Post by Josh Zinn.
Hello, dear readers! While being under the weather and incapacitated this past week has taught me an enormous amount about life, the immune system, and my undying love of apple crisp, perhaps nothing has resonated more with me than this revelation:
Though I am by all means a homebody, I am by no means a housewife.
I realized this specific distinction whilst watching an 8-hour marathon of Bravo TV’s “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” this past weekend. There, in that gilded cage known as reality television, Botoxed women with breasts, Birkin bags, and bucks a’plenty show little regard for sanity, sobriety, or civility as they compete amongst themselves for the adoration of a tweeting fan base. As I unceasingly observed them from the comfort of my bed/infirmary, their tantrums over issues such as petty gossip, suicide, book deals, and the loss of one’s husband to Leann Rimes began to really hit home with me, disrobing me of the veil of judgment I was all too happy to wear in their honor.
Now, mind you, I have never lost a lover to a country chanteuse. For that matter, I’ve never been to rehab, had a former career as a dancer on Club MTV, nor have I willingly injected anything into my face—unless you count that time in 1988 when I made my Mom take me to Claire’s Boutique to get my ears pierced because I wanted to look like George Michael. What I do know all too well, however, is the unyielding pressure of scandal, sass, and scintillation that accompanies a personality too big—too glamorous, really—for everyday life to contain on its own.
Instead, it must be documented for the world to see!!
Therefore, I decided to attempt to become a housewife for a day. Here’s how it went:
7:30AM – Wake up. No one is waiting for me with a bathrobe. I have to make my own coffee. It’s too cold. Have to microwave it. Now it tastes like the Tikka Masala leftovers we had a couple of days ago.
9:00AM – Thought about exercising. That was fun. Watched a cooking show instead.
10:00AM – Gonna get into the shower now. Oh, wait… The View is on.
11:00AM – I still haven’t talked to anyone today. My better half is STILL asleep. I’m still thinking about exercising, but now it seems like a chore and I’ve already unloaded the dishwasher, so that’s more than enough for the day.
1:00PM – I ate an apple. Because I was feeling naughty, I had it with peanut butter. Thank goodness all my blinds are closed or the paparazzi might see me awkwardly slumping here on my couch.
2:00PM – Finally left the house to buy toilet paper, deodorant, and groceries and noticed that there are an inordinate amount of children out on the streets. Oh god, it’s a holiday. That’s it. I’m going back home. The hummus can wait.
4:30PM – Wish I had bought that hummus.
6:00PM – Just watched a documentary on North Korea and followed that with one on Bigfoot. Two mysterious entities no one knows much about. I’m already in my pajamas.
8:00PM – Maybe I’ll call my editor. He’s not answering. I leave a message that makes me sound morose when, in fact, I’m really just bored.
9:00PM – I love my DVR, but I’ve seen all of these episodes of Four Weddings already. I have a moment of hating myself for allowing this to actually be a problem, but the angst is extinguished by my decision to watch that DVD of My Super Sweet 16 I procured from my parents’ house.
11:00PM – I can’t believe how stuck up and lazy all those girls are! Maybe I’ll not move for another half hour and watch another episode…
11:30PM – I just opened a bag of chocolate chips and ate a handful because we have nothing sweet in the house.
11:35PM – I eat another handful, but try to put too many in my mouth at once and a bunch of chocolate chips fall onto the floor. I’ll sweep them up tomorrow.
12:00AM – I guess I should go to bed. All this glamour has tuckered me out. Dangit, I forgot to make the bed and the sheet is somehow twisted in a knot and on the floor. Life is so hard!
12:15AM – The walls of my apartment are thin and the reclusive neighbor next to me snores really loudly. It’s like he’s reaching out for a friend, but deep down I know he isn’t.
12:30AM – Maybe my coffee will taste like coffee tomorrow. Good night.
As you can see, dear readers, while this day was action-packed, it nonetheless lacks that certain “something” that makes a housewife a HOUSEWIFE. Thank goodness, then, for Bravo’s bevy of beauties and their critical role as spokeswomen for the secret stars in all of us. In-between all those times I was vomiting into a paper bag, they made this weekend a real winner.