Reality Roundup

by Parker & Val

Haven't blogged in a while - too busy immersed in the new Reality television season. Here are some thoughts:

Rachel Zoe Project: Her real "project" should involve eating a hoagie sandwich now and then and washing it down with a Supersized McDonald's Snickers McFlurry. Still the show is 60 minutes of eye candy. Her assistant Taylor (who they all call "Tay Tay", perhaps the most annoying nickname ever created) is such an ungrateful Clorox-haired bitch. She has repeatedly whined about having had to work for Rachel for 3 years (3 YEARS - oh the humanity) and still hasn't been promoted. Welcome to the real world "TAY TAY". Try selling radio for 15 years. If you are so damn miserable, I'm sure Forever 21 is hiring.

More to Love: We've pretty much given up on this show (especially when he sent home the real fatties) but Parker caught the most recent episode where Luke (a.k.a. the Playa with the Mayo) went on a date with one of the Low-Self-Esteem girls and asked her if she could see herself marrying him in the future. Of course the needy chick beamed, "Yes!", because who could resist that hunk of a man? Less than 48 hours later, he sent her packing. Way to pump up her confidence Luke. Maybe next week he'll choke on an eclair.

Flipping Out: This show has totally lost it's focus this year. We don't care that your assistant didn't get enough "brown salsa" at Baja Fresh. Show me some god-damned throw pillows. And what's with Zoila (the Hispanic maid) all of the sudden yukking it up for the cameras? Did the producers throw in an extra $200 per episode if she acts like a cougar and tries to proposition every gardener that crosses her path?

Hoarders: Does anyone remember back in the 1980's and 90's when NBC would air a show with a serious plot and the promo would announce: "On a VERY special episode of...." (like the time that Michael J. Fox took pep pills to study for a test on 'Family Ties' or George Clooney got trapped in a storm drain on "ER"?) Well this week, A&E should have aired a promo that said, "On a VERY Fu*cked-up episode of 'Hoarders'", because those folks on Monday night's episode were all sorts of batshit crazy. One lady had a total of 75 cats in her house (of course 41 of them were skeletons hidden under all her crap). They also featured a 21 year old gay basketcase who refused to pick up the massive chunks of dog hair embedded in his carpet because he was afraid it might kill his dog. Can you say "television gold"? Parker refuses to watch this show because she's afraid the sight of moldy food in a corner might make her throw up in her mouth.

Top Chef: This year takes place in Las Vegas and for some inexplicable reason, Bravo has decided to put the chef's up in a mansion which was clearly built and decorated in 1986 (pink Formica with matching sheer green drapes). Geez, because they couldn't find a better more aesthetically pleasing locale, what with all the amazing hotels in the area? I'm pretty sure in this economy they could have gotten a bargain price on a block of rooms at the Bellagio. Secondly, if you are going to be on Top Chef, we feel that it might be wise to remove all facial piercings before going on camera. Just a thought.

Hold the Starch and Just Find My Goddamned Clothes!

I once spent $300 on a sweater during my salad days -  actually I did this a lot in my salad days. It was the late 90's, I was still in my 20's and things were looking up so why not? It was certainly a different state of mind than the current "I'm pushing 40 and the sky is falling".

I always know the economy must be bad when even I stop shopping and start pretending I'm not more than in love with a fuchsia with navy hearts Marc Jacobs top I spied recently at Nordstrom. To quote bean-pole-raisin-face-stylist Rachel Zoe, "I die" whenever I see it. Oh and a Hanii Y plaid three-quarter length sleeve plaid peacoat. " I Die" and "I Die" many more times.

I used my trusty dry cleaners to take good care of my "babies" (as I called my favorite designer pieces). They knew me by name and I was confident they would keep the 'pilling' on my beloved black and neon green plaid Versace jacket to a minimum. One day, in a pinch for time I gave my dry cleaning to Daddy Warbucks to take to a dry cleaner near his office. D.W. had known the owners for years and said not to worry they do good work, he's known them forever etc.

A few weeks later I frantically tried to find one of my 300 babies in my closet with no luck. In a panic, I made D.W. go back and have them check two different times for my Ralph Lauren turquoise cashmere sweater that was so gorgeous it forgave any bad hair day. Needless to say D.W. was not too happy when the sweater eventually magically appeared in my closet. Oops.

A few years later we moved to a new neighborhood and I chose a cleaners that was very close to our house. We had been in N.Y for a week of fun and being fabulous with our hip friends, Jade and Evan and I literally took all of my favorite pieces with me: shirts, tops dresses etc. - all my best things. When I dropped all of it off at the new cleaners I remember thinking, "It would really suck if something happened to these clothes." Jinx.

When I showed up to pick up my dry cleaning a week later, they told me they didn't have my clothes. I literally demanded that they go back and check at least 5 times. Meanwhile, the lady behind the counter and her uni-brow looked at me like I was insane when I started getting super pissed with tears streaming down my face. I wanted to say "Oh, you lost all my best clothes and a ton of them? Oh ok, see you next time, no starch please," but I got the feeling all sarcasm would be lost on uni-brow and her manager and manager's manager.  30 minutes later, still without my "babies", I called Daddy Warbucks in hysterics and told him to come to the dry cleaners, I mean the "fucktard cleaners", STAT I announced (as loudly as possible.)

D. W arrived and remained composed but intimidating which I found sexy through my Alice Cooper eyes and gasps of sobbing. D.W. told them he hoped they had insurance. "Yeah insurance!" I screamed.  Then all (including D.W.) looked at me like I was homeless lady with schizophrenia.

As soon as we got back home, I thew myself on our bedroom oriental rug (I love that rug) and cried at the top of my lungs in the fetal position. D.W just looked at me shaking his head and said, "I'm sorry, did your entire family die in a horrific plane crash or did the dry cleaners lose some of your clothes?" This made me scream louder and cry harder. After about an hour of crying I was hungry so of course I picked myself up from the rug, grabbed an Advil, chips and a bottle of cold Grey Goose from the freezer.

Early the next morning the dry cleaners called D.W. and said they had given my clothes to someone else who had brought them back and that my house wasn't destroyed in a giant hurricane after all.  To not give him the pleasure of learning a lesson I just replied "Well it's just a good thing they weren't a size 6 and loved Nanette Lapore." 

-parker