy show are you watching chica?” Has she been living under a tortilla for the past 3 years. “Jazmine… you have never seen Vanderpump Rules? It’s always on Bravo!” Long pause. “What’s Bravo?” I fired her immediately. Not actually but our relationship will never be the same again.

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I watch every episode about 34 times. I may not know what the Civil war was about (although I am glad to hear it was civil #recycledjoke), thought Benghazi was a new kabob place in Glendale and am only 64% certain on my lefts and rights … I can tell you anything and everything about those puffy-painted wine glass swigging millennial DISASTERS working at fucking Sur. I figured what better way to bond us bitches than with a really lame yet gratifying quiz to see how well YOU know the rules a la Vanderpump.

CLICK THIS QUIZ THAT TOOK ME 3 HOURS TO MAKE (AND CAN’T FIGURE OUT HOW TO DIRECTLY LINK/ AM TOO EMBARRASSED TO ASK ANYONE FOR HELP) IF THE QUIZ DOESN’T WORK HERE CLICK THIS #desperate : http://imahautemess.polldaddy.com/s/vanderpumprules AND SHARE WITH YOUR FELLOW VANDERBITCHES.

And always remember… people may try and bring you down for being obsessed with Vanderpump Rules, but you are good as gold.

Vanderpump Rules Rundown

If you don’t follow my neurotic ass on twitter… you are really missing out. Some of you may notice that I have opted out of the standard post-reality show recaps I once relied on to fill this blog. This is because I have taken to the twitter-verse for a dirty martini fueled impulsive play by play. In honor of the disastrous masterpiece that IS Vanderpump Rules, I have decided to compile my tweet thoughts from the live premiere to give you all an insider look whilst watching this shitshow of 30-something failed model slash actors living in apartments with cottage cheese ceilings and drinking out of puffy painted wine glasses like community college sorority girls.

The episode starts and immediately we check back in with one protein powder snorting, chunky sweater wearing wannabe “sex addict” Jax Taylor. He is still living in his super chic Hollywood studio so he can bang, make mac and cheese AND shit in the same radius of 500 square feet #pantydropper. Side note: as a Jew from the San Fernando Valley, I ain’t buying the ol “deviated septum” nosejob excuse.

Then we check in with my personal fave (not) Kristen. Her ex boyfriend Tom has evicted her and subsequently dropped her from his Verizon Wireless family plan and now she is banging a 22 year old busboy. Adorable. The good news for her is that if this whole server career doesn’t play out she is a SHOE-IN for the perfect Lexapro spokeperson. Get it gurl.

Scheana has gone for the low budge Kardashian ombre and has ruined “Almost Famous” by tattooing a Penny Lane quote on her forearm “it’s all happening”. The only thing happening for me at this point is a libation refill and a note to self to burn any gold polyester I have convinced myself looks “chic”. #GoodAsGold

Oh yay! It’s Katie! The good news is that Katie is no longer is a fire crotch – the bad news is that she now has the hairdo of a Midwest soccer mom who is trying to revive her marriage with a box of Franzia and a weekly date night at the bowling alley. HONEY – please get it together. Kisses.

The bitch is back. Nothing warms the heart like Princess Stassi riding dirty in her fucking Toyota convertible in a Claire’s “Couture” statement necklace. If life is treating her so well why is she squatting in Katie and Tom Schwarts fluorescent lighting apartment? And if her family is so wealthy why the fuck does her mother live in Lake Arrowhead? I am over this Princess Stassi charade. Is Pump hiring any new hostesses?

Krazy Kristen has done some casual cyber stalking and has “evidence” Tom is cheating on Ariana. She brings this news to pop icon Sheana Marie and naturally she starts crying. She decides it is an AMAZING time to discuss the situation at her own birthday party and holds the tears back to avoid an eyelash malfunction. The only thing I was able to take away from this party is how happy I was that Scheana wasn’t wearing another fucking tutu #growth. Also Kristens new twink boyfriend needs to stop pretending he is fuckin Afrojack. Super tight stickers on your 2009 Macbook DJ no one gives a fuck – you are a busboy shut up. Until next week bitches…

Best Bitches – Lisa Vanderpump

For those of you who have been living under a rock or don’t keep up with me on social media (shame on you) something truly remarkable happened yesterday. Everyone knows how casually obsessed I am with the Real Housewives franchise. I am not the slightest bit ashamed, think my obsession has no merit on my intelligence and tell anyone who disagrees to go fuck themselves. You think you’re so fucking intellectual because you watch documentaries and The History Channel? Try spending an hour doing character analysis at one of the Housewives lavish dinner parties –now THAT is mentally stimulating television. Why are they in gowns? I thought they hated each other? Who was texting whose husband? She hates Jews? Not exactly mindless television. This shit is rough.

I think it is safe to say each of the Housewife franchises has a Queen Bee. Nene runs the A-T-L (plop). Tre holds shit down in Jersey #freetre. Vicki is the OG of the OC. Ramona and her pinot grigio rule the big apple. No one gives a fuck about Miami and Lisa Vanderpump is clearly the queen of Beverly Hills #checkmatebitch. Yesterday morning was a doozy for a few reasons. Firstly, I hit a pedestrian – it was more of a love tap then an actual a full on hit. I have said this multiple times… pedestrians do NOT have the right away in my world. Secondly, my Caviar of the month club got delivered. Why do I belong to a Caviar of the month club? It’s called entitlement issues people. To be fair, I only opted for the 3 month package because I am not a pretentious asshole. Lastly and most importantly, Lisa Vanderpump tweeted me. (pause for reaction) She saw a picture of my to die for son Leo and sparked a full on conversation. We aren’t talking a one hit wonder. Like a LEGITIMATE dialogue which then moved to direct messaging. Direct Messages on Twitter are basically like exchanging social security numbers. She asked if I could bring Leo into Villa Blanca and let her know when so she could meet us. At first I thought she was just being cordial but then when I received a FOLLOW UP message at 6pm last night after 6 hours of no contact I knew this was serious business. To say I almost went into cardiac arrest would be putting it mildly. So after years of watching Bravo religiously and passionately, my dreams are coming true. Next week I will be going to Villa Blanca to meet one Mrs. Lisa Vanderpump. Upon these plans a million to-do’s flooded my head. Should I ask to interview her for my blog? Who do I bring? Should I pretend I am British? And most importantly WHAT THE FUCK WILL I WEAR? My cousin Joanna had similar concerns and told me I needed to “look chic” like I was planning on going in a halter top from fucking Bebe. Bitch please, the only person that respects statement accessories more than Lisa Vanderpump is yours truly #duh.

I believe in life all good things start with a vision board which is why I have my 4 outfit choices direct from my closet for all to see and judge. Please vote for the look you like best in hopes that Lisa will give Pandora the boot, adopt me and wear a tiara to my wedding.

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I will obviously be documenting our sacred union. Please help a bitch out and let me know which outfit is worthy of Lady Vanderpump. You should know that my dog’s new fame has not gone to his head. He is super unaffected by it and still mingles with local neighborhood dogs and eats socks #humble.

Monday Night TV Recap

Real Housewives of Beverly Hills

Joyce (Jacqueline) really can annoy the fuck out of me “ay dios mio!” but I think she is genuinely a nice person, not that it particularly matters to me. Kim’s Spanish is perfection. Yolanda has a seriously hot body.  Kyle is probably shitting herself at the chance to wear one of her 56,000 caftans in the appropriate situation. Lisa is petrified to be sharing a bathroom with her husband and claims her hotel lavatory is the same size as Giggy’s bathroom.   Brandi needs to grow the fuck up and stop acting like an 8 year old bitch. So Lisa isn’t calling you every morning? Boo fucking hoo. If it walks like a victim, talks like a victim and cries like a victim… It’s a fucking victim. Bottom Line – Get OVER yourselves.

The Bachelor Part One

I am just going to come out and say it … Juan Pablo sucks ass. What he lacks in basic English he definitely makes up for in Latin douche – ness. He blames his apparent lack of intelligence to the premise that “English is his second language” he was born in fucking New York. He did grow up in Venezuela but he has been here for enough time to not sound like such a dumb fuck in Spanglish. This has nothing to do with a language barrier, he is basically one chromosome away from being mentally challenged. Also let it be forever noted any man that prefers to be addressed by two names is a next level red flag. Bitch puh-lease.

So it’s home date time. Yay (that was sarcastic). First Juan heads to Kansas City to meet Nikki and her family. She takes him to a seriously rapey looking BBQ joint and he nearly gets a boner after trying his first rib under fluorescent lighting. Romantic! They awkwardly ride the bull together and when Nikki’s father asks if she could see him as her husband she responds , “He makes me feel really comfortable. I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just awesome. Like magical I feel really really good about it” Somebody call Vera Wang – this bitch is totally ready to get hitched! Are you fucking kidding me? This sounds like the same response I would give when someone asked me how I feel about my gynecologist or manicurist. Not my potential husband.

Next Juan Pablo heads to Atlanta to meet Andi. If Andi isn’t a total shoe-in for the next Bachelorette I am going to go to ABC headquarters and fuck shit up. I would like to think their date at the shooting range was amazing foreshadowing. It was refreshing to meet a family that wasn’t blindly supportive of this short bus escapee who could end up being their son in law. Andi’s dad grilled Juan Pablo and basically told him as of now he would not grant him permission to ask for Andi’s hand in marriage. Anytime her father would ask a tough question Juan did what he does best and bring up fucking Camila. Stop whoring your fatherhood to avoid intellectual conversation. You are on a reality show shtuping multiple women, not battling on the front lines of Afghanistan. Stop trying to portray yourself as some single parent hero. You fucking retard. Sorry – a little harsh but it felt good to get that off my chest. The only reason Andi’s mom approves is because she clearly would be down to bang him.

Speaking of single parenthood, the next hometown date took JP to Sarasota to meet Renee and her rose-insurance aka her son Ben. Not going to lie, I cried a little when Renee reunited with Ben. Maybe I was just crying because Juan Pablo was still wearing what appeared to be a Livestrong bracelet but I digress. What a sweet little boy, Renee is really genuine with a huge side dish of delusion. They watch him play baseball and it’s super pathetic to watch because anyone with 3 brain cells know she is not making it to the final 3.

Last but not least we head to Sacramento to visit Clare-bear and her DVD. They meet in a rose garden because it is super sentimental to her. She explains that every day she would get home from school, do her homework, then her dad would take her to get ice cream and go to that very park and feed the ducks. Not to sound like a black hearted bitch but I am going to call bullshit on that one. Clearly the only one’s eating ice cream daily are Clare’s sasquatch sisters. And also by the time she got home, did homework and got ice cream it would be dark. And you can’t feed ducks in the fucking dark Clare. DURRR. Clare takes Juan to meet her mother and sisters. Clearly Clare’s mom had hoe’s in different area codes because none of her children look mildly related. There is some BS drama with her sister and we all know it doesn’t matter cause Renee is going home.

If I have to hear “Will you assept dis rose?” one more time I am going to shank myself. Someone get this ding ding a dialect coach.

UGH. My head and fingers hurt, Part Duex will be published tonight…

Monday Night TV Recap

REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS – There are many reasons why I love Yolanda Foster… Her lust worthy collection of Hermes accessories (bags and belts specifically), her lush lemon grove and most importantly- her calorie monitoring system with her daughter Gigi. I can seriously appreciate this maternal sentiment because I have grown up with quite the opposite approach. My mother force feeds me on the regular, she half- converted to Judaism so she tries to reaffirm her Jewish stature by portraying the classic characteristics and constantly pushing food down my throat. I secretly think she is trying to plump me up so she gets to be the skinniest member of the family..which is kind of genius and something I totally commend #milfproblems. Watching Yolanda allow Gigi a morsel of her graduation cake was really sweet to watch. Remember when she let her have 2 almonds when she was about to pass out about 6 episodes back? So adorable.I really wish I had the willpower for a small stint of anorexia  but this bitch be HUNGRY. Last night begins the official de-throning of Queen Vanderpump and I am still totally freaked out by Kyle’s plagued computer.

VANDERPUMP RULES REUNION – Oy. Vey. Kristen is still fucking crying and losing her shit that Tom and Arianna are holding hands. Um remember you banged your boyfriend’s best friend? She may be the dumbest girl I have ever had the pleasure of not knowing. Stassi’s whole outfit is straight out of the Great Depression and she now thinks she is Carrie fucking Bradshaw because she moved to New York and bought herself a Marc by Marc Jacobs bag. Like get over yourself. Side note: I know Andy Cohen’s a ‘mo… But I’m into him. Speaking of homo’s – I must admit I kind of like Tom. He seems innocent in his stupidity. His eyelids are so glossy and his outfits are just too coincidentally prepared. Jax is the ULTIMATE Los Angeles transplant red flag and Scheana needs to change her name to Keana and join Keeping Up with The Kardashians. I like Ariana but her hollaback girl outfit and weave are giving me serious anxiety. I want to hit Kristen with my car… so badly. Basically they go over the same ol shit and I just want to shank myself.

THE BACHELOR – So the Bachelor clan heads to Miami and JP reunites with his daughter. Not gonna lie Camilla seems chill. She rocks hot pink bows and seems to yolo pretty hard which I respect in a 6 year old. So Sharleen gets first one on one date and Claire puts like 76 pins in her voodoo doll. I kinda love Sharleen for not being enamored with the fact that she’s being ambushed with a date and expresses a lack of “cerebral connection”. Which is a nice way of saying she thinks hes a dumb fuck. She is a very necessary juxtapose to future step- mommy dearest Clare and some of the other weirdos. But let’s be honest… She fucking hates him. Back at the hotel Nikki needs to quit talking shit and focus on bigger issues like finding a hydrating mask for her deep fried entry level nurse budget bleach job #sorryimnotsorry. Back to the one on one date, Sharleen is kind of prissy as fuck but I still like her for keeping shit real and acknowledging the fact that JP is hott but super dumb. She may be the only bitch in a mesh insert body con dress that actually has something intellectual to say. Then she runs home and consults nice girl Renee about her awkward position.

The second one on one date is with Nikki #gag. JP tells her they need to make a floral arrangement for Camilla’s dance recital. Nikki and her roots practically shit her pants. Not gonna lie… Camilla is fucking cute. I live for a childhood dance number (hence:Gettin Jiggy With It) and it actually made me like Juan more by seeing him in his element. Night time falls and Nikki is bustin a J LO worthy deep plunge neckline AND a fringe skirt which is shallowly making me like her more… way to bust it out bitch #hautemessrespect. Very hooker fab. So back at the brothel – I mean hotel, Sharleen decides she is too intellectual for Juan Pabz and decides to sacrifice herself to elimination which is kinda dope. Ironically the way he handled rejection was semi endearing and slightly irritating all at the same time. So home girl goes bye bye and the rest of the harem preps for the group date.

The Bachelor and his bitches head to the beach and dumb fuck Chelsea busts out her letters like Allie from the fucking Notebook cause all men really want to spend a date reading letters your Mommy and Daddy wrote you… not. Chelsea looks like she works at your local Sketchers store in the mall and I mean that as an insult. Andi is my fave but I need her to get her shit together in her Kyle Richards caftan. Your smart and pretty- grow some balls and remember he is lucky to even have you their #girlpower. He gives Andi the rose and Clare nearly shits her pants. So over Clare and her Charlotte Russe wardrobe and drama. Andi and JP dance like they are suffering from cerebral palsy and she majestically is still clutching her rose from earlier in the day. Clare starts plotting her plan to boil Camilla’s bunny and then her and Nikki basically come to terms with fact that they hate each other because they are the same person. Did anyone notice the irony of them both in tie dye sun dresses… 1998 called and they want their look back. Ugh. This shit makes me embarrassed to be a member of the same gender.  Chelsea and her letter’s go home and next week Juan meets the ladies fam bam!

Haute Mess Lesson: Never trust a girl in a Herve Leger knock off dress…

Monday Night TV Recap

Oy vey, Monday Nights are always so emotionally taxing on me. Last night’s line up of television was an emotional roller coaster that thus far in my life could only rival the day I got my period at school and then resorted to wearing my PE shorts for the rest of the day with my ill-inserted tampon dangling from the wrong orifice. First I was happy and excited, then I was scared and confused, then I wanted to cry, then I wanted to put my head in an oven. Between The Bachelor, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Vanderpump Rules sometimes I feel like I need to head to Promises to rehabilitate. So obviously it is my favorite night of television. Let’s do a brief play by play…

 THE BACHELOR

Juan Pabs and his brothel of woman head to Vietnam. His first date is with fellow single mother Renee. She seems sweet and genuine but let’s get real… if JP was looking for a single mother his age he could’ve stayed in Miami and joined eharmony.com. They go on a boring ass date shopping for gifts for their children aka baggage, and he explains he doesn’t want to disrespect Ben (her son) or Camilla by kissing her. She takes this as him being respectful and I almost gagged. How delusional…

After dosing off during Renee and JP’s solo date, I was awoken to the face eating marathon that was the group date. Well that no kissing thing didn’t really last long. I am so over Juan Pablo trying to pretend he isn’t a total latin horn dog. Like shut the fuck up with your broken “rules” and let’s get slutty. That’s what the viewers are looking for and after all that virginal Sean and Catherine shit it’s time for some explicit behavior. Do it for America. So basically the date turns into Clare and Juan’s one on one date while the other girls just tag along for free drinks and insecurity boost. May I just say… Clare is a nightmare. She is like that dumb bitch in your high school English class who would raise their hand and remind the teacher they forgot to collect the homework. Whenever she starts talking I get this overwhelming fantasy of punching her in the veneers. She is SO annoying, almost as annoying as her thinking she is cool enough to drop the I out of fucking “Claire” and go by “Clare” – get it together. After their date comes to an end, Clare the Cling-on decides to let herself open up to Juan Pablo (emotionally and I am assuming vaginally). She decides to live out her lifelong dream of swimming in a warm ocean and wants Juan Pablo to join. Woah girl DREAM BIG. Swimming in a warm ocean? Fuck your wild. It’s weird because a dream of mine is also for Clare to swim in a warm ocean… with cinderblocks attached to her ankles. Now call me crazy but I am not buying that their PG ocean make out session is the reason JP thinks she went to far. I am going to make a confident assumption that something may have slipped somewhere it shouldn’t in the dark Vietnamese waters. I hope she love-drunkedly slept in her wet bikini and got a yeast infection. She deserves one.

“There’s this thing that I have with Clare that I don’t have with anyone else in the house.” Yeah Juan, it’s called penetration. Duh.

For his second one on one date, Juan Pablo take Nikki (who looks like she is 14 headed to her first Coachella) propelling down what I assume is a Vietnamese rape cave. These bitches are so stupid. They think going against their will and doing things that literally brings them to TEARS is going to make their bond stronger with Juan Pablo. Ughhhh – shoot me. SO they propel down this dark ominous hole which reminds Juan of Clare’s vagina and then they go to dinner. Cool. Nikki goes on and on about being a nurse and helping the children and opening her heart and at this point I’m so over hearing about the children I just go refill my drink. I am over her and her bad bleach job.

At the rose ceremony, JP tells Clare they went too far and she pulls a total Glenn Close a la Fatal Attraction and all I can envision is her boiling Camilla’s pet Bunny.

REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS

All I care to say about this episode is that Carlton is an aggressive C-U-Next –Tuesday and needs a deep conditioning treatment. Side note: her husband looks like a retired Vegas magician. I also laughed my ass off watching the parallel of Yolanda and her daughter packing for college in their Hermes belts and Kim and her daughter getting fucking butterfly tattoos in the valley and trying to pretend it’s meaningful. There is nothing I hate more in this world than butterfly and dolphin tattoos. Bakersfield called, they want their tattoos back. But seriously, Carlton… you are such an asshole. Hex me bitch.

 VANDERPUMP RULES

I won’t lie – when Stassi slapped Kristen last week I was pretty happy inside. Stassi is a total bitch but definitely the most articulate and entertaining. Her yellow hair in her interviews really distracts me from a lot of the things she says but the slap was hard to miss… especially since I have re-watched it 17 times.

I am going to only focus on the things that matter to me from last night’s episode. The photo shoot… what the fuck? Aren’t there some type of health regulations with nudity and restaurant servers (who def are harboring some STD’s )? I don’t get it… I love how they think their jobs are so glamorous… like you may get to do fancy photo shoot once a year but you are still polishing silverware and serving me mediocre tuna tartare the other 364. Then Scheana Marie has her engagement party/private performance of her new hit single “Good as Gold”  which I emotionally can’t even comment on. Then Kristen struts in, much to everyone’s surprise, dressed like a 56 year old woman. Nice try with the pearl earrings Krissy – you’re still a dirty whore. When she admitted to sleeping with Jax my jaw fell to the floor. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? I had to restrain myself from jumping into my car driving to Sur and asking anyone there about 3,000,000 questions. Tom beats the shit out of Jax. Scheana plays the victim and cries in Lisa’s arms and Stassi looks fierce in her navy high slit gown as I cried with happiness at the reality television magic I was witnessing. That is how you do a Season Finale…. And I am spent.