You guys, I don’t know what happened.

I am not huge on change, so bringing in new shows to my normally rigid DVR routine is rare.

In fact, my disdain and lack of patience dictates that if I am going to try out a new series, I usually try and do it on a weekend during some sort of marathon.

However, I did just officially broke up with Real Housewives of New York in the middle of the first episode.  It was messy and awkward.

I’m sorry, I’m just not feeling this.

Not feeling what? What’s not to feel? We have new girls, weird plastic surgery, disconnected story lines, Ramona is still trying to make Pinot happen…

I know, and the Yummy Tummy girl seems lovely when she isn’t talking about death, but there is just a general feeling that you ladies don’t like each other, you aren’t friends, Luann keeps slipping into boyfriend french half way through her conversations, and I was miserable the entire 40 minutes I watched it.

Between NJ getting good and the OC making a comeback, I just don’t have time. If I wanted an awkward encounter, I ask my dentist for a pap smear.

So yesterday, after our morning Father’s Day festivities, Andy took the boys to an indoor driving range, and Gigi and I spent the rainy afternoon on the couch playing with Bratz dolls, bushing our teeth with bleach, and watching the My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding marathon on TLC*. A couple things…

  • First of all, I had no idea gypsies were a real thing. I’ve seen them in movies and I was a sexy gypsy for Halloween once in college, but the fact that gypsies exist in a way that doesn’t have them with scarves on their heads with giant hoop earrings, boggles my mind.  I don’t want to stereotype modern day gypsies, because some of them look pretty fucking awesome, but I did not expect some of them to look like if Julie Robert’s roommate Kit from Pretty Woman mated with anyone from the Appalachian Mountain people episode of 20/20 where nobody had teeth because they lived on Mt. Dew.
  • This show has ruined weddings for me. If you invite me to watch you get married, and you have on some sort of lame ass wedding dress that does not light up, render you immobile, cost as much as 5 paved asphalt driveways, or show your virgin clitoris, I’m not coming.
  • I wish I was Sondra Celli. This non gypsy makes bank off dumping glitter and Ed Hardy crosses on 50 yards of ruffles. Supply and demand. She’s a genius. The Steve Jobs of underage, sometimes incestuous matrimony.

  • You know when you pass a carryout and see a sign for cigarettes that says like, one pack for $30, and you say to yourself, who the hell even smokes anymore? They do. It’s them. Now you know.
  • There are many reasons I couldn’t be a gypsy. I don’t even own actual cleaning supplies; I cleaned up spilled shrimp curry with a baby wipe and some hair mouse yesterday. Also, I’m too claustrophobic to live in a camper with three children.

I’m about 6 episodes in, and I still have so many questions.

How do they afford all this stuff?

Where do they actually travel to?

Why do some of them live in houses?

How did they get iPhones because I had to bring like 3 proofs of address and a clean urine sample to Verizon?

Does anyone else think Pat Baby is totally gay or would make a really, really awesome pageant dad?

And also, why do they just end episodes and not offer any follow up?

MTV always offers updates on Made or those whack job teen moms. Is Tamera allowed to live in Murphy’s Village? Did 14 year old Priscilla find a husband?  Did Heath and Alyssa make up with Aunt Mellie, buy a camper and get her infant son back from her mom?

Way to leave me with gypsy blue balls, TLC.

*Ok, we were eating fudge rounds and braiding each other’s hair. I don’t even know where the bleach is, probably on a low shelf somewhere in a nondescript unmarked bottle.

 

Facebook Comments

comments