About admin

Freelance writer, webmaster of realityshack.com, chief editor at applemagazine.com, contribtor to TechLife News and maketecheasier.com, martial arts instructor, and mother of two.

And THIS Is Why I Love Reality TV: Good Grief, Gastineau Girls


– Christina M. Rau/GatsbyGirl

Have you seen the train wreck that is “The Gastineau Girls?” Oops, sorry. Perhaps that was a bit too harsh of a way to start out. Let me try again. Have you seen “The Gastineau Girls,” aka The Half Hour Train Wreck On E!? Wow, I guess I can’t not say it. That’s how bad this show really is. Seriously, I’ve watched it so many times and I have no idea what it’s about. It’s pretty much the “Seinfeld” of reality shows in that it’s about completely nothing, only “Seinfeld” was actually spectacular while “The Gastineau Girls” can’t even spell spectacular. They can’t even spell good.

I’m not quite sure why it’s even called Gastineau Girls because these two women are not sisters or friends, they’re mother and daughter. And although Mama Gastineau acts as if she’s fifteen and won’t reveal her age, she’s gotta be in her fifties. That ain’t no girl. Don’t get me wrong; except for some obvious facial plastic surgery, the woman has got a better body than most any other woman and she’s pretty. The daughter, who also will not reveal her age because she takes after Mama, is in her twenties, and was also on that Cattle Drive show, and did not fair well. Why not? Because she’s spoiled and chooses not to work, and doesn’t understand work ethic.

The Gastineau Women are very nice and know how to party, but they also have violent eruptions. I should say, Mama G has violent eruptions while Daughter G has quiet breakdowns and fits of ditzyness. Most episodes focus on how long it takes them to get ready to go out and party. Which, by the way, is at least four hours. The only time it ever takes me anywhere near four hours to get ready is when I straighten my hair; and when I do that, I wash my hair and straighten it earlier on in the day, and then take my normal twenty-minutes-tops to wash up, do my make-up, and get dressed. Seriously, what can anyone possibly have to do for four hours to get ready to leave the house? Then again, sometimes they’re drunk when they’re getting ready, so that may add on some minutes here and there.

The particular episode I caught this week was about Brittany’s birthday, a Sweet Sixteen because she never had one. For her 16th birthday, she got a BMW instead. Now, she’s flying on a private jet to Miami with Mama, her boyfriend (who is the most down-to-earth person on the show), and some friends. They go for the weekend, they get drunk, they fight, they wear next to nothing (but it IS Miami afterall), Mama fights with producers and directors, Brittany stands around shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head, Mama quits, the director quits, Mama and the director make up, the boyfriend toasts his girlfriend 80-some-odd times, he yells at her for wearing a shirt that makes her nah-nahs hang out, she dances with her nipple hanging out, he gets mad, they make up, and everyone goes back home happy and a bit hung over.

Not only does that sum up the episode I caught this week, but it sums up EVERY FRIGGIN EPISODE. I don’t understand what’s so great about watching rich women spend their money and sit around and fight. I understood “Rich Girls” because they were two teenagers whose parents had money and they were trying to discover who they were. Maybe the Gastineaus should go watch some re-runs and take notes.

[b]And this is why I love reality TV[/b]: I realize that my work ethic and strong family values may not get me a private jet, but they also don’t lead to a life of drunken nothingness, with me standing on a street corner in half a shirt shrugging at my mother who is going ballistic and throwing a cell phone at me. My mom wouldn’t do that; she barely knows how to dial out on her cell phone, so there’s no way she’d throw it at anyone.

Got more money than God? Email me: Christina@realityshack.com or visit http://christinamrau.blogspot.com.


Comments are closed.