Real Housewives Recap: Viva Las Vegas

Ah, 90210. You never fail to disappoint. 

This week's episode starts with Camille Grammar panting, stretching, and making ball jokes to her (extremely handsome) tennis partner. Gross. We get it Camille. You are blond, sexy, and married to a dinosaur of a sitcom star Kelsey Grammar. We.Get.It.

Cut to Lisa strolling through the kitchen of Villa Blanca in her studded Louboutins and greeting everyone by name. This seems a world apart from my experience working in a restaurant, in which the sweaty Israeli owner was usually yelling at me and calling me Ashley. To each their own!

Then (surprise!) all of the Housewives (and husbands) head to Vegas for the weekend. (Don't they do this a lot on RHO Orange County as well?) Adrienne, owning the Palms and all, gets all of the couples a kick ass room with amazing views of the city. 

Then we cut to Kim. Poor, lonely Kim wandering aimlessly through the hotel suite and wishing out loud that she had someone to share it with. Hey Kim? There are worse things than being single. Like being married to Taylor's bald, awkward husband. 

P-E-R-S-P-E-C-T-I-V-E. 

Moving on to dinner, Taylor explains to the group that she pursued bald, awkward Russell for three months before he would go out with her. Based on the amount of people coughing in their napkins to avoid laughing, I would start lying about this part of the story. Maybe say you met on eharmony? Apparently money can buy you big ol lip injections but not a husband with a personality full head of hair. 

Then we cut to Camille's Hair Flipping Extravaganza 2010. (We get it, Camille. We. Get. It.) She also makes a big show of saying she doesn't drink, then orders tequila shots with the husbands at 9:03 am. Rock on, sister! But don't wonder why women don't want to be friends with you. 

Off-camera, Kyle and Camille apparently have a "misunderstanding" in which Kyle is asking questions and Camille is acting like a dumb ass. Since it wasn't caught on camera, I can't say that I really care. Supposedly we see the the way this "forever alters their relationship" in episodes to come. Yawn. 

Until next week, may your Vuitton steamer trunks remain unscathed as you retrieve them from baggage claim...

Real Housewives Recap: Bourg-hetto

I meant to post this on Tuesday, but my Teach for America application, grad school work, and need for sleep took preference. I apologize and assure you I'm still fully devoted to Real Housewives of every city. 

Here's why I like RHOATL: They trashy, they aren't really rich, and they rarely know what they're talking about. While many would be disheartened that people so shallow and insignificant get millions of viewers an episode, I'm much less cerebral about the whole thing. Let's get some popcorn and see who pulls Kim's poufy white girl wig this week! (Seriously, though. Is it just me or do they get larger every episode? Chill out homegirl.)

Sheree, formerly my least favorite, has now become a one-woman quote factory in her interviews. Plus, did anyone notice her "Who Gonna Check Me, Boo?" workout shirt? It's already on my Christmas list. Some of the best quotes from Sheree:

In regards to NeNe's plastic surgery: "If I had plastic surgery everytime I had marital problems, I'd look like Dwight."

In regards to NeNe's plastic surgery pt. II: "I'm all real. But now if I started doing the dishes? That would be fake."

Most of this season seems to be devoted to the Black Tammy Faye Baker Phaedra, who never got the memo that maybe a "high-powered entertainment lawyer" shouldn't wear frosted eyeshadow halfway up one's forehead. 

But the woman knows how to throw one heck of a baby shower! Weird interpretive dancing, a waltz with a gay man, white roses in her hair that seemed to have no rhyme or reason...what better way to celebrate a new life joining us on earth? The other Housewives seemed equally appreciative, "Just stab me in the neck and put me out of my misery,", "Keep drinking and it will be alright".

Always the wise sage of the group, Kim offered this advice during the interpretive dancing: "Sit in a f--king rocking chair, open your gifts, eat some cake, and call it a day...even if you're having a girl, this s**t doesn't make sense."

Ah yes, but if it made sense it would be Real Housewives of Atlanta. I leave you with this gem of Kim Zolciak's melodic genuis:

Party in the USA

I just lied. Through my teeth. (Well, really through my text.)

A girlfriend just asked me where we should go out tonight. (The Dando? Obvi.) I had to rain check with the excuse that I was "busy", which I am.

Busy doing nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

  And it's awesome.

I started out by testing my Cooking Light skills, (which I obviously need) and was pretty impressed with myself. (Needless to say, it doesn't take much for me to be impressed with myself.)

Check out my recipe for Open-Faced Sandwiches with Ricotta, Arugula, and Fried Egg. And by "my" recipe, I  mean a recipe written by someone who knows what the hell they’re doing in a kitchen. That someone? Is not me.

 P.S. I subbed spinach for the arugula, because I'm poor cheap and already had it in my fridge. 

Onto Act II of my wild evening, where I catch up on my Tivo: Real Housewives of Atlanta, Cougar Town, and Modern Family. My 9pm bedtime narcolepsy refuses to allow me to see any of these shows at their original air times, and I'll need to be able to make conversation about these pillars of popular culture when I eventually decide to rejoin society.

Act III includes finishing my book (for book club!), a cup of tea, and slumber before my friends are even slipping on their stilettos for the night.

So I’ll never be labeled a party animal. Whatever. By the end of the week, I need a break from little people touching me, talking to me, and stepping on my feet. A bar is the last place I want to be. But my bar ban only last for the next 24 hours or less. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night, Charlotte. 

Tonight, I’m busy.

Big Fat Deal

I apologize (to all five of you who read this blog) for the serious lack of posts the past month, but grad school has been killing me. (Read: I have bad time management skills.)

Plus, I've been dating a lot recently. (By "a lot" I mean "a number higher than zero".) 

The energy it takes to constantly 

1) look cute and 

2) make witty conversation

is waaaay more than you would think. I'm exhausted.

But onto a more pressing worry that I've been experiencing lately. I've been insatiably hungry the past week or so, and figure it must be one of two possibilities:

1) I'm headed down Obesity Highway

2) I'm losing weight so rapidly from calorie reduction that Sports Illustrated is considering me for their next swimsuit issue.

I hope it's choice (2) but have a sneaking suspicion it's actually (1). This is based on highly scientific evidence I've gathered, in which everyday I eat:  a full breakfast, a snack, my students' snack, my lunch, their lunch, something when I get home, some of roomie's dinner, dessert, and a glass of wine. (What? I have to take the edge off all of that eating. And spending all day with children.)

Plus, my pants are tight and I hate every picture that is taken of me from the neck down. Sometimes the neck up, as well. Water weight, anyone?

Any thoughts? (By that I mean "feel free to leave comments and tell me that I am skinny. Otherwise, keep your trap shut.)

Better Than Happy Pills

Something strange happened yesterday. 

I was nice. To children.

And patient. And kind. When two of them broke glass vases (at two separate times) I cleaned it up, asked if they were ok, and reminded them it was "just an accident". 

Who am I?

Then one of mine ran full speed into a tree on the playground (because she was running while looking behind her) and my response was "Had to learn that one the hard way, didn't you?" So I knew the real me was still in there somewhere. Whew.

Then I realized where my previous patience had come from: we had a two day school week last week. We had Monday off for Labor Day and teacher workdays Thursday and Friday (thanks Rosh Hashanah! Mazel tov!). So the children were only at school on Tuesday and Wednesday. 

It was heaven. 

Before I was a teacher, I assumed that teacher workdays totally sucked.  Now I know better. WAY better. Teacher workdays FEEL like days off, because you are merely gluing, cutting, and organizing things in the classroom. In silence. Blissful, utter, complete, silence. I can listen to the radio or talk on the phone. I can check my email. I can talk to grown ups about grown up things.

Now it's back to the grind. Let's hope my patience holds up. But if it doesn't, at least I can tell myself I don't smack myself in the face with trees. 

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

...I have become my mother, after all.

I've been fighting it for 24 years now, but yesterday it became complete. I AM my mother. You know why?

I bought Shredded Wheat. Willingly. To eat.

This probably isn't a huge deal to anyone else (but hey, it's my blog!), but you have to understand something. I grew up watching my mother wake up for six a.m. Jazzercise workouts that she would follow with a heaping bowl of (plain) Shredded Wheat. 

Gross.

To my fat kid child's mind, this was yet another mystery of adulthood. Why would anyone eat something that looked and tasted like cardboard when you could eat Reese's Puffs? Rice Krispy Treats cereal? Pop Tarts? (Mind you, this could be why I've always been overweight and my mother has...not. Is this what they call a "breakthrough"?)

Don't get me wrong. My mom has countless qualities that I would be proud to emulate. It just so happens that instead of the no-holds-barred balls of steel she has (did I mention she was in the Navy for 22 years?), I seemed to inherit the taste for cereal that tastes like wood pulp and the inability to function before my two cups of coffee every morning. 

Oh well. Guess I'll have to take this one for the team. At least I don't tell the same joke for 25 years and think it's as hilarious as the first time I said it. (Like every time we're in traffic and she shouts "It's the WACKY RACES out here", then slaps the steering wheel while shaking in silent laughter.) Hey Mom? That wasn't even funny 25 years ago.

I may have forgotten to mention I've started doing 6 a.m. workouts as well. 

But at least it's not Jazzercise...yet.

I Liek Yu

Remember when I told you that last week was the first week of school? I lied.

A more appropriate phrase would be "calm before the storm" (or: "What the hell was I thinking?"). I spent last week with my twelve returning kindergartners (Montessori classrooms are multi-age) reading, playing outside, and reconnecting after a summer apart. 

Then the four year olds showed up. 

Since we had staggered entry for our pre-K's, every day this week was like living the same bad dream over and over. A bad dream in which I scream "DON'T TOUCH THAT" until my throat is sore and get boogers wiped on me. 

The icing on the cake was when a kid pooped in his pants yesterday. While he was holding my hand. Did I mention we were on the opposite side of the school from our classroom (i.e. his change of clothes)? Minor detail. 

Then another teacher offered me gems of wisdom by asking "Did he have a number two accident? I can smell it all the way down the hall."

You mean that rancid, horrible odor that just made me gag and run for the trash can? What on earth are you talking about?

Thanks for the help!

So, that's disgusting. And every time a kid breaks something he wasn't supposed to touch in the first place, starts crying because she misses her mom, or loses control of their bodily functions ever at inopportune moments all I can think to myself is middle school would seem like a breeze at this point. Bring on the hormones! The attitude! The apathy! Just please keep your poop (or anyone else's) in the bathroom. And for the love of God, please stop crying. And touching me. 

There are other moments too. Like when a new little bitty whispers to me that she's nervous about the first day of school as she slips her plump little hand into mine. Singing Justin Bieber on the playground. Going on nature walks in which every leaf found is THE most beautiful leaf in the world. Getting notes that say "Mis Enslee, yu ar fun. I liek yu."

From now on, I'll take a deep, cleansing breath and think happy thoughts when I get frustrated. Or when (at 10:17 am) a pre-K taps me on the shoulder and announces: "I would like to have lunch now."

In which case I'll tap him back and say "Guess what dude? This is S-C-H-O-O-L and (unlike your mom) I'm not here to cater to your every whim. Get back to your work."

And (once again) please don't touch me.