Gulp, The Rachel Zoe Project; Ignore If You Don't Have Cable

I just watched a couple of episodes, against my better judgment, and my mouth was so dry from hanging agape throughout the ordeal, that I had to plunge it into my iced tea in order to hydrate it enough to smirk, or eat. Well, maybe not eat.

First, I would like to discuss the husband. A lot of people have joked that he clearly seems gay, but he is too much of a wuss to be gay. He’s a dorky mama’s boy who wears so much jewelry that it looks like he robbed a gold kiosk at the Palisades mall, and he’s way too into his hair. I haven’t watched enough of this garbage to figure out what he actually does for a living, besides pout and put on scarves, but I fear the Grateful Dead conversation in one of the episodes may provide a clue. The thought of he and Rachel at a Grateful Dead show defies my ability to conjure even a shadow of this image to my mind’s eye. Do they tailgate in those get-ups? I also couldn’t help but notice that he has an icky paunch, and puffy hands. ICKY PAUNCH AND PUFFY HANDS, I won’t sleep now and my gag reflex is going into overdrive.

During the New York Fashion Week episode, I bet when he asks Rachel to drop him off at 21st Street and Fifth Avenue, he is actually going to have sex with a sloppy, teenaged Shoshanna Lonstein type that he picked up earlier in the week at a falafel stand near Union Square. And what the fuck is up with that plaid “newsboy” cap-hat he plopped onto his Katie Holmes bob???? I bet he has a “guitar” propped up somewhere in their apartment that he doodles on mercilessly, and every opportunity he gets, he waxes on about the “band” he used to play with back in New Jersey before he became a banker (just a guess, but I bet he is some sort of nebulous "hedge fund guy"). Insert picture of Dawn Wiener’s brother’s band playing in the garage in Welcome To The Dollhouse…

I guess for Rachel, it must be like having a sister. You know, that sister who tries to be a cool, butch tomboy despite the fact that she whines when you don’t pay her enough attention (he's her Sam Ronson!). He plays pool! He drinks beer! He’s a Deadhead! This guy is 13 years and a highlight away from turning into a dead ringer for Martha Stewart. Can’t you picture it: in 10 years, he’ll be waving a turkey baster full of Brad’s sperm at a now-Rue McLanahan-resembling Rachel who, pointing to a wrinkled and dehydrated vagina in a pickle jar, will scream, “Taaaaaay! Get in here and get inseminated! Are you kidding me right now? Let’s Bounce!”

He looks like he exfoliates.