My Guilty Pleasure: The Real Housewives

There.  I said it.  My name is TLC, and I’m addicted to The Real Housewives on Bravo. 

I’ve always been fond of reality TV.  Though, I don’t think it became a true addiction until a couple of years ago when we were on a mini-winter vacay up north with friends.  One evening, after a hard day of hitting the slopes (okay… okay… sitting in the cozy bar reading InStyle magazine and sipping on Diet Coke mixed with Malibu – it didn’t take me too long to realize it hurts when you fall down while skiing), my girl friend and I started watching The Real Housewives of the O.C. while the men prepared dinner (isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?).  We were literally glued to that show and all its trashiness.  Drunk Gretchen and Tamra’s son frolicking around the pool.  Vicki’s empty-love-tank relationship with her hubby, Don.  Lynne.  I don’t know what else to say about Lynne.  Perhaps that’s enough.  It sucked me in.  Where had this show been all of my life? 

When we got back to Texas, I started filling up my entire DVR with all the previous seasons of reality TV at its finest (I wasn’t married then… now I apparently have to share the DVR with something called the Southwest Outdoors Report).  And, it gets better – there are Housewives shows from every region of the country!  Yippee!  How can you ever get tired of this when you have ATL, NJ, NY, and Beverly Hills? Each city has its own drama.  Its own quirks.  ELC basically refuses to watch these shows… Something about the lack of morals and values.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  I’m not in it for the morals and values.

So, at Casa de C, this is my evening routine 4 out of 7 nights a week:

1. Head home from a long day at work.
2. Yell at all of the crazy Dallas drivers (I'm, of course, not one of them.  I do refrain from obscene gestures – I know ELC is so proud).
3. Walk in the door.
4. Change into my uniform (more about this below!).
5. Assume the position in my giant, cozy, over-sized chair.
6. Turn on the TV.
7. Watch an episode until Hubby gets home from work.

Now, let me give you a little more info on my uniform (aka:  my comfy pants).  I’m obsessed with these pants.  They’re true brilliance in my book.  They're super large, grey, stretchy yoga pants from NY & Co.  I wear them daily, but not, of course, to do yoga.  How silly.  My husband didn’t even realize I owned no less than twenty pairs of jeans until a couple of years ago, since I also run errands in these.  The post office.  The grocery store.  The cleaners.  Hobby Lobby.  They have the uncanny ability of hiding the lumpy bits in my thighs.  I wish I owned 6 more pairs.  One for every last day of the week.  I don’t, and now NY & Co. no longer carries them.  Sigh.

Okay. I have to be honest:  I don’t just watch the Housewives.  No.  If only.  There are, in fact, others.  I’ve been known to watch:  Tori & Dean.  Bethenny Getting Married.  Sarah Palin’s Alaska (though I do consider this educational – it’s a travel show, after all).  Teen Mom (Holy guacamole.  Have you seen this train wreck?).  My addiction goes so far as to watching 6 episodes in a row of Dog the Bounty Hunter one Saturday (I can’t believe I just admitted that).  It’s terrible.  I should be ashamed.  Yet, evidently, I’m not.  I have to believe I’ve learned something from these shows.  Maybe how to filet a salmon – thanks, Sarah!  Oh well.  Television is about entertainment, right?  Well, I’m completely and totally entertained.  AND, now, completely and totally obsessed with getting my own reality show.  Seriously.  LOL.