The Real Housewives of New York City – Update

Evidently the airing of The Real Housewives of New York City (TRHONYC) is like yawning. You know how when you see someone else yawning you automatically yawn and yawn? Well for me, I watch TRHONYC and am compelled to blog. I really LOVE The Real Housewives of Orange County (is it because I’m from California and can better deal with the glaring obnoxiousness and laugh? This is entirely possible.) I know that there are lots of self-absorbed people out there. I am quite sure that I have been considered one of them on many occasions. Ewww, that hurts to say. Anyway, here’s my issue (s)…

The ENTIRE TRHONYC is about the “me” thing. And then I did this. And then my husband bought me that. And then my Upper East Side apartment cost this and then I had to go to the opera to network. And then I was only on page 2 of the society pages but I have been on the first page. And then my child is perfect and he speaks French and is going to be the first child accepted into the moon launch project and then my husband just rode on a private jet and then did I remember to tell you how perfect my size negative 2 jeans are, right? Help me. Shut the frick uuuuuuuuuuuuuuup! The countess, who I really thought I liked, just chastised her friend for introducing the countess to their driver by the countess’ first name. OK, I am sure that it would be great to be introduced as Mrs. Whatever but do we have to correct our friends on national television and make sure we’re referred to properly? Oh help again. When people run around calling me Mrs. Majcher, all I want to do is barf because clearly I am old. That’s it. People don’t start calling you Mrs. Something until you are old. It is not out of respect, it is because YOU NEED MORE BOTOX.

I am also thrilled to report that the lives of these women are PEEEEEEEEEERFECT. I love to talk to perfect people with no issues and fabulous skin and baggy skinny jeans. These are the same people who lose weight on Thanksgiving weekend. Instead I would like to tell you all about me so that you will be very jealous and see how fabulous I am. Ready?

Today, my Dad said that while I looked like I was literally going to pop any second, at least my legs still looked “kind of thin.”  I was then asked if I wanted to sit at a table for dinner instead of the booth because it looked like I “might not fit.” The two year old (please see last week’s blog on Meet the Boss to see who we’re dealing with) who tried desperately to kick his sister out of me last night, is still awake (10:10pm) and unable to sleep because he is convincing my husband that he needs more cake. NOTE TO ALL FATHERS FOR THE LAST TIME: TWO YEAR OLDS DO NOOOOOOOOOOOT NEEEEEEED ANNNNNNY CAAAAAAAKE. My 13 year old continues to tell anyone who will listen – gas station attendant, check out clerk, banker, that this “has been a very emotional pregnancy” for me. One of the two skirts that I can still wear had to be washed today causing me to end up in the most mismatched polka dot number that I swore at any point someone was going to scream “Look, it’s that Veruca Blueberry girl” (or whatever her name was round purple number from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.) So while I’m thrilled that the Manhattan girls are concerned with being introduced as Mrs. Countess Top Dog of NYC, I am just thrilled with getting across the street without someone calling Animal Control because a soft, round, fluffy pig has been spotted in a residential neighborhood.

And how was YOUR night?