Real Housewives of New York -- Horrified Fascination

I like to think I am not a person who watches reality TV shows. Yet, I am a person who watches reality TV shows. I love to watch Project Runway, Top Chef, and the like. I also like to watch Flipping Out, because I think Jeff is a hoot. I even enjoy watching Toddlers & Tiaras, though for the train wreck factor -- these people live in trailers and shacks, yet they are paying thousands of dollars on gaudy dresses and flippers (fake teeth) and putting their child in completely inappropriate positions (pageant moms, I hate to tell you -- your daughters are not emulating ladies, they are emulating tacky people).

But Real Housewives -- oh, God, that is a seriously sick franchise. The Atlanta ladies I don't watch -- I simply am not interested in any of these characters and their graspy, inarticulate lives are more uncomfortable than they are entertaining to watch. The Orange County ladies are just spoiled and silly and adolescent, and the New Jersey ladies are tacky in that way that clothes in the Bloomingdale's catalogue are tacky -- it's redolent of a certain kind of Jersey mall feeling that I remember from the 1980s and 1990s but which I don't want to revisit.

But New York! Oh, bless their hearts -- they just don't know...

This show is the perfect illustration for the old adage that money can't buy class. These social climbing, ridiculous women make me want to squirm. Their pettiness, their pretensiousness -- it's all just twee.

The laughable Countess with her pretend show of manners and her utter lack of manners or anything interesting to say -- it's like she had too many white wines at lunch over the course of time and got pickled.. Polite people don't tell their friends how to behave! Especially when the Countess seems to believe that the rules of good taste and good manners apply to everyone but her. Oh, WAH -- so you're divorced. It doesn't sound as if you've been interested in anything but your ex-husband's title for quite a long time, so it can't be that big a surprise that all of a sudden he's dumped you. And no -- you aren't the Countess anymore.

So go find something else to rest your laurels on -- like maybe an accomplishment. And quit it with the accent: where are you from? The Midwest? So stop it with the 1930s movie school matron accent, already!

Ramona -- yikes. Get those eyes under control and get on some kind of medication that will slow you down. You can't just say what you want and expect people to accept it! And no, dear -- what you're doing is not making you look neutral. I just fast forward through you.

Bethenny -- quit being a victim! You've done amazing things! So what if Jill has to have an enemy? Let her be your enemy -- it really doesn't matter at all. She's no one you'll want to know in a few years.

Kelly -- are you really this dumb? Bra: would be good. Hemline: should be shorter. I think you could be a poster girl -- the poster girl for why drugs can be bad for you.

Jill -- what a train wreck you are. Tacky? Oh my God. You talk about other people's modeling abilities and throw in your own dress size for good measure? How transparent! Why didn't you just ask if you could model? I am certain that Alex would have let you model if she had known it would shut that big wide mouth of yours about the trashiness of her event! And this thing with Bethenny? Be happy for her success and shut up about your victimization. You were traveling and enjoying the summer, not sitting by your husband's bedside holding his hand and reading the Torah. So she didn't call? She made a mistake -- and she's what? 25 years younger than you? Any good Jewish mother would forgive and forget -- and not let the Countess fuel the fire and interfere in your friendships. I guess now that Luanne doesn't have a good steady source of income she needs to isolate you to ensure her place in your small, insignificant sliver of New York society (by society, I mean ability to get a table at some restaurants).

Stop it with the hair extensions. You are mutton dressed as lamb. And your apartment! Who lets their walker decorate their houses? Ewwww....

Alex -- who knew -- you with your dotty husband -- you are the only one that anyone can relate to...