real housewives

Things I Kurrently Kan’t With

Sorry I haven’t been actively blogging lately. I have been in a great mood lately and tend to only do my best work when I am angry or super menstrual. Lucky for you and my vagina, I am menstruating (#notpregnant) so I knew it was time to delight my bitches with some updates on my life.

Firstly, I have started wearing Uggs. I feel like I should probably go get a Wal-Mart credit card and go buy some fucking Warm Vanilla Lace body spray because isn’t that what people in Uggs do? This is a true story, I am quoted in my high school yearbook saying, “Uggs are UG” a decade ago (I won ‘Best Style’ #humblebrag and that tidbit was all I could come up with as a style philosophy). At the time, this was very controversial. I lost like 7 friends who swore by a Hollister jean skirt and Ugg boot combo after that was published. So as you can imagine, as I ventured to Starbucks this morning in leggings and my very vintage Uggs I felt like a super cunt traitor but also amazing.

Also on an entirely unrelated note… someone called me a pedophile on twitter. Just because I innocently called Hilary Duff’s 4 year old son hott. I would like to go on record and say that I stand by that statement. Seriously though have you seen him? Hottest 4 year old I have ever seen. If the one upside of sexism is that as a woman it’s less pedophilic to call kids hott, then please let me take advantage of that. Kaia Gerber is hott as fuck. She gets Cindy Crawford genealogy AND a lifetime of Casamigos Tequila. Romeo Beckham… please call me when you are 18. Or 17. Or 12.

Fuck “friends day”. The best part about making harsh statements against these fabricated Facebook holidays is that people get so offended and immediately start to defend themselves for taking part in the propaganda. If you are a regular cyber stalker like yours truly, you don’t need a sappy computer generated slideshow to reminisce. Firstly, you don’t even like 60% of the people pictured and secondly, no one gives a fuck. Publicly celebrating FrIeNdS dAy is like publicly celebrating your menstrual cycle after a pregnancy scare. Or like a Ramona Singer “New Beginnings” party. It’s self indulgent as fuck.

And lastly, on this day February 3, 2016, I initiate yet another Kardashian Kleanse. Because after 3 painful episodes of Kocktails with Khloe, 26 disgruntled reader emails attacking me for calling Caitlyn Jenner an asshole and 487 hours of watching Kylie Jenner’s snapchat and crying myself to sleep – I just kan’t do it anymore.

I miss Lace.

Beauty Tips I Learned From Watching The Real Housewives

When you think of pioneer women of beauty trends, lust worthy weaves and day drinking in faux lashes it’s hard not to immediately think of The Real Housewives. As a passionate and unapologetic aficionado of the franchise, I have learned many a lesson from these dynamic women.

Wigs R Us. One of the great things about being a woman is the opportunity to experiment with our look. Kim Zolciak taught us that wigs are for everyone and a hell of a lot easier than busting our ass on a blow dry. While Kim’s early synthetic wigs were less than appealing, she later redeemed herself with a wig collection to die for. The housewives show us that a weave can make all the difference, just make sure it’s tight. And remember, clip on bangs are NEVER a good idea.

Faux lashes are a girl’s best friend. Apparently being a Real Housewife requires wearing mink lashes to the gym. What kind of lash glue are they using? Carpenter’s glue? The ladies love their lashes and are rarely seen on camera without them. But how does one maintain this level of glam? The secret is sleeping on your back. Whether you have to tie all your limbs to the bed posts like you are having an exorcism or putting bricks on the sides of your body, sleep like a corpse and you will wake up with perfect lashes.

Contouring is the new rhinoplasty. Melissa Gorga vehemently insists that her slenderized nose was NOT the result of going under the knife but proper shading. To be clear, I don’t believe Mrs. Gorga for a fucking meatball. That bitch got one hell of a nose job. However, a proper contour and highlight truly can give you a post-surgery nose sans the procedure bills and hush money to your surgeon.

Tan with caution. While the housewives spend their days lunching alfresco and jet setting to exotic locales, most of us sit under fluorescent lighting quarantined to a cubicle. Housewives live for a good tan. Tanning beds (Danielle Staub), natural sun or the popular spray tan? So many options! If you can’t tone it, tan it. But think Yolanda Foster’s Malibu glow and not Amber Marchese Doritos orange.

A frosty lipstick CAN get you fired. Peggy Tanous, Alexis Bellino and Adrienne Maloof were all pioneer women of the daytime frosty lip. Subsequently, they were all fired. Some would say their termination was due to lack of personality; I blame the opalescent sheen of their lip color. I’ll just say it… it looks tacky. Unless you are dressing up as Romy or Michelle, just say no.

Less is more. Ugh. I know… So boring and wholesome #kimfields. After all the shading, gluing and glossing sometimes the best thing about being a REAL real housewife is the luxury of living au natural. Like Caroline Manzo once prolifically said, “You can put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a pig.” And hopefully that lipstick is not fucking frosted.

Dear Brooks Ayers

Dear Brooks Ayers,

Firstly, I must thank you for blocking me on Twitter. There is no way I could truly illustrate all the ways you disgust me in 140 characters so a public letter is really the only way to go. I have always said you should never trust a man in light wash denim and I want to thank you for proving this theory true. Also Brooks, you look like you shouldn’t be permitted within 650 feet of any elementary school so congratulations on that.

It is one thing to fake a relative’s death to avoid dinner plans. I do that shit ALL the time, my great Aunt Esther has already died 8 times conveniently when a Nancy Meyers movie is on and I have an open bottle of Vueve. It’s a whole other level of vile to lie about having fucking CANCER. To even concoct such a story you have to be the sickest of fucks.

What makes you a real scumbag is that you not only LIED about a diagnosis, you then solidified your corruptness by doctoring fake medical records. What a fucking moron. This is 2015; we have cars that drive themselves. You think no one is going to disprove your faux illness because you give your side bitch Vicki daily affirmations? You are a pussy. I hope a stray cow roaming outside the low income duplex where you live in Montana shoves it’s hoof up your ass and knocks a veneer out.

I desperately hope Vicki was not in on this hoax, as I have loved Vicki passionately ever since she assaulted that poor Asian man for the “family van” incident of 2008. I have loved her age-inappropriate party dresses, her chin and her heinous kitchen rooster forever. Love is blind, but not that fucking blind.

People die from cancer. You have not just insulted people who are battling this life threatening disease but also the families suffering and undermining the hard work of physicians everywhere. I am not “going to pray for you” Brooks because you are an asshole and you need more than a bedside prayer. Jesus may forgive you but I sure as fuck don’t. Go fuck yourself Brooks, because probably no one else will you evil hillbilly.

Love always (not),

Jackie

Markers and a Mugshot: The Kim Richards Story

I think about Kim Richards more than I think about anything else. I love Kim Richards and am very troubled by her recent mishaps. First she escaped to Witch Mountain, then she kicked a police officer (which is pretty baller), then she trespassed, then she started fucking turtles, then she got a nose job, then she found Christ in the form of a squirrel and now she is shoplifting. Not sure on that particular order but it has all been a shitshow of epic proportions. I have two words for you Kim; LIFETIME MOVIE.

In all seriousness I think Kim has a good soul so I do want her to get better. But like, there are kids starving and shit so I can’t waste too many heartstrings on her recovery. What I would like to focus on is the details of her latest role (and first since she was 6) as the Real Shoplifter of Van Nuys. As reported, Kim stole $600 worth of shit at a Van Nuys Target. It’s one thing to steal a pack of gum by discretely shoving it in your tits, its quite different to steal $600 worth of goods at a TARGET. She had to be double-carting that shit… With any illegal activity, the highlight for me is always the mugshot.

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That hat tho.

Here are some pics of Kimmy’s loot. Either she was trying to start an elementary school for turtles or she is regressing back to her childhood and buying all the things she never got to shop for being a childhood star and all.

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The good news is that she wasn’t stealing any Franzia or cans of paint, the bad news is that she stole enough coloring books to stock up Jared Fogles white van to the brim. Get well Kim and remember I will ALWAYS love you.

Kim Richards Update

Oy vey. I was hoping my next Kim Richards update was announcing that she had a line of sad polyester tunics and white capris for sale on QVC but no, things have only gotten worse for the turtle loving, fuchsia lipstick loving Kim. Back in April she was arrested for trespassing, resisting arrest and battery of a police officer. If the antics had stopped there she would have one hell of a Lifetime biopic to pitch.

Before this case was settled, Kim checked into a rehab to get help. Apparently her road to recovery was as short as Brand Glanville’s exposed tampon string because just a couple days ago Kim was arrested for shoplifting $600 worth of shit from Target. I mean if your going to pull a shoplifting stunt, at least be chic about it and go to a high-end department store a la Winona Ryder? Fucking Target? Really? What the fuck did she steal? An economy pack of Lysol wipes? A value pack of Mossimo full coverage briefs? It’s all so depressing.

I don’t want to seem insensitive to people who are mentally ill but I simply must state the obvious. Kim Richards is the new Amanda Bynes. Or perhaps Lindsay Lohan? Sources are now saying her family is considering putting her in a 5150 hold, which is really sad, but also ANOTHER amazing platform for a latter book deal. Being the compassionate Samaritan that I am, I have gone ahead and compiled a few title ideas for Richards’s exclusive use.

Voom Voom Sha-Clink

Turtles > Alcohol

Fifty Shades of Orange

Where’s Monty? (A picture book inspired by Where’s Waldo)

Kim and The Giant Cart 

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I feel really bad for Kim’s family and hope she gets her shit together quickly. Kim, I have always loved you and your special occasion high ponytails and hope to see you healthy and nursing a squirrel very soon.

Manginas and You: A Pressing Issue

I was going to write my standard Monday morning Real Housewives recap but felt on this particular Monday a much stronger urge to express my opinions on an epidemic sweeping the nation: The Mangina.

Last night as I sipped my champagne and watched the swampland shit show that IS the Real Housewives of New Jersey, I sat in disbelief at a certain househusband. There he sat, sipping a mimosa like a little Polly Pocket, clad in light wash denim and interjecting in the women’s conversation. His commentary was unsolicited, unfiltered and un-amusing. I watched with my cousin and fellow super-fan Shelby trying to diagnose him.

Is he an asshole? Yes. Little man syndrome? Duh. Desperate for camera time? Obvi. But what was the real issue? He simply has a Mangina.

Sure, we have seen surges of this misdiagnosed genitalia in the past but I personally have never felt the relevance as much as I do now. Manginas are taking over the universe. You may be stroking your chin, checking your tampon inventory and wondering “What exactly IS a Mangina?”

But worry no more, I am here to ease your musings.

When a man unnecessarily interjects himself in female quarrels without an intent to resolve their issues, he has a Mangina.

When a man feels the need to control what you wear, where you go, what you say and whom you associate with, he has a Mangina.

When a man has an issue with all of your male friends and insinuates misconduct due to his own insecurities, he has a Mangina.

When a man breaks up with you quarterly and carelessly to evoke shock and in hopes of gaining control in your relationship, he has a Mangina.

When a man is afraid to be affectionate towards you in front of his guy friends in fear of appearing “whipped”, he has a Mangina.

When a man holds monetary chivalries as leverage for power, he has a fucking HUGE Mangina.

There are a myriad of Mangina prototypes. Doing the dishes doesn’t give you a Mangina. Opening doors doesn’t give you a Mangina. Putting your hoe before your bro doesn’t give you a Mangina. Despite the XY chromosome, natural hand eye coordination and groin bulge – your man may still be packing a serial Mangina. The good thing is if you catch it early (and before he gets his menstrual cycle) you can grab your stash of Tampax, Nicholas Sparks movie collection, and that slutty tube top he won’t let you wear in public and run for the fucking hills.

#RHONJ RECAP

These past couple episodes have been such a cock tease. I have lost at least 3 pounds anticipating Jacqueline’s return and waiting for this Santa ménage à trois shit to hit the fan. The twins, Dina and Melissa head to Boca Raton to hang out with Jewish geriatrics, cook for themselves and drink in excess. They call that a vacation? I call that Rosh Hashanah.

Back in the swampland, Tre and Gia go house hunting in the hopes of downsizing. I personally live for Teresa Giudice, circa 2008: table flipping, pre-owned house shkeeving, and all “onyx, marble and granite”.

Oh yay… Amber and Jim. I have been trying to mentally block them out for the past month and a half and I nearly spiral into a panic attack every time Amber comes onto my television screen with her vakakta contour and silver eyeliner. I realize that is probably in poor taste to say, given that she is going to get tested for cancer but…

Next we see Kathy and Jacqueline yet ALL I can think about is Ashlee Holmes. I have trouble sleeping every night knowing that she has more twitter followers then yours truly. I wonder what color her hair is, or whether she has gotten any new tattoos. Does she still wear her slumpy knit beanie and legging combo? Love and light bitch. But much to my dismay – no Ashlee cameos.

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In Boca, the bitches lay poolside while Melissa does her best white swan leaping around the pool and putting her bod #OnDisplay.

Back at the Lauritas, Jacqueline has only been back for 4 minutes and is already reading texts and crying per usual. Honey, I love you like a distant reality star, but why must you interject yourself in her situation? Ladies, don’t you think Tre has bigger fish to fry than to console YOU during HER time of chaos? Get it together and cry on the inside like a winner.

Back in Boca, Dina gives a Meryl Streep worthy performance faking excitement for Amber and Jim the troll’s arrival. I give the same performance every time someone asks me if I like their new Coach bag… “Yaaaah. That is great!”

I want Melissa to be drunk all the time.

Dina Manzo states that she watches porn for the décor… come again? Pun unintended. Does Dina have a liking for busted sofas, shit drywall and un-chic Lucite? Now I am sweating balls waiting for Dina to drop the Reno-Santa lovers tryst rumor.

And I am blue balled AGAIN… until next week bitches. Bye! Is bye a threat?

#RHONJ Recap

AFTER A FULL WEEK OF ANXIETY RIDDEN ANTICIPATION WE GET TO HEAR THE TAGLINES AND….I haven’t been more underwhelmed since the last Barney’s Warehouse Sale. What the fuck? Like for Melissa I was thinking something like “I’ve denied having a nose job, and I will also deny Tarzan as long as I am shacking up in this rental home.” This was a huge disappointment.

So it’s Christmas time in the old swamp land. Faux J-Lo aka Melissa is not ecstatic about her boujie decorations in her seemingly nice rental home. Antonia isn’t pleased either … things could be worse babycakes… you could be Gia right now. Nicole and Ter-es-uh hang out at their parents house #chic and more offensively wear fucking santa hats and drink out of puffy painted wine glasses. This scenario might actually be my version of hell. Oh wait I spoke to soon, no – my version of hell would be spending 20 minutes at Amber Alert’s house. After only being acquainted with Amber for one week, I can guarantee this much is true. A) Her children are going to need intensive psychiatric assistance B) She definitely has invested in the entire Brighton sterling silver jewelry collection C) I would rather eat my childhood dog for a snack then ever be in a burning building with her. She WOULD have a fucking whistle… she’s like the adolescence nazi.

How does Dina stay zen with all those fucking chatchkies everywhere and Lexi has really come out of her awkward stage with flying colors and a very intriguing highlight situation. Now we head over to the good ol Giudice palace for some good ol kosher fun. Did anyone else see the irony in Tre wearing a shirt that read “OOPS”? Yeah girl…fraud is such whoopsie! I don’t give a shit what anyone says, I love Teresa Giudice and I just don’t care who knows it… you heard me. Haters are gonna hate, but I just LOVE LOVE LOVE.

Nicole and Dina have brunch fit for a cougar in a fedora and then we move on to Hitler with a weave (aka Amber’s) home where she is running fire drills and I need to refill my dirty martini just THINKING about how badly I want to punch her in the ovary (which she would probably appreciate given her blatant disdain for children). I am so loving Melissa and Teresa getting along. Plus I call dibs on Melissa’s youngest son in 18 years because he is a totally hott tot. Too much? Whatever.

Some boring shit happens then we join the Gorgas, Giudices and Wakiles for a cousin Christmas dinner, where they exchange weird ass gifts and pretend Juicy isn’t months away from getting his ass ripped apart in prison. Sounds pretty normal to me. Side note: Why can’t Rosie be a housewife? Until next week bitches…

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#RHONJ RECAP

So last night I put on my leopard pajamas, chugged a chilled bottle of Fabellini and indulged in a chracuterie plate only worthy of Joe Giudice pre-clinker. When people ask me which Real Housewives series is my favorite I often respond with the socially sensitive answer of “Sophie’s Choice. I will not choose.” This is a lie, I love MOST of them the same but I lose my parma di prosciutto for those New Jersey bitches. The show starts out recapping the Giudice’s small “legal troubles” #NBD. Firstly, Teresa does potential jail time so well. Teresa has and always will be my favorite. That bitch busts out her sequins, teases that low hairline and slaps on a smile like no ones business. She is committed to her delusion and seems to be trucking along fine (although Milania needs a visit from the adderall fairy ASAP). Was anybody else COLLOSALLY upset that we didn’t get to hear the new taglines?

More importantly DINA IS BACK AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER. “The bitch is back and if you don’t like it you can kiss my ass” ugh, the things I would do to go back in time and make that my senior quote for the yearbook. Dina is looking hot and I just like her. I could do without her vakakta Dr.Doolittle routine with all those busted animals but hey… I’ll give her a break. It’s sweet that Teresa is worried about saving for her kids college tuition… Dollface Milania surely will not be attending Yale. I smell a tender community college for that little whipper snapper.I am actually really happy Meliss and Tre are all buddy buddy. This is off topic but I am beyond perplexed why Melissa is still denying a nose job. That is just offending my intelligence and well researched knowledge of a good nose job. I am a jewish girl from the San Fernando valley…. I could practically perform the surgery myself.

Next we get to meet fucking Amber. I will probably refer to her as “Fucking Amber” for the remainder of the season because only 2.5 seconds into her debut I decided I totally hate her. If Maya Rudolph, Shrek’s better looking sister and a really neurotic, overly bronzed and passive aggressive psychopath had a baby… you would get Fucking Amber. Dina’s therapy office exterior looks like a bad Mongolian bbq spot. I must say her accessory game is on point this season and the hair is flawless. Now we meet Ter-ES-uh and Nicole. These bitches and their polyblend ensembles give me legitimate anxiety. WHAT THE FUCK IS A FALL HARVEST PARTY? Fucking Amber. Great now I feel bad because we find out she has cancer and I feel like a huge asshole. I vouch to make a donation to redeem myself at the supermarket checkout later today. “Oh that little fucking kid took my shawl.” Okay – now I like Ter-ES-uh… or is it Nicole? #dgaf

The Giudice brood gets together for a family portrait and I cried harder then the time Ashlee Holmes died her hair blonde and got lip injections. 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.

Friday Frustrations

EDIBLE ARRANGEMENTS – Yesterday one of my coworkers got sent an edible arrangement from a “secret admirer”. The only thing creepier then sending an edible arrangement is sending an ANONYMOUS edible arrangement… like what the fuck? Here is a bouquet of phallic shaped fruit blooming from a bed of kale. Let’s bang! NO. Cantaloupe shaped like genitalia on a skewer is not sexy. And if you are thinking about sending this to a woman you are even slightly interested in you are better off just sending her your ACTUAL genitalia because sending an edible arrangement is basically doing the same thing only less gallant. I can’t even decide whether it is better baller up the extra money to get the “chocolate dipped” phallic fruit (for the lady with jungle fever) or if it just makes it even more despicable. I would literally be sent roadkill then an edible arrangement – at least I could use the roadkill for a chic hand muff.

FEDORAS – I love a panama hat, live for a good beanie and generally believe in the theory the bigger the brim the BETTER. There is nothing worse than a middle aged Armenian woman who smells like beef kabobs leaning over your shoulder to read your Us Weekly. Large brims are the ultimate close talker buffer and clearly serve a purpose. Fedora’s make you look like a jackass.

“CUPS” – Let me be clear. I love Anna Kendrick, I think we could be really good friends. She’s funny, not intimidatingly good looking and down to earth. That doesn’t mean the song “Cups” doesn’t make me want to hurl my body off a cliff in the hopes of plummeting to my own death. The song is beyond gay and if I have to see one more middle aged parent post their daughter re-enacting the song with a fucking red cup on my Facebook newsfeed I am going to punch someone in the trachea. When I am driving and hear it on the radio I have to literally grip my steering wheel to control the urge to drive into oncoming traffic. Yes, I feel THAT strongly about it. When you’re gone… when you’re gone… I WONT FUCKING MISS YOU WHEN YOUR GONE “CUPS” STOP PLAYING ON THE RADIO.

NEKNOMINATION – The first time I heard about this was on the news where they reported 5 deaths associated with this new internet trend. Personally, I think the news story was slightly blown out of proportion and put a huge black cloud over the whole concept for me. In reality I am just super pissed no one has nominated me yet. Despite the fact that I love a stiff cocktail I am a notoriously slow sipper. In my head I have my whole neknomination skit planned and because there is no way in HELL I could chug a beer in 20 seconds I would definitely have the air time to simultaneously perform some kind of variety show whilst finishing my brew. I can assure you it would be the best to date so someone fucking nominate me already @jackieschimmel #shameless.

AVIVA DRESCHER – I have been binge watching Real Housewives of New York until I literally get drunk through osmosis from Ramona Singer. I think it is seriously the most underrated series within the franchise and I am foaming at the mouth with excitement for Tuesdays premiere. I tend to love all the housewives in different ways. Even the one’s I hate I still love deep down for providing so many hours of entertainment. The only housewife I truly hate is Aviva Drescher – she is HORRIFIC. I don’t give a fuck that she got trapped in a conveyer belt as a child. When I re-watched the episodes of the ladies in St. Barths I literally almost died reliving her insane narcissism. She actually said upon her arrival “I was expecting a banner that said Congratulations, you did it! RA RA” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING? Your bravery is so inspiring. You got on a private plane despite your phobias to come join the ladies on a luxury vacation in a multimillion dollar villa. WOW.  I mean there are men and women on the front lines in Afghanistan protecting our country but what you did really is so commendable. Go fuck yourself and your one leg.

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…

Reader Feedback

I would like to make something clear. I receive plenty of complimentary feedback but because I am not a total asshole I would never sit in front of a camera and read my praises to you. That’s gross and let’s be honest, not nearly as entertaining as hearing the negative feedback. Duh. Due to “popular demand” (and by that I mean 2 messages on twitter) I knew it was time to dig through my dreadful inbox and share some disgruntled reader feedback with you.

What a doozy.

*Also, it has been brought to my attention the pun that was primarily unintended but now EXTREMELY intended when stating we could use Aviva’s prosthetic leg for LIMB-O (get it like a limb – genius)

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…