"The Hills: The Comedy Version"

I admit it. I don't like reality tv.

But I watch it.

A lot of it.

I turn on the tv, hit the 'guide' button on my digital cable and within moments have scanned everything that is showing on available channels. Nothing. Again.

It's Saturday afternoon. All I wanted to do was sit down on my couch and be entertained. Afterall, I've spent the week entertaining and educating. Now its my turn.

But Nothing is on. No Mike Rowe and his Dirty Jobs. No hijinx from Michael and the Dunder Mifflin staff. No journey to Karma-land with Earl. Not even a good movie from the early nineties.

Sure, I could watch any one of three episodes of Law and Order, but I'm not in the mood.

So what do I find myself doing? Catching up on a marathon of Flavor of Love: Season 2. Yikes. The worst part is that I don't just watch one episode. I watch three. Three hours watching Flavor Flav try to find true love from a collection of - by my account - mentally unbalanced, barely clothed women. All under the watchful eye of a camera crew and sound techs. And the millions of people who are as enthralled (and disturbed) as I am.

But I've had enough of Flav and his hoochies. Is that how you spell hoochies? What has this show done to my vocabulary? Before any more damage is done, I head downstairs and hop onto my elliptical machine. While I spin away, I turn on the tv and start flipping channels. Oh, good. Top Chef. More reality tv. I'm hooked. I sweat away on the elliptical, all the while sucked into the kitchen catfights, the tragically overdone roast duck in a truffle sauce, the glorious and elegant sushimi...you get the idea. Hooked again. I am addicted to reality tv.

I can no longer deny that I watch reality tv. At least I know I am not alone. But I will proudly proclaim that I have never stooped that low. No, I have never watched Laguna Beach. I have never given in to the temptation of The Hills. These shows do not appeal to me. The are based upon what I have spent my whole life trying to avoid. Gossip. Petty cat fights. Spoiled brats. Drama. DRAMA. And that I know just from the commercials. I won't watch these shows. They will only make me angry.

And yet...I can't deny the connection to my own life. No, I won't be breaking off my friendship with my best friend because she batted her eyelashes at this boy that I've never talked to but think is 'hot'. I won't be building up a small army of followers by spreading rumors about my best-friend turned mortal enemy. I won't be driving a $30,000+ car that daddy and step-mommy used to buy my love on my 16th birthday.

But my life would make an entertaining reality show.

It wouldn't have much drama. I can't imagine any catfights. There would be no flashy parties or BMWs.

There would be pleanty to laugh at. Mainly me.
Yes, my life could be a reality show.
It would certainly be a comedy.

And since I couldn't convince anyone to follow me around with a camera, a blog will have to suffice, for now.