Aw HELL NO

The most horrifying thing to befall Italy since Berlusconi is now looming in the distant future. This threat will stir fear in the hearts of Italian men, women, and children (and gelato-eating tourist) alike.

Yes, this apocalyptic day is upon us. According to TMZ plans to shoot season 4 of The Jersey Shore in Italy are well-underway; visa preparations apparently started two months ago. The exact location for this insanity is not known yet, but the possibilities are running through my mind like a cheetah on crack.

Florence? Venice? Rome? A tiny village in Tuscany whose peace will be forever destroyed by the late-night cries of a smoosh or the frustrations of a futile search for a tanning salon?

I don't know how I feel about this. On one hand, it could be televison gold. I spent my freshman year in Florence entertained by the drunken adventures of most of the student population which seems to have taken over the city. There were countless attempts to speak Italian gone extremely awry: "Dovay ill DOO-OMO?"(Where is the Duomo) Me and my friends were asked this question in downtown Florence, which is quite small, so the shadow of the Duomo is seen from practically everywhere and is really not that hard to find.

On the other hand, I cringe to think of the countless cultural faux-pas that they'll undoubtedly embark on. As we know, Italy isn't exactly fond of our band of guido's and guidettes. This will undoubtedly just make things a whole lot worse. I'm predicting the country will give them a collective BITCH-SLAP when they try to speak the language, or worse, extol their Gym/Tan/Laundry philosophies. And seeing the Situation hit on girls is nausea-inducing in English, can you imagine how bad it will be in Italian?

I don't know if I'm quite ready for this despite my extensive reality TV training.

Haunted Housewives

I'm having some kind of post-traumatic reaction to the other night's epic finale of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. This is not the first time in Housewives history that there's been a spectacular display of female vindictiveness and all-around bitchery.

Let's recall fondly: Danielle Staub's weave-being-pulled fiasco, Kim Zolciak's claim that Nene Leakes tried to strangle her, Caroline's restaurant-show-down with Danielle, not to mention, Theresa's rabid lunge for Danielle during the New Jersey Reunion. These are just a few examples. (...and I've officially lost any shred of self-respect for myself due to my knowledge of these inconsequential facts.)

But last night's fight between Kim and Kyle was a different animal. I felt a little bad even watching it, being privy to such an intense verbal (and kind of physical) stand-off seemed a little voyeuristic. (On the other hand, watching Camille Grammer trying to conjure up a tear was, while sad, less bone-chilling.)

Here's a clip of the fight from the finale, which I feel bad even reposting because it's so brutal:
              

I've drawn a diagram to elucidate all the fighting.

That furry thing is Giggy, the dog.

Now that I feel  pathetic and depraved for wasting any fraction of my time on that hideousness, I'll dive into the insanities of the finale. There was some frivolous drama about the fight in New York that escalated into the mother of all sibling fights. Kyle cornered Kim in a limo and they exchanged puzzling and flat-out mean barbs, except Kim was clearly frightened by a head-swiveling ANGRY Kyle. And it ended with a terribly sad shot of Kim crying in the back of the Limo. 

This craziness brings me to the question, WHY on earth are we, as a culture, so unbelievably entertained by watching women fight? (I know I am) I tried to ask my great guru of knowledge, Google, and I was only confronted by this EQUALLY unanswerable question:

There are so many mysteries in this universe. We may never know the answers.

Delusion Bread Pudding

I don't want to step into the TV-Criticism territory of my friend over at iamjudgmental.blogspot.com, but recently I've become fairly certain that Bravo is trying to ruin my life, self-esteem, and questionable "intellect."

For example, I was held hostage for a period of 12 hours by something called "Top Chef"- and it wasn't even the most recent season, it was season 3, which was a bajillion years ago. (They're now at Season 8, so my math is a little shaky, obviously)

Yes, I watched that show for the ENTIRE DAY and for some of the night. Was I proud of myself at the end? No. But Top Chef in such lethal quantities did impart me with a lingering affliction- it allowed me to believe that I can cook. This delusion is very dangerous. And it's all Season 3 and All Star contestant Tre's fault.

In Season 3, Apple Bread Pudding was the cause of his demise. Today, it will most likely be the cause of mine. During the "Restaurant Wars" episode, he was all "I can make bread pudding in my sleep," then, he failed. But then, hail the comeback gods! He completely redeemed himself in the All Stars season with this:

It's called Southwestern Bread Pudding. And it's apparently spicy and wonderful. It makes me want to siiiiiing this song:

So then, I decided to make my own Redemption Bread Pudding. With some old chocolate cake and loads of heavy cream. We'll see how it turns out, my cats seem very interested in it which could be a good sign or a very bad one.

I'm hoping this obsession will fizzle out, just like my Project Runway obsession- I know, it's now on Lifetime, but really it should still be on Bravo. (Heidi Klum's voice saying, "You are Out. Auf Wiedersehen," echoed in my head for weeks during that difficult time.)

These delusions don't just apply to Top Chef. Project Runway makes me believe I can sew together two pieces of cloth. The Rachel Zoe makes me believe I have some sanity and that I know the proper use of the word literally and the Real Housewives of BeverlyHillsAtlantaNewJerseyNewYork usually just makes me believe that I have a brain but should get martial-arts lessons to defend myself against potential hair-ripping attacks (that goes for Jersey Shore too).

And the best part? Most of the women/men/children/everyone else on these shows suffer from increidble self-aggrandizing delusions of their own. Kim Zolciak thinks she can sing- that's all I have to say. Time to eat my pudding of delusion.