Real Housewives DC Disgust, Jersey Shore a Must!

It was out of sheer morbid curiosity that I tuned in to Bravo’s “The Real Housewives of DC” last night when it aired. I had seen a snippet of the Michaele Salahi bitch-fest on Access Hollywood earlier in the evening - how Whoopi “grabbed” Michaele and then cussed out her and her neutered husband. “How bad could the show be, really,” I thought to myself.

Really bad. It turns out that it could be really, really bad.

I lived in DC for a bit and have a pretty decent understanding of its inner workings. Essentially, it’s a more politically fueled, less fashionable, and slightly fatter version of New York City. Replace finance with politics … you smell what I’m stepping in? It is an absolutely beautiful town with a rich history, great culture, and diverse population. And those miserable cows are ruining the pristine image of our Nation’s Capital which I hold so close to my heart.

Why the hell is this show called “The Real Housewives” when a number of the cast works/has a career? Isn’t a housewife, by definition, someone who stays at home and makes sure the family is taken care of, etc., etc? (And before any of you start, don’t get on me and tell me that I’m being a pig – I am FULLY aware that being a housewife/homemaker is a VERY difficult and often thankless job!).

One of these women has a biometric lock on her damn walk-in closet because she has a daughter who wears the same size clothes that she does. She doesn’t want her daughter to take her clothes without asking. Newsflash – how about you try being a good mother and tell the little bitch she can’t borrow your $5,000 Dior jacket. Then, when you find out she did it anyway, take her iPod, iPhone, Computer, Internet, TV, Range Rover, and Spa privileges away for a month. I’m willing to bet she’d opt to wear her own little Dior jacket out next time and that way you don’t have to be a freak with a biometric lock on your closet door.

On another note, how the hell can the show be called “The Real Housewives of DC” when only TWO of the cast members live in DC and the rest live in the suburbs of DC? Let’s take it one step further. The freakin’ Salahi’s (who I simply CANNOT stand) live about an hour and a half to two hours away from DC out in Virginia wine country. Wouldn’t a more appropriate title for this show be, “The Real Social Climbers of the Washington Metropolitan Region?”

Because that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? It’s a group of vapid women with significant others on tight leashes who don’t really care for each other, who aren’t very attractive or fashionable, and who crash State dinners so they have cool shots for their Facebook pages.

The fact that the Salahi’s testified before a Congressional panel regarding their attendance at that now infamous State dinner and pleaded the fifth on essentially every question, even when asked “Are you here now,” seems to me that they DID crash that dinner. Because when you do something wrong and you don’t want to incriminate yourself on the stand, you plead the fifth. That these people seemingly have more money than God (at least the show portrays them in that way) and now are considering suing “The View” because the interviewers called them “crashers” and not “alleged crashers” seems disgusting, pathetic, and sad to me.

I actually do enjoy reality television for the most part. I think my readers know that I find Jersey Shore to be quite entertaining. But you know what? I think it’s because those kids are more real than these 40 to 60 somethings who are past their prime and trying to find fame.

The kids of the Jersey Shore took themselves and their “take me or leave me” attitudes down to Miami this season. They act like a family (albeit a bit dysfunctional). They don’t pretend to be something they’re not. I don’t think you’d find Snooki trying to crash a State dinner because, to be perfectly frank, I think she’s got enough class to know that if she doesn’t get a written invitation from the White House, you just don’t show up. Even if a friend says your name is “on the list.” I don’t think you’d find Pauly D putting a biometric lock on his stash of hair product because he’d probably share some with you if you needed it. Ed Hardy may not be haute couture, but all the boys know that there’s a shirt BEFORE the shirt.

So to the Salahi’s, I can’t wait until your 15 minutes are up. Frankly, I thought that time had expired a few months back. To the other women on the DC installment of “Housewives,” don’t you worry about your 15 minutes. It looks like a good deal of people aren’t interested in this go-round of the show. No one is going to remember who you are and I’ve already forgotten your names.

And to you lovable, self-proclaimed Guidos and Guidettes … GTL forever, baby.