You Know What Ruffles My Feathers?: The Oddly Specific Edition

This may come as a surprise but I actually sympathize with The Gay's struggle for equal marriage. Not so much because I want to marry someone of the same gender, but more-so because I too am in a relationship that Johnny Law refuses to recognize. You see I want to marry a television show. And that television show is MTV's "True Life."

If you've never heard of MTV's "True Life", you might as well just kill yourself because your life has been a sick, sick joke up until now. According to imdb.com, "'True Life' follows three unique persons in their everyday situations, and documents the problems and goals they face." According to Meg McBlogger, "'True Life' is an ocular orgasm that is, and continues to be the only reason I wake up in the morning."

I love "True Life" because no matter what topic they're exploring or what year it was filmed in, it's always vaguely 2001-ish, everyone is slightly white trash and from Florida, and there's just so much...denim. And emotions. I mean, that's what I call real reality television right there. You can keep your Speidi's and your perfectly coiffed "City" cast and your what have you's. I'll take brassy highlights, a pack of Newports and an outfit from Fashion Bug any day of the week.

The only other person I've met who truly understands my obsession with "True Life" is Ex Co-Blogger Chris. When we lived together, I'd estimate a good 65% of our Saturday nights started out with turning on a "True Life" marathon as background noise when we got ready, and ended with the two of us grossly overdressed, eating DiGiorno pizzas we got at the gas station across the street and spooning on the futon in our fifth straight hour of "True Life: I Hate My Face". And you know what? Those nights were fun, drunk and inexpensive. You show me a problem with that and I will show you Gideon Yago's home phone number.

I wish I could say that I love every episode of "True Life", but it's just not so. While I love most episodes—TL: I'm a Southern Bell; TL: I I Have Embarrassing Parents (1 and 2); TL: I'm Driving While Black; TL: I'm in a Polyamorous Relationship; TL: I'm an Urban Cheerleader...I mean why even attempt to make a list? That could be a post in and of itself—there remains one episode that I can't fucking stand. One episode that not matter how many times I sit down and force myself to watch it (and Lord knows I have), I can not make it through the entire episode. So, you know what ruffles my feathers? MTV's "True Life: I Work In the Sex Industry".

TL:IWITSI follows three young people: Aaron, a straight guy who happens to be a gay pornstar; Shawntelle, a college student who has a campus radio show about her sex life; and Rebekah, the office manager of a porn production company. I don't know if MTV cast this episode on a Friday before a 3-day weekend, but all of these plot lines seem insultingly half-assed to me. I mean, Aaron's legit, I have no problem with him, but Shawntelle and Rebekah? Really, MTV? You couldn't find anyone willing to talk to you who was slightly more established in the sex industry than those two? I mean, when I think about people who work in the Sex Industry, prostitutes, doms, strippers and fetishists come to mind. Not sophomores at Cal State Long Beach who want more attention. Are you seriously trying to tell me that the same production company who found three people willing to shoot up heroin on camera couldn't find one measly grad student with a whip, a Craigslist account and an open-mind? Shit, you could have called me and I'd have given you Ex Co-Blogger Eddie's number and saved us all some time and stress.

I reiterate that I have no problem with Aaron's plot line (his uncle disowns him—compelling!) but whatever film crew followed Shawntelle around with a camera for a month straight deserves the Congressional Medal of Honor. Because we all went to college with Shawntelle. Maybe it wasn't that Shawntelle, but it was a Shawntelle. I took Gender in Society my sophomore year of college (because AU is the gayest institution of higher learning in America so it was obviously a Gen Ed,) and my Shawntelle was in that class. I forget her name, but she was the campus newspaper's sex columnist and she raised her hand at least 10 times a class to share a story from her vast library of personal sexcapades.

Our professor—who I hated: Briana Weadock—was all about sharing, so class participation was an obnoxious 15% of our final grade. (She obviously loved Shawntelle.) I, on the other hand, ended up getting an A- in the class that should have been an A, but was bumped down because I never shared. My not sharing had nothing to do with my academic competence in that class. I wrote a damn good paper applying the theory of Docile Bodies to Hedwig's on and off-stage body language in Hedwig and the Angry Inch and it was was like a bukkake film of gender studies buzzwords and meticulously spun bullshit. She loved it. But I ended up getting an A- in the class because I didn't want to share. Oh, I'm sorry; it's 8:30 in the morning. Sorry if I don't want to raise my hand and tell you about the time I french kissed my best friend at field hockey camp. Christ.

Rebeckah infuriates me on so many levels that I have to break it down into numerical points to keep my thoughts straight. This is what the True Life: I Work in the Sex Industry synopsis has to say about Rebekah:

Rebekah loves her job for a company that produces amateur-style X-rated videos. Unfortunately, she fears that guys don't think of her as relationship material because of her career. Tired of being alone, Rebekah sets out to find a man who will love her for who she is. She tries Speed Dating, but all the guys there have the typical response of assuming she's only interested in sex and nothing more. Next, Rebekah attends a porn convention for work and hopes she might find a boyfriend in the industry. Unfortunately, the only cute guys are the gay porn stars. She is able to find a cute new girl to star in her company's movies, which leads to getting her own office. But even with all her success, Rebekah wishes she had someone to share her joy with.

1.) You are on office manager. If "working in the sex industry" is wreaking so much havoc on your personal life, maybe you should stop defining your job as "in the sex industry". Perhaps instead tell a gentleman friend that you're an "office assistant" or an "administrator". Because you "are". The "Did you know I work in the Sex Industry??" card might be more of a third date kind of thing.

2.) You don't even technically work in the sex industry! When I worked for Soap Opera Digest and people asked me what I did, I didn't tell them that I was "in soaps" or "in the entertainment industry." Why? Because they would obviously assume that I was an actress and then we'd have to have an uncomfortable conversation about how I wasn't an actress, I was just a low-level layout artist at the nation's foremost soap opera publication. And that's embarrassing. So instead I'd say, "Oh, I'm a graphic designer." "Oh really, where?" "Ack. It's kind of embarrassing, but Soap Opera Digest." "Ha ha, really? That's so kitschy." "I know, right?" "Yes. We should have sex." "Agreed. "

See? See how that went? And when you're taking pick-up advice from Meg McBlogger, you know you're in trouble.

3.) Do you know what reader @cortmccoy tweeted me today? This image:

A lot of IT departments block this blog because of its "Adult Content." If the blog is written by me and about my life, that means that I am the creator and source of the offensive Adult Content in question. I don't work supporting the Adult Content, I am the Adult Content. Thus I conclude that this means I am more qualified to tell people that I work in the sex industry than you are. (And not that I write a blog about fart jokes and emotions.) Just. Say. Office. Administrator.

4.) The speed-dating scene is so infuriating, I want to stab myself in the eye with freshly sharpened pencils every time I try to watch it. This is an actual conversation that transpires between her and one of her dates:

Date: So what do you do?

Rebekah: I work in porn.

Date: Oh! So you're like...a porn star?

Rebekah: No I'm an office assistant. I don't like, fuck on camera for money or anything.

Date: Oh. [And I swear to god he says this] Normally when I meet people for the first time I try to, like, make a good first impression.

Rebekah: Oh.

Sir, I have no desire to live in the greater Los Angeles area, but I will absolutely date you for more than 10 minutes.

5.) When speed-dating fails, Rebekah decides to throw a party in her apartment and asks her friends to bring single guys to set her up with. Unfortunately, her friends (who all look like they've been dipped by the heels into a Hot Topic...) don't know any single guys, so she ends up getting wasted, locking herself in the bathroom with two guys (who judging by their awkward body language are only casual acquaintances,) cries and refers to herself as "totally doable." I mean, this episode would have made way more sense if it was called, True Life: I'm That Girl.

6.) I hate to be cruel, but don't you think part of the reason why guys don't think you're good relationship material isn't because you "work in the sex industry," but because you look like this:

I know I'm single, but it's my understanding that guys don't want to wake up in the morning and roll over to see a candy-coated rave explosion on the pillow next to them. Unless I've been doing it wrong, which is highly possible.

I'm going to tell you a story. When I was in college, I decided that I wanted to have pink streaks in my hair. I went to the salon where my mom goes in Bethesda and asked them to do it, but they judged the shit out of me instead and refused. Dedicated to the cause, I found a sprite gay man in the city who'd do it for me and once a month for the next six months, we'd get high and experiment with my hair color until one day he disappeared and moved to Barcelona. Now, this story not only accounts for why I had pink streaks in my hair for about a month or so in college, it also explains why I look like a raging meth addict in my passport picture with a glassy eyes and cheap platinum blonde hair.

My point is: look at your life. Look at your choices. Ask yourself if any of it sounds slightly out of place.

Now, I'll be filling merchandise orders at 2 o'clock in the morning for my Adult Content-based blog before I go to my minimum wage retail job in the morning, should you need me.

Sk8r Bois & Pplz Rev0lushN

I don't even want to talk about the fact that I had to work an 11-hour day on Friday. But I did. So that's out there. BUT considering that ungodly kernel of truth, I 100% percent lost track of time this weekend, and with Monday being a holiday (which I did not have to work, thank the good lord on high), I almost forgot about Kell on Earth. I got all caught up in the Olympics, and then my DVR informed me I had to either: stop watching the Olympics or cancel recording either Kell on Earth or Hoarders. Considering Kell on Earth is my anti-drug drug and Hoarders keeps me from ferreting away used tissues and vintage medical equipment, the choice was clear. Obviously I was going to watch Kell on Earth (so I could save Hoarders for a day when my apartment gets a little left of messy as inspiration to throw shit away) and I was not disappointed. To the minions!

Well, first and foremost, Hottie Timtern Tim had FAR TOO LITTLE face time this episode. Alfred Hitchcock got more face time in his movies than Tim got in this episode and that is not ok. First,

he gets summoned to do some menial task, and you hear someone (I presume it was Emily because she was getting a lot of face time this episode) yell "INTERN!" at which I yelled back "HIS NAME IS TIM, BITCH!"

Next, he's hiding out in the wild

and gets yelled at for bringing a banana leaf plant in place of a palm tree. Because we're suppose to know the difference? He's an fashion intern, not a horticulturist. Cut the guy some slack.

I did notice that in each instance of being summoned, he did some dramatic Phil of the Future double take (which my cell phone screen caps really fail to capture) which only made him more adorable. Sigh.

Blanyway, Stephanie V is an idiot, and there's really no two ways around that. I'm getting powerful tired of watching her not know how to use a spreadsheet, then apologize profusely. While it's great that she's being accountable for her mistakes, it's not so great that everything she's asked to do ends up wrong. At one point, she tells the camera "Everyone likes me except for Emily," which a) is not true, because I certainly don't like you and that, my children, is why we don't use blanket statements and b) it's not that Emily doesn't like you, it's that you are legitimately handicapable when it comes to performing your job correctly and I'd be fed up with you too. There are only so many ways that I can tell you Steph V doesn't know her ass from her elbow, so I'm just going to end it there and pray that she is one of the two people Bravo promised me will be getting fired next week.

Like I said earlier, Emily got a lot of face time this episode, which was a nice change of pace, though she's rocking a severe bang in alot of her confessionals that for some reason makes me think of that movie Orphan. [Editor's note: OH HEY GUYS! CHECK OUT MY NEW BLUNT-CUT BANGS I GOT LAST FRIDAY! Oh...Awkward...] Regardless, Emily was handling the Nicolas Petrou show (more on that wackness in a bit), and this made me realize she is literally a giantess. Or everyone else is around her is a Lilliputian. Regardless, she is one tall glass of bitch. And aside from handling her scandal at the Petrou show, she really just bitched out Steph V all episode. I mean, more power to her. One thing though that I cannot get behind, was this outfit:

Something about the semi-homemade jean shorts made me vaguely nauseous. Or maybe it was her walking home in the dead of night through graffitied streets yammering away on speakerphone. If she had passed under my window, she'd have gotten a bottle of Jack Daniels straight to the back of the head. (Lies, I'd never waste liquor like that.) I think she was complaining about how she has no personal time because of her job, but then she walked into her ballin' apartment in Williamsburg and any shred of sympathy I felt for the girl took a nosedive off of her riverside view balcony.

Oh fun fact: Ava is going to school! So that's cute. Also, Kelly and Ava went for a little stroll around the neighborhood and ended up on the It's a Small World ride at Disney when they ran into their old dog on the streets of Tribeca. Long story short, Kell gave their dog, Cocoa, to their nanny's daughter on Staten Island and two lesbian painters who live 4 blocks away from Kelly later adopted it. And Cocoa was owned by Kelly, who was in the Hills with Lauren Conrad, who played herself in Epic Movie with Crispin Glover, who was in Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle with Demi Moore, who was in A Few Good Men with Kevin Bacon.

It's time for fashion.

The Nicolas Petrou show was, in a word, bizarre. According to the designer everything is super wearable...if you're a ninja trying to blend into a Magic Eye art exhibit. His collection consisted of patterned body condoms...oh and there were clothes involved too, if you could take your eyes off the Jabbawockeez costuming for a hot minute. Kelly seemed to like it...or at least she liked the models. For sers, Kelly had a 2 minute monologue about how it's so unfair that she's a 45-year-old troll and has to work with these 19-year-old skater boy models. I could not for the life of me work in a parody to Avril Lavigne's Sk8r Boi in which Kelly plays a prominent role, but if you can, feel free to leave it in the comments. [Editor's note: ON IT:

He was a boy
She's Kell Cutrone
Can I make it any more obvious?
His balls haven't dropped
She likes statutory prey
What more can I say?
He wanted her
To take off his mask
An eyelash was all up in that ocular-ass
She picked it out
And zipped him back up
Looks like Mama Wolf has another young pup

He was a Sk8r Boi
She said come back later, boy
I'm gonna clean my caftans on your washboard gut
He was like, "K, sounds good bro.
Wear something from the Agent Provocateur show,"
This song is getting long
I should have put it behind an HTML cut

God damnit. That was considerably harder than I thought it would be. Back to Chris.]

Anywhoodle, after the show the designer got all snarky with Emily about Women's Wear Daily and she mentally backhanded him for being flippant. Then she stalked out of the showroom in either: J-Woww inspired heavily bleached jeans OR B.Spear's inspired lace applique jeans. Either way, ugly.

The second fashion show was the Agent Provocateur show, which should have made this episode NC-17. During casting, K.Cut tells the models if they have a problem with "nipples, boobies, bras and ass" that they better pack up and go home now. SHE WAS NOT KIDDING. Agent Provocateur's fashion show was just barely considered decent. My personal favorite outfit, which I didn't take a picture of because I wasn't sure how I'd explain it to my bf if he saw it on my phone, was a white "bra" that basically just cupped the models boobs complete with white pasties covering the nipples. I think there may have been a string attaching the pasties? I'm not 100% sure. I was equal parts transfixed and aroused. Also, you know you watch too much television when you recognize two of the models in casting as previous contestants on ANTM (Lisa from cycle 9 and Megg from cycle 7). I embarrass even myself.

But no episode of Kell would be complete without drama!

And was there ever dram. This episode was all about the recession in the fashion industry, as both Nicolas Petrou and the Agent Provocateur show were on a shoestring budget. Everyone's trying to cut costs here and there, and Petrou went the route of stiffing People's Rev their money, claiming that the show was bungled. OH. SNAP. Kelly decides to keep his images from his show AND she updated her facebook status to let everyone know what an a-hole he is. So you know this means war. Or court. Or both?

As far as Agent Provocateur is concerned, I don't know how it happened (because I was exchanging giggly text message with Meg about Tim) but PR lost the original location for the show. So they scrambled last minute and wound up at the SoHo Grant hotel. But of course the rep for AP was in desperate need of a Xanax during the planning for the show. And "everything was wrong" and "no one cared about how the show would look". The last person who can be complaining about how something looks is a woman rocking a stringy mullet and cargo pants. Once PR tranq'd the AP rep, all was well and good and Tim the Intern hid behind a banana leaf planet getting a boner.

DVR buster! My God, this was the most worthless 30 seconds of time every recorded to television. Emily got fed up with some girl smacking her gum. So the girl went downstairs! Isn't that wacky?! However, it did give us this gift:

Hint: That poncho better be under my Christmas tree this year.

SO. Next week, two people are getting fired. And my money is on Steph V. Christ, it had better be her and not two random interns. And it had definitely not be Tim. In any event, thanks for reading!

Recrap Tuesday: MAKEOVER, MAKEOVER! MAKEOVER, MAKEOVER! MAKEOVER, MAKEOVER, MAKEOVER (YEA YEA YEA!) FOR YOU AND MEEEEEEEE!

I've got a confession to make. I cannot sit down and think about the title "Kell on Earth" without immediately breaking into Belinda Carlisle's "Heaven is a Place on Earth." Is it because the last two words of both titles is the same? Is it because I have a penchant for 80's pop music and public relations? It's all of that and more. To the minions!

This episode Stephanie Voorhees saw a lot of action. Stephanie V is that girl you knew in high school/college/post-college who has the perfect life. She's pretty, she's smart, her family's loaded, she's athletic. Her biggest problem was not being able to find her car keys that one time, only to realize they were in her jacket pocket all along. So when Steph V comes across something she doesn't understand or doesn't have the time for, she breaks. That's basically what happened this episode: Steph V gets a task that would be difficult if she were a toddler, Steph V fumbles the task, Steph V doesn't know how to handle making a mistake. A short list of things Steph V can't do: make phone calls, check voicemails, stamp envelopes, label bags, prepare gift bags, not wear yellow, get sympathy from Kelly.

Stephanie Skinner on the other hand, knows how to do everything, which causes her to overwork, freak out, and just be generally monotone and miserable. She did, however, take two hours off from work in the weirdest scene ever. She and Andrew (Andrew S, I think? Whichever one is short, tan, lispy, and tired) waltz into some random salon and Andrew starts dying Spitter's hair like he owns the place. Not one word is said to a proprietor. All we know is that Andrew once worked in salon in LA. I wasn't aware that working in one salon gave you license to cut/dye/wash hair in any salon in our fair nation. Anyway, Spitter goes from this:

to this

i.e. not much improvement.

Andrew M. flew under the radar this episode, dialogue-wise. I started to get a little nervous that he trotted out all the crazy in episode one. Sir, you did not disappoint. And I hope you have stock in Hot Topic and a mesh company, because otherwise you are missing out on a prime money-making venture, considering how you single handedly keep both of those businesses in the black.

First he wore a tasteful asymmetrical number (which he may have borrowed from Spitter in the above picture. Or vice versa. I don't know their lives.)

Then, he donned an otherwise normal white button up shirt, that he put his Andrew flair on by taking the Afghan my nana knit for a funeral gift, cutting a hole in the top and calling it a sweater.

Finally, and this was my personal favorite, this...thing? It looks like a figure skater had sex with a Medieval Knight wearing a football jersey.

I would be lying if I said I didn't cheer out loud when he came on screen wearing this. I appreciate that he has the sense to tame the mesh portion of the top before it hits his nipples and shit starts getting inappropriate for work.

Andrew adds so much to my daily life. I should write him a thank you letter.

Finally, we meet Intern Tim. The only intern who has gotten hardcore face time so far. Which is fair, because I'd do something hardcore to his face if given the chance. [Editor's note: OH SHIT!] He looks like any other bro in the fashion business (i.e. out of place) until he speaks in his amazing Irish accent. Which makes him even more out of place, but I stopped caring about most things while Tim was talking. I think he was a business major? And wanted to get into PR? For all I know, the world ended in the 30 seconds Tim was speaking directly to me. (I didn't have the presence of mind to snap a picture, because I was 100% transfixed by his accent. And I'm not even sorry about it.)

I do know that Kelly spoke to Tim's mother on the phone, because if there's one thing Kelly loves more than lighting incense and sage, it's getting involved in her employee's personal lives.

Minor: There is a cute clip of Ava getting dressed for school, where Kelly picks out these cute little girl, first-day-of-school dresses, but Ava decides to put on what I called an "urban mumu" in my dress that looked like it was printed with a picture of Jesus and had a hood.

Let's get down to fashion:

The much talked about Chado Ralph Rucci (Shallow Far Tooshy?) pre-show was a borderline disaster, due to the botched seating assignments from last week. (More on that in a minute.) The fashion show itself was kind of cool (but seriously lacking in the fringe entrance department). I didn't really take much notice of the clothing, because there was nothing so terrible or jarring that it caught my eye. All nice clothing, but I guess that's to be expected from a couture designer?

The second fashion of the episode was the Genetic Denim presentation, which I thought was really interesting and had no idea stuff like that happened. The design of the showroom was really cool, even though the designer blatantly ripped off Lady Gaga's Bad Romance video for the design of the Rain Room. It was sort of like a fun house of fashion, but with less carnies and more half naked models. Except the designer explained he wanted the show to be an auto-erotic experience and I thought "Why have a show when you can just stay home and masturbate for the same result? Duh. It is a recession after all." And if I never hear the word jeggings again, it will be too soon. A girl I work with wears jeggings, but honestly, I thought it was just an Asian thing, not something that was big in fashion right now. Who knew nerds were so fashion forward?

So the dramz of this episode:

Like I said before the Chateau Rafucci pre-show was horrendous because of the seating assignment list issues from last episode. Try as they might to remedy the situation, the People's Rev team couldn't hold up to the stream of party crashers, invitation usurpers and seat stealers. (There is a special place in Hell for these people who make up their own rules.) I understand their concern about the seating, though. How else will Kelly be able to figure out who is going to die when she has a Final Destination style premonition of some horrible accident at the Ralph Rucci show? It makes sense.

Blanyway, due to the aforementioned people who make up their own rules, (at one point, Kelly had to kick this man out of a seat he didn't belong in, while being very polite and saying "I'm sorry but you have to move." And the man replied with, "You should be sorry." NO. SIR. THAT'S NOT YOUR SEAT.), the seating for the show was a disaster. Something must have been said after Kelly dramatically signaled to the cameraman to stop filming. So instead of us finding out what went wrong, we get a slow fade to black which really ruins the dramatic arc of this storyline. We do know, however, that Ralph Rooch is big old diva, and he flipped his shit and had Kelly fired the next day.

The dramz does not stop there. No, the Genetic Denim had it's share of problems too. First, the interns were supposed to prepare gift bags for the press attending the Genetic Denim show. Someone's brill idea was to write the labels left-handed in Black sharpie on gigantic leftover shopping bags from T.J. Maxx. I blame Steph V, because there's no way my boy Tim was at fault here. Kelly kirks out and sends the interns away. But when they come back to redo the task, they do it the exact same way. Kelly has a Joan Crawford/Mommy Dearest moment (No more black Sharpies EVER!!!!) and folds a pair of jeans in tissue paper. (This drama was never fully resolved, as I don't believe K. Cutrone really re-did all the bags herself.)

But the big issue at hand was at the Genetic Denim show, where a model in the Rain Room just outright keels over like a domino. For some completely ridiculous reason, the cameraman did not get this on film (like season 2 of Survivor when that guy fell into the fire, but there is no videographic evidence of it), which leads me to believe this cameraman got fired that same day. However, I imagine it looked something like this:
http://www.gifsoup.com/view/168830/faint.html
Anyway, 911 is called, but the firemen that show up are NOT the ones from the calendar, so Kelly asks them to stand somewhere dark and away from the pretties. Likewise, those pesky flashing lights on the ambulance are totally ruining the serene atmosphere of the show, so could we please shut them off? Also, don't use your siren as you drive away, because the zen in this show is really fragile. And could you please change out of that garish outfit you call a uniform before you set foot inside my fashion sanctuary? In short, Kelly holds it down at the fashion show, for realsies, and the designer is satisfied. Even with fainting models.

DVR buster: For some reason, Kelly was handing out Swarovski crystal like they were Mentos, and some id fashion editor straight up swallows his because "he thought it was a pill." A) Does Kelly regularly hand out pills to people? B) Did that man look down at his hand and say, "That sure is one sparkly pill! This will be a trip!" before swallowing it? C) I just. don't. understand.

In summary, this episode was heavy on the drama and light on the Intern Tim. If we could switch that up next week, I'd really appreciate that. Or if we want to stay heavy on the drama, can we give Intern Tim his own show. Or I'll give Intern Tim his own show. In my pants. HIOOOOOOOO

Recap Tuesday: Kell on Earth is Heaven on Earth (META!)

Last night Kell on Earth premiered on Bravo, and it did NOT disappoint. Lord have mercy, Kelly Cutrone is something else. After helping LC out on The Hills and Whitney Port on The City, the world has finally wised up and given her her own show. And luckily for us, Kell on Earth has infinitely less: staring, stock footage, and emo music and more usage of the words: "Fuck" "fashion" and "export".

And real people. Not fake, done up for television, "look at us we're pretty and we work here" employees (Olivia Palerms, we're looking at you). The first shots we get of the whole People's Revolution group is at a company meeting where Kelly talked about fashion or something that I couldn't pay attention to BECAUSE THERE WERE SO MANY FASHION CONUNDRUMS IN ONE ROOM. Leaving Kelly out of this, because she can get away with wearing a tribal caftan and no makeup, I counted: a mesh top, a Canadian tuxedo, rumpled formal shorts (or possibly a romper), and to top it all off, Kelly's business partner Robyn or "Snow White with razor blades" wore this lovely ill-fitting denim...

romper maybe? possibly strapless minidress? I'm not sure but it makes her looks like Saggy McWhiteTrash. Let's just call it a denim piece.

I'm not quite sure exactly what went on plotwise for the first 10 minutes of the show because I was 100% gawking at the terrible clothing being jammed down my gullet. Specifically Andrew M (but more on him in a minute). I did, however, glean that Kelly does not let anyone cry in the office, because the fashion industry is not nice and we can't throw pity parties whenever someone makes you feel bad. Sound advice. Most likely foreshadowing. But foreshadowing for what?

Anyway, let's meet Kelly's minions.

First there are her business partners Robyn (of ill-fitting denim number fame) and Emily (of owning the fact that she's a bitch within the first thirty seconds of this show fame because we can't have a reality TV show without that type of girl.) Aside from Emily's mini-intro at the beginning of the episode, we don't see much of her.

Robyn, however, we find out lives and works in the People's Revolution building (just like Kelly!) but unlike Ms. Cutrone, Robyn lives in the backroom of a showroom because she shadily had to move out of one apartment and didn't have time to find a new one. I wonder how that conversation was broached at work when it was decided she would live there. "Here's that fax you wanted. By the way, 5th floor showroom, mind if I put a futon in there? Nope? Great, I'll be up there macking on Lean Cuisines and watching Designing Women if you need me." This might explain why at some points she looks done up and other times she's lounging around work in track pants. I guess when you're office is your house, you kind of veg out alot?

Then there's Stephanie Skinner, but I can't hear anything but Spitter when she is referred to on screen. Spitter was Kelly's assistant but has just been promoted and is trying to "run with the big wolves" or something other mixed metaphor. She's basically an inoffensive quasi-hipster, except for when she channels Courtney Love at her most drugged out.

That picture gives me nightmares. Anyway, she's just sitting on a rainbow, trying to make it if she can. But she doesn't think she can. But she will not resort to taking Ativan to help her focus. So I guess she's not channeling C.Love?

Andrew M. What can we say about Andrew M? Frankly, I respect the hell out of Kelly for hiring him specifically because he wasn't a perky, blonde girl looking to get into the fashion business. But he is a sartorial...something. Nightmare comes to mind, but I'm borderline fascinated by him. In the first hour of this series, he has worn:

LOTS of black mesh,

An asymmetrical shirt which, in my notes I just wrote: OMG WHAT?! ONE SLEEVE MAN SHIRT?! because I could not wrap my head around it. But then he wore a floor-length sequined gown for the David Delfin show

as well as a flannel shirt. And I realized that the asymmetric shirt probably wasn't bought in the men's section.

And finally a less-offensive, but still blinding neon pink flashdance number.

(There are matching pants involved, which of course there are matching pants.)

Obvi he's gay, but I'm confused about whom he hopes to attract looking like a damn fool. Also I would throw up if my boss ever told me she was "actively looking for a sexual partner" for me even if that boss was Kelly Cutrone. I almost passed out the other day when I fumbled and told my boss I was extremely hungover because I had gotten blackout the night before. Forget about fishing for menfolk from our office window. (And who said Jersey Shore never taught anyone a lesson?) Blanyway, Andrew develops a crush on a model at the David Delfin show, and Kelly tries to hook it up, because she's kind of amazing. Unfortunately the model is already taken (obviously) WAMP WAMP. I'm not exactly a ten myself (I'd be generous and say I'm a solid 4) (Editor's note: BULL. SHIT. If I recall correctly, there was a flock of girls around Co-Blogger Chris at Jäger Ball telling him he could be a "Ralph Lauren model" versus the AN person who told me I was a quote, "7 or 8, I guess." So don't start with me, Chris. Don't start. Because I'll finish it. And it will involve a mesh top.), so who am to judge, but I know enough to tell when someone is out of my league. And I'm not even wearing a sequined gown (today). I have a sinking feeling we're going to have to watch Andrew fumble around for a sex life at least three more times this season and I don't think I'm comfortable with that.

There are some minor characters who don't really matter much right now and they are:

Stephanie V who loves the color yellow and tried to manufacture some drama about the showroom setup for David Delfin which is far too boring to get into. #Dramafail.

Andrew S who is like an Oompa Loompa version of Barry Manilow in a pill-pushing, lisp-talking, homosexual package.

Ava, who is Kelly's daughter and is 7 yrs old, loves peace signs, hearts, and is a diva about where she sits for fashion shows. I found the scenes where Kelly was being a mom 110% adorable, and the fact that she was baking for Ava made me love Kelly a little more, if that's possible.

and Nana, who is Kelly's personal Aunt Jemima.

Enough small talk: it's fashion time.

So that lame showroom scuffle mentioned above was the segue into the Fashion #1: David Delfin show (of Andrew's sequined dress fame). I don't know what to say about the show, because Kelly and everyone else oh-faced about Delfin's designs but I just saw alot of seafoam green and simple lines. I guess that's the point? To make me think about my friend Casie's old Nokia cell phone? The one thing I can say that I loved was the fringe the models walked through to enter/exit the runway. I would pay good money to make every door I ever walk through again just a mess of fringe like that. (At least I hope it was fringe and not paper, because that'd give you a shitload of papercuts, walking through that shit twice.)

Fashion #2 was the much talked about Chado Ralph Rucci show. I cannot tell you how long it took me to figure out what everyone was saying because no one on this show can talk slow or enunciate, so I kept hearing a different name each time. Anyway, the whole second half of this episode focused on the Chateau Fallucci show and if someone was checking the Chad Ho Ralguchey RSVP voicemails and if the seating chart for Charro Con Smoochie was done yet. They mentioned that damn seating chart more times than I can count (thank god this isn't a DGF or I would have died a million times over drinking every time they said "seating chart").

Drama time:

This episode was kind of like a Fashion Week primer for anyone who hasn't ever seen Project Runway, America's Next Top Model, Ugly Betty, The Hills, The City or any other show tangentially related to fashion. And the main drama centered around the Chat O'Paluchy RSVP list and seating chart. And basically, Spitter could not handle the RSVPs on her own, she she tried to delegate to some of the underlings, who fucked it all up. No one was checking the voicemail, RSVPs were being doubled, random people were calling in and RSVPing yes to try and bust in on the show (which is a semi-brilliant idea, and I bet that's worked in the past). Basically it was a whole mess of problems. And to top it all off, Spitter isn't quite familiar with how to use Microsoft Excel (I'm assuming since the word "export" got thrown around an awful lot whilst dealing with Tech Support) and couldn't print the list to give to the designer. Needless to say she flips out (because you know tech support was in India and couldn't give her the answers she needed) and she has a chat with Andrew M, who doesn't stop picking at the mesh in his armpit the entire conversation, which is really distracting for me, and I'm sure for Spitter. Maybe he took her mind of her problems by putting it on his armpit instead? In which case, man's a genius. But I think he was just airing out his pits. Which, gross and you're wearing mesh. Two strikes. The episode ends with an overly dramatic "To be continued..." when Kelly realizes the problem is technical and out of her staff's hands. What is going to happen next? I don't know, but I'm excited

Other things happened (including a visit from a faux-lebrity whose name I'm not even going to write because if she knows the number of NY Post covers she's been on for being a whore, then you know she Googles herself as well and I'm not giving her the satisfaction) but they weren't that spectacular. Also, Bravo has this annoying habit of putting a 30-45 second long clip of the show between commercials, so when you're DVRing you see it and think "OH SHIT! It's back!" only to realize it's just a mildly humorous clip that was borderline unnecessary. This week, we see that Kelly pays people to come and do her eyebrows and nails in the office because she's so busy she can't leave. Isn't that wacky? Thanks, Bravo. I'll charge my DVR repair to you, if you don't mind.

So there you have it, Kell on Earth. I actually could enjoy recrapping this (unlike The City which was vapid to the extreme). Frankly, I just want to see Kelly Cutrone tell someone they are Sicilian dead to her. I'll stick with.

A few things I'd like to address:

1.) It's New Year's Eve. Kill me. I don't really know what to say about New Year's Eve that I didn't say last year. I hate it. It stresses me out. I wish it didn't exist. Simultaneously, I find my own level New Year's Scroogery to be irritating, but can't make it stop. Seriously, I'm irritating myself right now. As I type this. Each sentence is more irritating than the last. My ideal New Year's Eve involves taking a shit ton of Ambien, sleeping from the night of the 30th to the morning of the 1st and pretending like New Year's never even happened. And I'm not saying that for giggles; I feel like I could actually pull that off. Then Heath Ledger had to go and forget how many sleeping pills he took and ruin it for the rest of us. GAWD. Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say in my own special Meg way is: Happy New Year's!

2.) I've gotten a lot of emails asking me if I'll be re-capping The Real World: DC and I'd like to take this time to answer those questions: No. No, I will not be. While I'm honored you thought of me for your recapping needs, I just can't make myself watch that trash. Which is saying a lot because watching trash is sort of my shtick. I know I should care about this season because it takes place in my 'hood and I've got mad DC pride and blah blah blah, but honestly, The Real World could take place in Edward Norton's pants and I would still rather poke my eyes out with a blunt object than watch. There's nothing appealing to me about watching a bunch of whiny 20-year-olds walk around DC acting super impressed with themselves. Because I did that already. It was called: I went to American University. So, thanks but no thanks and sorry to disappoint. (Man, I really shouldn't blog on New Year's Eve. I'm being a fucking asshole today more of a fucking asshole than usual today.)

3.) Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome is currently on AMC.

4.) We don't need another hero.

5.) Soooo, the newest episode of Jersey Shore (a program I can get behind) is on tonight at 10 o'clock. Which is awkward. Because at 10 o'clock tonight I plan on being three distinctly different kinds of fucked up in a pile of Andre, tears, self-induced vomit and fake eyelashes somewhere in the greater Washington, DC area. (Awkward...) I also don't have DVR. (Double awkward...) And I don't plan on blogging Friday in anticipation of being fiercely hungover. (We've reached Zoinks! level.) BUT! God willing, MTV will probably show tonight's episode 9,000 times over the weekend, so perhaps I can get a recap up for Monday? I make no promises. Wait...full episodes are online. Ok, I make promises. If you are planning on catching tonight's all-new episode, I recommend you play along with 2b1b reader, John "The Business" Hubbard's Ultimate Jersey Shore Drinking Game! I'm so jealous I didn't write this; it's just that good. Have a wonderful New Year's Eve, thank you so much for reading and as always, we'll see you back here Monday morning! Buh-bye!

The Ultimate Jersey Shore Drinking Game!


Rules:
Drink When:
- Someone says "juicehead"
- Pauly is drying his hair
- Snookers alienates herself from the housemates
- You can see more than 3/4's of J-Woww's boobs
- Vinny openly mocks someone else in the house
- A Guido says "honestly bro" or "pound it out"
- Angelina cockblocks someone
- For every person in the hot tub
- Someone uses the word "Guidette"
- Angelina acts like simple retail tasks are really, really hard
- Someone talks about hair gel or tanning
- A muscular dude drinks a shockingly feminine drink
- Mike talks about The Situation
- There's something blatantly sexist
- Someone says either "Jersey" or "Shore"
- Sammi "Sweetheart" refers to herself as Sammi "Sweetheart"
- Anytime someone feels betrayed
- There's a guy with his shirt off
- There's a can of light beer in view
- The Situation sells a t-shirt or pair of hot pants
- Someone responds to someone else's comment with the exact same or coequal comment, eg:
J-Woww: "You don't understand how bad I want you."
Pauly: "You don't understand how bad I want you."

Thoughts Chris couldn't flesh out into full entries

- Ugh, relationships. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. They are the one thing in life that truly epitomizes the saying "The grass is always greener on the other side." When you're single, all you can think about is that you're single, and so you do everything you can to find that special someone, including shack up with a few people you're sure you've seen on America's Most Wanted but they can turn out to be really caring people if you gave them a chance, right?! Or you successfully find someone who will tolerate your crazy, and then three months down the road the honeymoon period wears off and you realize that you're dating the most heinous beast to have ever roamed the planet, and you fantastize about what it would be able to nail anyone with a pulse without that pesky little thing called guilt.

One thing I have found in my numerous years in training as a relationship expert, is that it is much easier to get into a relationship than it is to get out of one. Don't believe me? The jump from singledom to relationshiphood is easy. It usually involves some mood music and soft lighting, and is often horizontal. You've grown tired of banging every guy/girl with two eyes and a basic grasp of the English language and your perpetual fear of STIs is starting to ruin your life, so you put down the beer goggles and settle with the least offensive person who will have you. Easy enough.

Getting out of a relationship is a horse of a different color. And that color is shit brown. Because while the thought of being single may be appealing, the reality of being alone again is mortifying. In a relationship, you are Linus, and your significant other is your blanket. They go with you almost everywhere, they don't judge you when you suck your thumb, they are blue and made of cotton. (No? Not so much on that last one?) The thought of being without them makes you want to cower in the corner of Snoopy's doghouse for days on end. This is because it is alot easier to be miserable in a relationship when you're getting laid consistently than it is to be miserable being single and horny.

- Do reality TV show contestants/stars get paid? I imagine they must because it's work. But is there like a sliding scale of payment? For instance, do the Top Chef contestants get paid more than some drunk slut on Rock of Love, since the cheftestants are producing these world-class dishes from Spam, artichokes, and locally grown peat mos, whereas any given ho on Rock of Love is producing nothing more than saliva and various strains of the Herpes virus?

- If you follow me on Twitter, you know my thoughts about Halloween and New Years are about the same. A large amount of planning goes into it, a small amount of fun comes out of it. Do you think that the inverse would work, and if I just didn't plan at all for NYE, I'd have a friggin blast?

- Political correctness is the worst thing to have happened to us as a people and a nation. I think instead of making everyone be so damn June Cleaver all the time, we should make everyone learn how to take a fucking joke. Being a 'mo, I feel like I have my right to express this opinion, as I can tell the difference between gay bashing and innocent joking around. If a friend of mine calls me a "fag," I'm not going to call the ACLU and demand retribution. However, if some random stranger with a lead pipe does the same, then it's time to worry.

One group of my college friends was particularly great about this, in that we had a gay, a Jew, a Puerto Rican, and two Asians (like we're prizes in a cereal box. Collect all 4!). And we all made fun of each other equally, without anyone ever feeling hate crimed. Maybe I was spoiled, so that when I make an Asian joke, it's not out of any inherent racism, it's because I am just used to poking fun at my Asian friends. I just would expect anyone I offend to say "Well at least I'm not gay," in return. It's only fair.

- I worry about growing up. Not for any vain reasons like "Oh no, I don't want to lose my hair!" or "My ears are going to get so huge and gross!" or "I don't even want to know how much loose skin I'm going to have" but mainly because I fear I'm going to be that old man. Not the creepy lecherous old man who stares at you on the subway and licks his lips, but the old guy who says whatever bat shit crazy thing is on the tip of his tongue. I'm just not patient with strangers, especially ones who are inconveniencing me (duh). I'm already a hair's breadth away from yelling at a complete stranger for breathing too loudly, imagine what's going to happen when I completely lose that filter with old age. Scary things will happen.