If I win Mega Millions, I'm thinking about taking an apartment in Trump Tower.
Not because I love Donald or anything, but just to fulfill my (ridiculously nouveau riche) childhood dream of living there. I blame watching “I’ll Take Manhattan” at a young age. I just loved that Maxi Amberville had an apartment in such an ostentatious building.
Plus, it’s so close to such great shopping! A clotheshorse can’t pass that up.
"If they don’t invite Taylor back, then she will be free to say whatever she wants. If they do, they will be able to control her…"
You mean like how they were able to “control her” from hijacking every event and dinner party last season to make it all about her? Or how they were able to “control her” from playing a part in threatening to sue her castmates? Don’t “consider,” Bravo. Just fire the bitch.
Me:Would you like a...what's wrong? You look upset.
Mama Winkelman:I was just thinking of one summer, long ago. The summer of the bugs...
Me:Oh. Okay, then...
Mama Winkelman:I was just a child that summer. Little Cindy Lou and I were having a sleepover on the porch. Cindy Lou loved to sleep outside that summer. She used to live on Iowa Street, which was a dicey neighborhood at the time. Her father ran the local hardware store...I remember he always used to give me a piece of hard candy. He'd say...
Me:Okay, I'm going to stop you. I'm sure this is a compelling story, but I just wanted to see if you'd like a chai tea from Starbucks. I didn't know I was walking into a mini-production of "Our Town."
Zara, I’m asking you nicely, no, begging you: you need to make more XS and S sizes for both your in-store locations and online. There is an entire fleet of skinny gay boys who would love to throw more money away at your corporation. Think it over. It would be a win-win for everyone.
Dammit, Bravo! Can you at least leave *a hint* of mystery to cosmetic surgery?
One day, I dream of correcting my deviated septum and finally ending my twenty-plus years of sinus torment, but then I have to turn on Real Housewives and hear doctors gleefully breaking noses like they’re cracking open a walnut, and the next thing I know, I’m on the floor with someone taking my pulse and frantically digging out the smelling salts, and I basically have to reconsider ever having my nose worked on.
Just the thought that that horrific cracking noise could come from my nose…ooh honey, I could pass out again just thinking about it.
I guess this means we can all look forward to another season of her moaning about her va-jay-jay hurting and about just how busy she is/how much help she needs, all while never actually holding her baby.
I miss chain-smoking, wine-guzzling Kim…but still, good for her. Get that child support lined up girl, because we all know this marriage isn’t going to last.