Reality bites

So, England is out of the Euro. That's tragic, especially considering what a fight they put up- it was Italy after all. Unfortunately in life that just won't cut it. It's the victory that counts. "You have everything we're looking for in an employee" somehow fails to keep you warm and fuzzy inside when you don't get the job. "Well played" just isn't enough when your team won't make it to the quarter-finals. This is something Ashley Cole (one of the most memorable failures of last night's travesty) already knows all too well, having failed in controlling his balls already in the past. "Good boy, you almost managed to keep your schmeckie in your pants and almost succeeded in respecting your marriage vows"...


Now that the reality of my own life has turned out to be rather disappointing, I've turned to reality tv. How those cavemen survived before Bravo and E! is beyond me. While not failing to provide entertainment, the experience has left me somewhat puzzled. 

Is lobotomy mandatory in Orange County? How many backstabbing bitches can you fit in New Jersey? Are they all crazeee in New York?

You guessed it- I've found the way to live the life of a Real Housewife.

Call it despair (or cutting-edge sociological analysis of the modern life as I'd prefer) but I can't get enough of them. Especially the OC breed. They are, in their sheer pointlessness, quite simply fascinating. I love the way how in their quest of real life barbie-doll look they've gone through so much plastic surgery that the end result looks surreal. As opposed to the perfect women they have ended up looking like caricatures of women; reaching a point where they actually look like men trying to be women! Of course I'm an evil bitch consumed with envy but seriously, look at them! Throw in "I will survive" and you've got yourself a drag night at any gay bar.


There's one thing they have in common with their role model though: Barbie and they have  just about as much going on under that bouncy hair of theirs...