Torturing myself

Right now, I am watching The Real Housewives of Atlanta. This show is the reason I should always leave my remote control across the room. These women are INSANE and GROSS! There are 5 of them and they're all married to or divorced or divorcing from NFL or NBA players. They live in ridiculously large houses and spend ridiculous amounts of money frivilously. Only one of them appears to have an actual job (she's a realtor). She shows a house to some "rap producer" named Jazze Pha (that's pronounced jazzy fay) who wears giant gold-rimmed glasses that make his nose look like it's disappearing into his fat face. Another is a successful, strong woman whose occupation seems to be divorcing some NFL dude and trying to finagle a seven figure divorce settlement from him...so that she can take care of her kids and maintain their lifestyle, of course. At one point, she sends her daughter off for her weekend with her dad and spends the rest of the day buying really expensive ugly-ass hooker shoes (patent leather peep toe shoeboots, anyone?) that her "shoe stylist" brought to her house. Another chick, who happens to look like New York's mom, is pissed at ShoeBitch because she invited NYMom to a party, then (purposely) left her off the guest list. There is one white chick who is constantly wearing tops that put her weird babies' heads boobs on display, even at her 11-year-old daughter's $18,000 birthday party. She also has hair extensions that make her look like she has Barbie hair. Jezebel best describes her: she looks like one of the Wayans in White Chicks. She gets "emotionally tax[ed]" over NYMom's birthday diss by ShoeBitch. You see, ShoeBitch wants to come to the $18,000 birthday party, but she is worried there will be "drama" (that word gets used a lot). Another has some type of foundation for teen girls and feels the need to hire a personal assistant (and gets pissy when she finds out interviewees didn't google her) and she also appears to actually parent her children (with help from a nanny) so I can't dog her out too much.

I really don't know why I do this to myself. Last night, I caught myself watching 17 Kids and Counting which is that stupid show about the Duggers and their gaggle of similarly-dressed GodBabies. For some reason they went to Guiliani's NY and were shocked SHOCKED at how different it was from Arkansas. As one of the GodBabies put it, "People in Arkansas stop and talk to you." That is such bullshit. I've been in small towns and people do not just randomly stop each other on the street to chitchat. And on the reverse, it isn't like people in NY are all solo zombies who never talk to other humans. AND AND AND, people are stopping and talking to them and taking pictures of them and their GodBabies. Which brings me to another bitch. The conceit on reality shows that the cameras aren't there and don't contribute to people actually talking to assholes. Would any woman really be vying for the affections of Chance and Real if not for cameras?. Would any of the grody inhabitants of the Real World houses be doing body shots off of Britney Spears-look-alikes if not for the crew with the bright lights and boom mikes tailing their ugly asses? Shortly after this statement the Duggers decided to go get a bite to eat. They then attempt to flag a cab for all 19 of them. I quit caring right about then.

Okay, this has been one big run-on rant and I really need to stop and change the channel. God damn trainwreck tv!

Random commercial curiosity: Bailey's with a hint of coffee? Shouldn't it be the other way around?