Last night I spent the evening with a bottle of wine and some of my favorite ladies. And no, I’m not talking about you Sergio… I’m talking about Bridget, Holly, and Kendra followed by some Blanch, Rose, Dorothy, and Sophia.
So lets talk about The Girls Next Door. I’ve discussed my obsession with reality TV, but I don’t think I’ve divulged that it began four years ago with The Girls Next Door. There was once a point in time where I was very confused as to why a person would watch a bunch of girls traipse around a mansion and say really stupid shit for half an hour every Sunday… well now i know. People watch it because it is amazing.
I mean they do say stupid shit, but even through the improper english, awkward giggles, and lame-ass baby talk its clear that they love Hef (and the life he’s given them) and each other (even if I they might not like each other… Holly and Kendra have SUCH awkward interactions). Most importantly though I love them. I wanted Holly to have her dream of marrying Hef come true. I thought it was adorable that she called him Puffin. I loved watching the weird shit the producers forced Bridget to do in order to make her interesting. I genuinely cared about the palpable tension between Holly and Kendra. But most importantly I wanted it to all be real. I wanted to believe that these dumb, blond, implanted loves of my life would remain forever drunk, naked, and in my life every Sunday at 10pm.
What this is all leading up to is a pretty awkward admission that I feel I should, but can’t, keep to myself. So last night was the final episode. Kendra moves out to date her now fiance, Bridget goes off to film her travel show where she sits on beaches and gets wasted in a bikini, and Holly showed the first inkling of being ready to move on. So, anyway, I cried. It’s the end of an era and the end of the first reality show I’ve ever loved. Sad. Now I have to go watch the ruined, spoiled bachelor where nobody has fake boobs, or strips, or jumps out of a cake, or talks baby talk to their dog, or slides down a slip n’ slide beer in hand…. the list goes on. Lame.