Queer Eye for the Straight Girl
Brian is rabid about getting me on this show. His evidence:
“We have a Teletubby sitting in a baby rocking chair that she pulled out of the garbage bin and a TURTLE in the dining room, and an elliptical machine with a sequined cowboy hat hanging on it in the bedroom.”
We have to tell them about a big event that’s coming up so Brian offered:
“You had that big thing* where you ‘pretended’ you were coming out. We should just say you’re coming out. Colin would be happy to email them and tell them that you’re a lesbian, with the fleece vest to prove it.”
[*our friend Andrea surprised us with a visit from New York, so I told everyone I had a very serious announcement to make, and they had to be at my house at a certain time, in order for her to walk in and surprise them. Colin had bet money that I was coming out because, “lesbians love drama.”]
Brian’s requests of the show:
“Bring equine tranquilizers or somethin’ cuz this bitch ain’t gonna let you throw out her stuff without a fight. And can you figure out a way to keep her pants up? Get her butt implants or SOMETHING.”
On one hand, I would love the makeover they do to your place. I’ve been saving up money to redo the lighting design in my condo (Brian: “the lighting is SURGICAL”). On the other hand, I don’t want to be the butt of a reality tv joke. And I don’t want them going through my underwear drawer, and other, more private drawers.
But on the other hand, free stuff.
But on the other hand, they throw out my random, eccentric stuff.
But on the other hand, free stuff.
How spoiled are we when our biggest quandary in life is whether or not to apply for a reality show?
Fucking Americans.