I'm not a studio executive (I just play one on TeeVee), but don't you think they've got it all bass-akwards with the whole Real Housewives thing?
Each episode features women who are at once so pretty and thin and well-accessorized, that you can only IMAGINE what it would be like to be them. A closet the approximate size of an airplane hanger? De rigeur. Personal chefs in the kitchen? Just an ordinary Wednesday. Dogs wearing little outfits and sipping champagne out of seven hundred dollar glasses?
Oh wait. That's me.
Anyway, my point is this: I don't need anything else to convince me that I should occupy space on a remote and distant planet. Let's face it kids, you cannot be a 45-year old spinster with an unfortunate mustache problem and your own zip code and still feel good about yourself after watching a size triple zero prance around in a bikini while bitching that her thighs are fat. (I've eaten baked potatoes that were larger than said size triple zero, so instead of feeling bad that the poor thing has low self esteem issues, I just want to slap the skinny right off of her and feed her a nice big bowl of effew.)
I am proposing that the Bravo folks get with it and feature some poor slob like me who can't find her way out of a wet paper bag with two hands and a flashlight, and who knows the importance of always having a nice meatloaf on hand in the event that Jeffrey Dean Morgan drops by for lunch. The cameras could capture my every move, and audiences would sit with rapt attention while I tackle that unfortunate mustache problem (see above), wipe up dog pee and champagne (also, above), and contemplate whether or not the pile of laundry could adequately be described as a bio hazard.
Can you say...Emmy?
I know there are shows that reveal poor housekeeping, or addiction issues, or even (horror of horrors) weight-loss situations, but wouldn't it be more fun to watch an ordinary every day person bumblecluck her way through a day filled with nothing but dusting and grocery shopping?
Stewey tells me that I've got it all wrong and that people watch these programs to see how the other half lives, but I still think that an hour of beautifully appointed females wearing two thousand dollar stilettos is hard on the 'ole self-acceptance meter. Wouldn't it be more satisfying to see me woop woop it up in the Target aisle over a pair of eighteen dollar slippers?
(They're fabulous, by the way, and I don't intend to take them off until Spring.)
I'll keep you posted on my progress with the pitch meeting, but please feel free to drop a line or two on Andy Cohen's Facebook page. (Does Andy Cohen even HAVE a Facebook page? If I become famous, will I have to have a Facebook page? More importantly, if Stewey becomes famous, will I have to be the one to update HIS Facebook page?)
These are important questions for the ages. Obviously.
I was making pretty good headway on the Prairie Moon piece when two things happened (almost simultaneously, by the way). Number one is that I ran out of thread. (I know, I know, I should have listened to Aunt Chrissy when she told me that there was no way that four skeins would be enough). And number two, the lights went out.
(By the way...just a word of advice to the gal that answered the phone over at Mishawaka Utilities: Remain calm and carry on, dear. There's no reason to holler "There's trees down and lines are on fire!" while pulling on your rubber boots and crash helmet. We'll be fine. Really. We will be. Just turn the lights back on when you get a moment and try not to panic.)
So that explains the measly progress. (If you stay tuned long enough, the dog will eat my homework, the sun will be in my eyes, and the check will be in the mail.) (I promise.)
I'm off to the laundry room! I thought that I was going to settle in to watch the Conrad Murray trial this week, but Stewey confiscated the remote control, glared at me, and said "Casey Anthony" and that was all she wrote. Apparently, I am incapable of remaining detached from celebrity trials.
Have a Happy Wednesday! I'll post the recipe for the root beer boondt tomorrow! (I have to figure out what I did with it.)