the ocean

I'm not going to sugarcoat this: I've started watching Vanderpump Rules. There was a time when I swore off all things housewife-related, viewing them as a sign of the downfall of civilization. Then I realized that civilization is toast no matter what, so we might as well enjoy laughing at rich drunk old ladies. It started with New York, because I really thought Countess Luann had a future as a singles artist, and soon expanded into Beverly Hills, because I remember Eileen Davidson from when she was playing six characters (including a man) and rocking a Mariah Carey perm on Days of Our Lives in the nineties. Then I found myself dipping into Atlanta occasionally because, well, those women have better one liners than your average episode of Kevin Can Wait. And now, well, Vanderpump.

It's insane. It's legitimately insane. All fucking and fighting, basically. There's a lot of time spent in a dirty alley behind the restaurant where everyone smokes and screams at each other. This is a workplace where the phrase "can I talk to you for a minute" is always a terrifying harbringer of things to come. And Lisa Vanderpump, who has to be in her sixties judging by the amount of gauze they put over the camera when they film her, presides over staff meetings where she resolved disputes about who is a ghetto-ass bitch and who is a slut. You know, business stuff.

Jax is possibly the worst person in the world, and yet he somehow plays it off as charming. I'm pretty sure Stassi is genuinely evil incarnate, and yet also somehow my spirit animal. Tom is kind of gross and sweaty, Kristin looks like a cartoon seahorse, and Katie never should have done that to her hair. That about covers it. Oh, and Ariana. I'm only on season two, so she's only just entered our lives, but already I think I love her. Clearly, I am a sick person.