While Heather Dubrow looks fab in the new RHOC opening credits, I’m rather annoyed that her tagline is essentially just a mashup of two superior taglines (“It may look like I have it all, but I want more!”/”I thought I had it good before, but I’m just getting started.”) that have already been uttered in Beverly Hills and New York, respectively.
I sometimes find myself wondering how and why Melanie Griffith doesn’t have her own reality show yet.
I mean, let’s dissect this. Her mother was a Hitchcock Blonde. She has a child from her marriage to one of THE sex symbols of the 1980s. Said child is currently filming what is sure to be a notorious adaptation of 50 Shades of Grey. She’s currently married to one of THE sex symbols of the 1990s. She seems a little kooky, and I mean that in a good way. She’s the age of a Real Housewife, but I kind of think she still envisions herself as a 21 year old. Again, I mean that in a good way. She’s had some questionable plastic surgery. She has a coterie of famous friends. She’s very L.A.
I can only imagine the kind of wacky hijinks she gets up to in her free time. I mean, she was pretty A-List (or high, high B-List at the very least) and a tabloid staple in the late 80s/early 90s…this woman has stories to tell. I think she deserves a comeback.
While attempting to break my Gremlins rule (no eating after midnight) and grab a little snack, I somehow managed to accidentally drop a carrot cake on the floor.
The cake did not survive the fall.
This entire night is turning into one big comedy of errors.
I’m fairly certain this bottle of rosé I just opened has gone bad, as it tastes almost exactly like cough syrup.
Now, some may have thrown in the towel after a bad bottle of wine, but I wasn’t raised to be a quitter. I choked down one glass and decided to move on to old faithful, my beloved Pinot Grigio.
At the risk of sounding completely overdramatic, I always feel just a bit like Sigourney Weaver in the Alien movies when I’m confronting/attempting to kill a spider.
The differences may be staggering (a monster with acid for blood that is taller than most humans versus a creature that could rest comfortably in the palm of my hand; Ripley’s flamethrower versus my can of hairspray), but the terror is very much the same.