About a week and a half ago, I received a text from someone I’m usually pretty happy to hear from – but this time, the message almost caused me to clutch the nearest wall for both emotional and physical support.
HIM: Have you heard? Vanderpump Rules is airing twice a week this season.
ME: No, only on Mondays.
HIM: There’s another show airing on Fridays.
ME: Please tell me you’re joking. Please tell me I will not be spending my Friday evenings writing about these dipsh*ts after spending my Monday evenings doing just that.
HIM: I’m not joking.
ME: F*ck. Me.
After sliding down the wall I’d been clutching and yelling out a litany of profane words in the sweetest tone of voice I could muster whilst in the throes of an existential crisis caused by this news, I decided to fact check the information. I hopped onto Google and, with a shaking hand and a trembling heart, I typed “Vanderpump Rules Friday” into the search box. It was only after I confirmed that the Friday airing is an “after show” where the “stars” will appear in the hopes of gulping in some extra attention that’s been basted in fleeting fame and will surely lead to bloating that I calmed down.
ME: The Friday thing isn’t an episode…it’s a half-hour after show thing.
HIM: I’ve heard it’ll have some important stuff on it.
ME: I’m gonna need some clarification here on the meaning of important.
As such clarification was never offered, I chose not to heed the advice to watch the after show because my feeling is that one hour a week with these people is just about enough for me. But I did think about the fact that I was actively skipping my second helping of Vanderpump Rules as I spent much of Friday night cleaning, scrubbing, and straightening every corner of my home to prepare for the arrival of a guest and it was just as I reached for the kind of sponge that promises to scrape those crusty spots off the stove that I began to think about which cleaning tasks most remind me of the people who are SUR-adjacent.
It’s not just that I was about to have company and I want my house to appear to outsiders like it’s always sparkling and smelling of Clean Linen candles. No, the truth is that it’s been positively balmy here in New York lately and so I decided to tackle some spring-cleaning during November. There was much to do and many comparisons to be made – and a light bulb that requires I be twelve feet tall to reach it that subsequently remains dark. As for my cleaning associations, here’s what I decided:
Changing the sheets and pillowcases on my bed reminds me of Katie and Schwartz. The whole endeavor is a little bit of a pain in the ass since I always initially put the fitted sheet on the wrong way, but it’s the kind of thing I figure out quickly and very little feels as comforting as a bed that’s newly made. Katie and Schwartz strike me as only mildly irritating and like they’re actually decent people so they get to be compared to something easy.
It’s the same thing for Sandoval and Ariana, a couple I don’t stare at while praying simultaneously for a plague that makes people barren. I don’t mind these two, so I will assign them the task of folding clothes to put away after doing laundry. It’s annoying, sure, and it often brings about the question of how many black tank tops one person can really require, but at least it’s a job that doesn’t require wearing rubber gloves.
Since we find out tonight that she’s a “fun bitch,” I’m going to give Lala The New Girl the terrifically fun job of taking out my garbage. I think she will do an amazing job with all things trash-related.