*So, I'm still writing the Hey Paula blog
for TVGuide.com, and let's face it. This
show sucks Andy Dick's dick... and not
in the good way, if there even is a good
way to do that. Well, I just wanted to
share my Thursday night viewing with you...
Nothing says LOL like kicking off your reality show with some good ol’ fashioned fecal humor. Yes, Paula hid poopy-looking Beef Jerky in her assistant’s bed, and it was a (toilet)bowl full of ROFL-laugher. Not!
Come on, Paula. What’s next? Placing your assistant’s finger in a warm glass of water after she falls asleep? Maybe stealing her panties and putting them in the freezer? How about filling her hand with whipping cream and then tickling her nose? You’d most defiantly be the hit of my 3rd grade sleep over, 11-year-old hands down! Not!
Then Paula got the news that “the people” in charge of the Bratz movie would “no longer need her services” anymore. Y’all know that there’s a real juicy story behind this oh-so diplomatic soft-dump; now, that’s the kind of reality television I want to watch! I mean, what could Paula have done that was so heinous that it turned off a bunch of studio execs who are in charge of turning big-headed cartoon tween sluts into a live-action pop culture summer blockbuster?
Sadly, we never find out why Paula gets the old Hollywood heave-ho. Instead, we get the pictorial pleasure (Not!) of watching the popstar dissolve into her seemingly on-cue tears for the 2nd time in the show’s first 4 minutes. Oh, Paula, save those snuffles and star in a made-for-television Lifetime movie. You’re “I-love-my-Jimmy-Bob-even-though-he-beats-me!” Emmy gold waiting to happen.
The show’s true dramatic arc came, however, when Paula realized that she may not have hair and make-up services before her appearance on Letterman. Her ensuing psychotic break with celeb-reality left me thinking one thing and one thing only: “At least this girl’s got her proprieties in order. I mean, who can even think about global poverty, starvation, genocide or war when they don’t know who will be conducting their next straight-ironing!”
I forced my father, a 50+ Midwestern computer technician who is completely devoid of all things mainstream zeitgeist, to watch the episode with me. He, perhaps, said best what every viewer was thinking: “Why doesn’t that girl just shut her mouth and pick up a comb…?” I don’t know, Daddy Dearest. I don’t know.
Watching Paula and her people prep for the Letterman appearance was like watching paint dry… only less exciting. At least when paint dries, you see the subtly of color hues as the shifting of tone adhere to the walls. You witness the vibrant emulsion as it coats the intricate texturing of the painted surfaces. Paula’s preparation had no colorful hues or intricate vibrancies. Producers somehow managed to fill 10 minutes with the nonsensical ramblings of her new assistant, Patty, and her “stylist” (and my arch nemesis!), Kiley.
But the most disturbing part of the episode was Paula’s encounter with Megan, her self-described “Superfan”. Now, Megan, if you’re reading this, please know that I love you, for we are one in the same when it comes to our popstar adoration. I was once a Backstreet-Boys-FANatic. Their posters covered all of my bedroom walls. I knew all of their Quit-Playing-Games-With-Me-Heart dance moves. I’ll admit it; I even cried a little when AJ went to rehab. (OK, I cried a lot…)
But I didn’t do it on national television! Megan, you came across looking less like a lover of pop music and more like ButterTeeth McStickyHair. 10 years from now, when you’re sitting home alone on Prom night with your 7 Persian cats and a bucket of Ben & Jerry’s in your lardy lap, don’t fall to your saggy knees and ask God “Why?!” Instead, TiVo back to this episode of Hey Paula, and you’ll have the basic-cable justification behind your forever-to-be-singlt state.
Clinging Paula desperately, Megan cried (for no apparent reason): “I’m so scared!” We are too, Ms. McStickyHair. We are too.
Was this episode worth its space on my DVR? That’s a 100% Paula positive YES! (Not!)
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