My, what big bottles of Valtrex you have...

Guess what? EVERYBODY'S WORKIN' FOR THE HAGMAN!

As of 12:21am on August 6th, 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! You want a piece of my heart? You better start from start. You wanna join the show? Come on HAGMAN let's go! (Wow. God, I'm sorry. I hereby promise to never do a Loverboy themed T.G.I Hagman again for a while.)

So, I've gotten a lot of emails in the past few days about whether or not I'm going to recap The Real Housewives of D.C., if I watched it the premiere at all, and if I did, what I thought of it. The answers to those questions are: no; yes; and ooof, respectively. I've spent days now trying to articulate what I thought about the show, and I think I'm finally able to pinpoint how it makes me feel.

You see, I have a friend from college named Meli, a Nicaraguan gal from Miami who transferred into my design program Senior year. Within five minutes of meeting her, I knew I wanted to be her friend. Why? Because she's kind of like a cross between Liz Lemon and Melissa from season 5 of Real World.

She can't quite pronounce anything correctly (i.e. "rubber duction" = reproduction) and you're not really sure if it's because she's awkward or foreign...? Really, why wouldn't I want to be friends with her? Anyway, Meli was over one night when I was still living in Brooklyn with Ex Co-Blogger Chris and we decided to watch that week's episode of America's Next Top Model. One of the commercial breaks featured cycle 8 winner Jaslene's little "My Life as a CoverGirl" feature:

Now mind you, I had known Meli for well over a year at this point and in that span of time, we had never had a single serious conversation about anything. Even when we were discussing something serious, Meli was always falling out of a chair, or doodling chickens or accidentally setting something on fire, etc. However that night, after watching that commercial, Meli got serious as a heart attack, looked down, shook her head sadly for a few moments, finally looked back up and stoically said, "That girl represents every single stereotype that we, the Latina community, have to work every single day to overcome."

Chris and I were like "Ooooo......things just got rull uncomfortably serious in here. Is it cool if we...keep watching? There's like, 10 minutes left."

My point being, I now understand what Meli was talking about. Because how she feels about Jaslene from ANTM is exactly how I feel about RHODC. (Minus that whole racial identity struggle, thing.) Because RHODC reinforces every single horrible stereotype that people think of when they think of Washington, DC and completely undoes any good that this blog (or others, obviously) have done to convince the world that not every Washingtonian is a social-climbing, uptight, power-obsessed, political douchebag. Because I may be a douchebag, but it has nothing to do with politics. And that, sirs, is a point of pride.

I understand that TV is trying to cash in on the resurgence of interest in DC because Obama lives here and Yes We Can and blah, blah, blah, but why would you ever think it would be a good idea to do a reality show about Washington high society? Because Washington high society is pompous, boring and completely uninteresting/unimpressive to anyone who isn't a part of it. It's like doing a reality show about your high school's AV club: yeah, I'm sure there's lots of in-fighting and drama over who gets to represent the club at that year's Back-to-School Night, but at the end of the day, you're still doing a show about an AV Club. Think about that for a moment before you go green-lighting everything all willy-nilly, Andy Cohen.

I know that Washington will always be synonymous with politcs, but I just wish there was a show, reality-based or otherwise, that dared to scratch the city's political surface and celebrate what's underneath—a fascinating and diverse community of surly middle-class white kids, hipsters, homosexuals and black folk who hate the metro, think Mayor Fenty is a sex god and will punch you in your Oxford covered balls if you tell us one more time about your summer internship at Van Scoyoc. Christ.

And now onto a show that doesn't glorify stereotypes whatsoever: Episode 2 of Jersey Shore: Miami.

When we last left off, Ronnie was brushing his teeth with the public toothbrush that is every single ugly girl in Miami-Dade County before going home, boasting about it, and hopping in bed with ex-girlfriend/current housemate, Sammi. On a scale of 1 to asshole, you gotta agree that's pretty up there. Even The Situation and Pauly D think its sleazy and when the gentlemen responsible for the terms "Grenade", "Grenade Launcher" and "Land Mine" are questioning your ethics, it might be time to retire your dick.

When Ronnie wakes up the next morning, he doesn't remember a thing from the night before, but luckily for him his roommates fill him in on all of the gory details and even induct him into the "IFF" (I'm Fucked Foundation) of which "not only is he a client, he's the President." In the confessional scene after this, Ronnie's wrists are covered in bandages, so one can only assume he took the news hard and locked himself in the bathroom, put on some Morrissey and played the old wrist violins until he saw blood. (Unfortunately I think it's more probable that he got corresponding wrist tattoos of Ronin quotes. Time will tell.) Sammi wakes up later and things get even more awkward, the culminating moment being when The Situation looks into the camera and says of Ronnie: "Looks like this guy's got too many Miami vices!" And then I guffawed and had an orgasm simultaneously, which truthfully was one of the more interesting things that's happened to me all summer.

This week's drama really revolved around two things: Angelina, and The Situation's marinated chicken. Both powerful enough to tear a single house apart; both best served a delicious golden brown. Everyone's got beef with Angelina. The girls hate her because she talks shit about them behind their backs, Ronnie's scared of her because she was a witness to his "creeping" the night before (and you know how skirts love to talk,) and the rest of the boys think she's a giant cockblock. Faring only slightly better is The Situation's chicken, which he marinated indoors (while wearing sunglasses) and precariously put on the top shelf of the fridge before going out to smoke a cigarette in the hot tub, which per my notes, "feels like a heart attack in the making."

Later that night when Snooki comes home and opens the fridge to get some pickles, the tray with the chicken slides out and goes all over the floor. The cast then spends two segments wandering around the house with TI-83 calculators in hand, desperately trying to solve the riddle of Can You Eat Dirty Chicken? before calculating, "Let's just eat granola bars and eventually order in." $10,000 an episode. For that fine caliber, chicken-based drama. And I decided to write for free. Life decisions, Meg McBlogger...Life decisions.

It's at this point that there's some more Ronni/Sammi drama involving an address book and the name Caroline, but I don't really give a shit, so here's a clip from Everybody Loves Raymond instead. It's basically the same thing, except Sammi "Sweetheart" doesn't have shit on Patricia Heaton.

Later that night, Snooki is wandering around the house looking like a one-woman bachelorette party when she finds out that Angelina called her boyfriend a f***** m*****. I would love to give you some snarky commentary on this, but I have absolutely no idea what a "f***** m*****" is. None. There's not enough letters for "fucking motherfucker", which is the only insulting combination of F-M words I can think of. Maybe "fag" or "faggy" is in there somewhere...? In other news, I also don't understand:

- Silly Bandz (besides my badass asparagus one)

- How to send a Facebook message to group members if you are that group's administrator

- The appeal of Justin Bieber

- Why good television is always on at 10 o'clock when that's when I start fading fast

- How to create my own ringtone on iTunes

- What's wrong with these kids today

So. There's that.

Snooki decides to confront Angelina about the f***** m***** allegation, but Angelina insists that she has no idea what she's talking about. That's when old J-Woww steps in, puts on her bifocals, sits down with Angelna and calmly says, "Look. Angelina. I'm going to be real honest with you for a minute: I don't care for you. Truthfully, I don't think anyone in this house cares for you. Thus, when you least expect it, I am going to coat myself in a thin layer of Vaseline, grab a few heavy rocks, put in my mouthguard from JV Field Hockey try-outs and beat the living Christ out of you. When will it happen? That's for me to know and you to find out. What would I do if I were you? Sleep with one eye open. What do you remind me of? A walking strain of Herpes that you just can't get rid of. So a good day to you, madam. I will see you at dawn with your pistol ready and wits sharp." And then she mounts Snooki and rides her off into the sunset to ready her loved ones for the impending duel.

Hey! You know what Jersey Shore plot line we kind of forgot about this season? Their "job"! But don't worry, Season 2 won't be all chicken breasts and lady-duels, they have to work too. At a gelato/smoothie shop where there's a really boring scene of them learning the intricacies of scooping ice cream in the most cost effective manner. I guess this means Angelina will be there for what? 2 more episodes? 3 max? God I admire that girl's work ethic...

Ronnie, overwhelmed by the stress of having to work and have girl drama decides that he wants to "do something crazy" and wants "to feel pain," so he decides to get a tattoo on his ribs and asks Sammi to come for moral support. Next week he dyes his hair black, calls his mom a bitch to her face and gets his period. I'm pretty sure it's a double episode, so, get excited for that.

But all of this pales in comparison to hailstorm of drama Angelina showers upon the house later that night. Ohhhh Angelina, Angelina, Angelina...you, girlfriend, are a mess. And I love every single second of it. You see, Angelina isn't a girl's girl. Angelina is the kind of girl who only hangs out with guys because girls always hate her for some reason. (That reason? Jealousy. Obvs.) I have a theory in life that when a girl can't get along with other girls, it's generally a giant red flag that she's bat shit crazy. I appreciate Angelina for exemplifying this theory perfectly. Because you see, Angelina is a Lone Wolf. In life, girls are either Lone Wolves or members of packs (even if that pack is small). Girls who travel in packs have enough social skill to develop and sustain relationships with their pack-mates, whereas Lone Wolves can't (enter Red Flag of Crazy). Instead, Lone Wolves travel solo, relying on being able to sneakily insert themselves into packs of guys based on being That Girl who's cool because she talks about farts and loves Scarface.

In a way, her thinking is understandable: "These guys will think I'm cool. SO COOL, that they'll want to put their dick in me!" The problem here is that guys very rarely want to put their dick in the Cool Girl who talks about farts and loves Scarface. Why? Because that girl, more often than not, is fucking crazy. And people generally do not want to put their dick in people who are crazy. I should know.

Case in point: Angelina goes out to dinner with the boys and is a total smug pug about how she's the only girl who the guys hang out with. Later that night at the clerb, Angelina sees Pauly D making out with some random girl and leaves with her number. Once back at the house, her Cool Girl facade fades and her crazy Lone Wolf-ness emerges. She stumbles around the house crying, professing her love to Pauly D, telling him that she'd marry him and just generally making everyone uncomfortable until she slaps Pauly D across the face when he tells her that he's not interested. These are not the actions of a "cool girl." These are the actions of a Lone, crazy, mangy, one-eyed, foaming at the mouth from rabies, emotionally unstable, Wolf. And it's a god damn shame, a waste of a good spray tan and it makes me sick every single time.

In the end, The Situation and Pauly D tell Angelina that they're done with her because she's officially too crazy to hang out with, she now has ZERO friends in the house and she should probably go ask Ronnie for his My Chemical Romance CD collection and x-acto blades.

FIN.