Undeniable Proof That You Are Better Than The Cast Of “Vanderpump Rules”

Vanderpump Rules

Everyone seems to be obsessed with the glamazons who make up the cast of Vanderpump Rules. They’re alright. But I’m here to remind you that your life is way better than theirs are. And what better way than to let them know what’s up in an open letter.

Hi Guys,

I know you’re probably really busy waitressing and tending bar right now – actually, who am I kidding? You’re probably all on your fifth stolen cocktail of the night and before we go any further, allow me to commend you all on having the cajones to carry a tray of sizzling fajitas whilst intoxicated. You are far braver than I.

Anyway, I just wanted to write to you all as a way of saying “Thank you.” For what, you ask? Oh, you silly, beautiful, JCPenny-catalog-level models.

In case you haven’t heard – and honestly, you don’t seem like the types who read The New York Times – it sure is hard being a Millennial these days. What with Baby Boomers like my mom and dad constantly asking me what “my plan” is and all. Plus, that one chick in my sorority who already has a job lined up for after gradation won’t stop giving me pity glances during chapter. It’s fine though. I’m not exactly losing sleep over the opinion of a girl who still wears hoop earrings, you know?

So anyway, in this climate of gloom and doom and sometimes crippling self-doubt, it’s always nice to know that things could be worse. After all, I could be one of you.

Please, don’t take that as an insult. In fact, it’s really a compliment. I’m essentially stating that you guys are my anti-depressants. And as the saying goes, “SSRIs are a girl’s best friend.” Thus, through the distributive property, you are all my best friends…maybe. Of course, this doesn’t mean that I’m not better than you. I am. I really quite clearly am. Let’s be real, your whole show pretty much exists to make viewers feel better about themselves and their life choices. Let’s review, shall we?

I mean, I may have vomited at the bar after partaking in one too many $4 Long Island Ice Teas, but I’ve never gotten so wasted that I thought dumping my drink on the head of my significant other while calling them a “bitch” was a good idea, Schwartz.

And I may hate an annoying acquaintance but I’ve never once uttered “I want to wrap a dildo in acid and give it to [her] as a present so it tears out her insides.” Never has a thought so cringe-inducing crossed my mind, Stassi.

Also, never, during any of the times that I have watched Almost Famous, have I had the compulsion to get a hideous tattoo across my forearm that states “It’s all happening,” Scheana. Nor do I feel the need to “sing” “original tracks” in pursuit of a “career” in the music industry.

And listen, I don’t always keep up with my eyebrow plucking but, dear mother of God, at least I do not SHAVE MY ENTIRE FOREHEAD, Tom.

I’m also no fan of my ex-hookup’s new girlfriend, but never have I ever tried to actively break them up by trying to uncover evidence of him cheating on her. Nor have I ever solicited girls he’s allegedly cheated with via social media and brought them to his (and his girlfriend’s) place of work as a means of confrontation, Kristen.

Finally, Jax. My God. Where to even start. I mean, I’ve had fun vacations but I’ve never impregnated a girl while in Vegas while involved in a relationship with someone else. I also have some hookup regrets but I’ve never tried to fashion myself a “self-diagnosed sex addict.” Also, I’m not a giant tool.

And last but not least, I may not have my life figured out yet, but at least I’m not a waiter at SUR and in my mid-30s.

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I came for the wine, but I stayed for the complimentary appetizer sampler plate.

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