Tonight I returned to the t-house from an exhausting day of actually doing work and teaching two fitness classes, and the rooms informed me that our new favorite show was on.
"American Idol?" you ask. Lost? Grey's Anatomy? Sex and the City? The Gospel Truth with Andrew Wommack? (wait, what?) No. No. No. Nope. and only secretly.
Our new favorite show is Little Miss Perfect on We TV. (it comes in our cable package- step off)
No trashy reality show currently on TV can compare to the overbearing and ridiculously inappropriate pageant mothers, the creepily made-up 4-11 year olds, and the flaming ex-disney princess Pageant director Michael Galanes. (Honestly, listening to him break into a song about rainbows and the beauty inside you... ridiculous.)
Ok, so this is probably not something that I would tell people in my daily every day life. I mean, posting it all over the Internet is one thing, but no one actually watches that show in real life. Besides, it clearly wouldn't help me in my quest to find a hot guy that will bask in my ultra-cool company and witty repartee.
But uh, despite our extremely busy social lives, the rooms and I were hanging out at home late one saturday evening watching a Little Miss Perfect marathon.
Golden- got the pjs, the ugly shirt I found while hiking, creepy valentines day booties/slippers (see picture and substitute weird hearts for cupcake)
- not to mention the brushed out end-of-the-day fro.
Enter random brownie neighbor aka Harrison, Drunk as usual. He pops up whenever I'm wearing the exact same thing (aka looking homeless).
He then proceeds to ridicule and mock us while simultaneously asking to borrow my phone so he can call the DD to locate his lost one. That guy loses his phone more than Britney loses her mind.
Being the nice, obliging neighbor that I am, I lend him my phone and make awkward small talk all while pretending that Little Miss Perfect is not on the TV. And being the nice, drunk, and possibly creepy neighbor that he is, Harrison invites me and the rooms over for...wine? it's now about 1:30 am, and he's asking a girl in pj pants, booties, and a fro to go "drink some wine".
The worst part? We didn't go because we really wanted to continue watching Little Miss Perfect. <-------reason #87 why I don't have a boyfriend.
Moral of the story? Pageant mom's are CRAY-zee.