Friday, March 31, 2006

Peeling back the curtain

I just want to get this straight. I live in the real Orange County. Not the Orange County with the multi-million dollar houses. I don't live behind a locked gate, sipping vodka martinis in a hot tub. I haven't had any "work" done, besides the standard semi-exercise to keep my butt from sagging to my knees. I like yoga, and I flirt with Pilates, but don't have a personal trainer, and certainly not one with a six-pack named Del or Hans or Antony. I own a scale, but I never look at it. I would rather poke out an eye than to let anyone near my face with a syringe full of toxin, image bedamned.

I am not a Lady of Leisure. I have three kids, and they keep me hopping. I load my own dishwasher, and can't rationalize paying someone else to clean the hair out of my tub when I am home all day. (if you want to, that's cool, I just have that liberal guilt thing that plagues me). I don't play tennis, or belong to a country club.

I realize this kills the Dream for some of you. Watching The O.C. as they prance on the beach makes you believe that we all live that way. Sorry to disappoint. We live in a little 50's ranch house, and drive a mini van. So much for the romance, eh? I do live five minutes from The Happiest Place on Earth, so that has to count for something.

Recently, Bravo started airing "The Real Housewives of Orange County" and as I watched I snorted and guffawed my way thorough it. It was ridiculous, it was a train wreck; it was entertainment. But it wasn't real life for 95% of the residents here. Just thought you should know.

T, holla from the O.C. true dat

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