First Comes Love. Then Comes Marriage. Then Comes…

That’s right, fellow royal watchers, there’s big baby news! No, not for the overrated Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, but for the oft-forgotten Swedes. Swedish Crown Princess Victoria and her husband of close to two years, Prince Daniel, welcomed their highly anticipated heir on Thursday. The little princess, Estelle Silvia Eva Mary, is now third in line to the throne; and that noise you hear is the collective sigh of relief across Sweden, as this new addition means that Victoria’s brother, Prince Carl Philip, is now one spot further down the line.

TRH Crown Princess Victoria and Prince Daniel on their wedding day.

Up until rather recently, Carl Philip was fully embraced by his people, but within the last year or two he’s made some questionable life choices. Aside from the work-shy title that he's acquired, he’s also taken up with a former reality TV “star” – slash – nude model, who treated her Twitter followers to tales of dating the prince and making out with a female porn star (clearly she has no interest in being famous). Apparently, the prince is now cohabitating with said girlfriend, Sofia Hellqvist—whether merely to piss his parents off or because he actually enjoys her company remains to be seen—and the Swedish people are, overall, none too happy about the idea of a loose-lipped, attention-seeking reality TV star as their queen.

The prince and his "lady"

 

Can’t say I blame them.

But this new baby should alleviate their fears slightly. Not only is she the daughter of parents who both have a history of hard work—something that couldn’t necessarily be said of every royal spouse—but she’s obviously also the product of so much love. 

Can you feel the love tonight?

Seriously, where can I find myself a Daniel?

And, her introduction to the world was announced with a 21-gun salute. 

Doesn't get much better than that.

And the Spell Was Broken

In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that I’m not a “Twi-Hard” (shocking, I know). In fact, it was only because of a friend’s peer pressure that I finally broke down and read or watched anything Twilight-related. I will admit, however, that I was pleasantly surprised with what I encountered of the Twilight series. Until, that is, Breaking Dawn: Part 1.

(Halt: Possible spoilers ahead.)

Oh, where to begin? First, this movie felt much more like a telenovela than the interspecies love story that it was supposed to be. Truly, without all the music montages, pregnant pauses, sighing, deep inhaling, dramatic eye closing (I’m looking at you, Kristen Stewart) and never-ending monologues—presented for optimal effect with heart-wrenching mood music and slow zoom-ins with the camera—this movie could’ve been 45 minutes. And should’ve been. In fact, it took vampire-like strength on my part not to fast-forward through a large portion of it.

However, if I took you through every irritating aspect and unbelievable moment, we’d be here for as long as the movie felt (read: a long time). That said, there were a few things that just can’t be forgotten—or forgiven.

First of all, Bella’s wedding hair. Hideous. It was bulky, uneven around her face and—at one point—fell around her ears, giving her a slight Mr. Tumnus-from-Narnia look. I mean, c’mon, her hairdressers—Edward’s “sisters”—are like a thousand years old; haven’t they had time to perfect an up-do? 

Apparently "messy" is in this season.

Secondly, and this has been an issue for me from the beginning, WHY in the world do they cast darkly complected actors and then paint them white? It’s not a good look. And considering these vampires are supposed to be the most beautiful beings ever created, it really makes no sense. If I was Stephenie Meyer, I’d be significantly irritated that my vision was being so shamelessly distorted. (Although, I suppose those monster checks she's cashing ease the burn a bit.)

Nikki Reed (L) proves that she's actually an attractive human being when not in vampire mode (R).

 

Listen, I really am willing to overlook a lot. I won’t even mention the fact that K. Stew may be one of the most irritating actresses of all-time (although, she can cry like a champ—I’m talking Diedre Hall-caliber—I won’t take that away from her); or that as much as she bites her lip, she better have a Costco-sized tub of chap stick at home; or that somewhere between the second and third movie, Carlisle acquired some type of accent…but only sometimes; or even the erroneous implication that the actors playing the vampires are the most beautiful people on the planet. Hey, I understand that beauty is subjective and I’m willing to concede that some people may find this group attractive. It’s big of me, I know.

Nope, I won’t mention any of it.

What I can’t ignore, however, is the Darth Vader-inspired voices the werewolves employed while they were communicating telepathically. I hope the BD creators are big George Lucas fans; otherwise, this makes absolutely no sense and is so awful it’s not even comical, just cringe-worthy. It was perhaps the most ridiculous scene in a film ripe with them.

There were, however, some bright spots. I thoroughly enjoyed Anna Kendrick’s 15 seconds onscreen, as well as the special effects employed to show Edward’s venom spreading through Bella’s body. I assume the venom that Eddie injects Bells with is different than the “poison” that Real Housewives of New Jersey’s, Joe Gorga injects his wife with or this would be a completely different movie. That said, I had to remind myself periodically that this was a PG-13 film, as parts of it were fairly risqué. I’ll just say that I’m glad I wasn’t watching it with my mom and leave it at that.

But, despite all its faults—and there are a lot of them—there’s something about Twilight that warms the heart. Maybe it’s the family unity. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of the Cullen clan, aside from that undead thing? They stick together and protect each other at all costs.

Let’s face it, as much as I hate to admit it, the Twilight books—and, to a lesser degree, the movies—are a lot like Mexican food: they really stick with you, lingering until your last taste is a distant memory.

And, sometimes, they give you gas. 

What a Tangled Web We Weave

I’ve made no secret about my love for reality TV, but even I questioned my sanity as I sat watching Part 2 of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills's three-part reunion on Monday. These women are so vile, so fake, so infuriating that they’ve sucked almost all the enjoyment out of my viewing experience. As I sat there Monday night, I was just on the verge of changing the channel when something brilliant happened: Eddie Cibrian’s (of LeAnn Rimes adulterer fame) ex-wife, Brandi Glanville, who is a new addition to the show this season, made her appearance. And not a moment too soon. 

The Housewives' one-woman Greek chorus, Brandi Glanville

 

Who would’ve thought that this loud, brash, vulgar woman would be the voice of reason among these more “cultured” broads? Sure she’s a tad crazy—dropping f-bombs like Jerry Garcia dropped acid and matter-of-factly admitting that she’d slashed her ex’s tires—but she said everything I wanted to say and more. (Not sure what that indicates about me.)  HousHO

Ms. Glanville took several of the women to task—including Kyle “I’m so beautiful that everything I say is hilarious and you must love me” Richards for her mean-girl ways—but my absolute favorite was the showdown she had with Taylor “I’m a giant liar and everything about me is fake including my name and especially my lips” Armstrong. 

Taylor Armstrong/Taylor Ford/Shana Hughes

 

For those of you who don’t know, Armstrong’s estranged husband, Russell, committed suicide in August of last year. A tragedy for sure. But since then, Taylor has gone full throttle with accusations of domestic abuse. The problem is, none of her stories add up.

He punched her in the face at the Four Seasons and gave her a black eye (pictures of which were widely circulated).  Actually, he punched her in the face at home and gave her a black eye. Oh, wait, no he punched her in the eye and left no mark.

He broke her jaw. No, no, he dislocated her jaw. She had to pop it back in over the toilet. No, sorry, she had to pop it back in lying in bed.

It’s stuff like that. (Feel free to Google it for complete lists and timelines.) Nothing huge, but enough discrepancies to question her reliability. These are details that, if true, you’d expect to be seared into her brain. Obviously, I can’t definitively say whether or not she was in an abusive relationship. The problem is, there are only two people who can; and, unfortunately, one of them is a known fabricator and the other one is dead.

And then there’s the fact that the father of her child’s body is barely in the ground and she’s already written a book about him...and found herself a new boyfriend (allegedly).

She's recently started making the talk-show circuit to promote her book—periodically getting tripped up in her double speak—which is why when the aforementioned Brandi referred to the Armstrong marriage on the reunion and Taylor snapped at her that it was none of her (Brandi’s) business and Brandi fired back with, “You’ve made it the world’s business,” I wanted to give Brandi a standing ovation—or at least buy her a drink. Truer words have never been spoken, at least not on a Housewives show.

And speaking of true words—or untrue, as it were—Taylor was recently caught posting book reviews to her Twitter account under fake profiles. Unfortunately for her, she forgot to log out of her own account before making the comment. 

Taylor's biggest fan

Just one more thing that calls her character into question.

Please know that this blog is in no way meant to condone domestic violence, and the fact that she’s an exceptionally unlikeable human being doesn’t mean she wasn’t in an abusive relationship. My guess, however, is that neither Taylor nor Russell was blameless in this scenario and it’s unfortunate that the accused isn’t here to defend himself.

I suppose the reality is that we’ll never know what truly went down in the Armstrong household.

Guess it’s just one more unsolved mystery to add to the list…

A Judgment-Scented Potpourri

In case you haven’t heard, I love me some Real Housewives; although, as I’ve mentioned before, my enjoyment of the show is dropping faster than Snooki after a night out at the Shore—the Jersey Shore, that is (a show I would like to go on the record as saying I do NOT watch).

The current cast of the original Housewives series, Orange County. I know what you're thinking: They all look so natural!

I find myself watching the horror on screen between the cracks of my fingers, much like I watch scary movies. And let’s be honest, there’s not much difference between a Real Housewives horror and a Wes Craven horror, although Ghostface is slightly less offensive and terrifying than some of the Housewives. Maybe these women should look into investing in a mask or two; $5 is a small price to pay to hide terrible plastic surgery and to stop scaring small children.

But I digress…

What really gets me about these shows is when, during an interview, the women are asked a question that they deem too personal and respond with, “That’s private” or “This is my personal life.” I’m sorry, but don’t you lose the right to your personal life when you sign on for a reality show? In my opinion, the minute you sign on the dotted line, your personal life becomes public; you trade your privacy for that D-list celebrity status you so desperately want.

So, sorry, ladies, but your privacy is long gone—just like your self-respect. 

________________________

In case you haven’t heard, Aaron Rodgers is, for the most part, a pretty good quarterback (although, if you watched the Packers first and only playoff game this season, you may not believe me). He’s the 2011 league MVP and star of those irritating State Farm “Discount Double Check” commercials—yeah, you know the ones. He is not, however, a homosexual. Allegedly.

I was willing to believe he was cut with a straight edge in a straight line from a straight cloth, but after seeing this picture he took at the pre-Super Bowl Playboy party with Shaquille O’Neal, I’m not so sure. 

Shaq and A-Rod

I can’t remember ever seeing another heterosexual man rest his hand ever so gently on the thigh of another man. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen; I’m just saying this is one of those things that makes you go “hmm.”

_________________________

In case you haven’t heard, former ATG Boyfriend Johnny Depp may have ended his 14-year relationship with the mother of his two children, Vanessa Paradis. Or, more specifically, she ended the relationship with him. Of course, there’s been no official confirmation and Ms. Paradis has, in fact, denied it; but as we’ve learned with Nick and Jessica and Demi and Ashton (among others), where there’s smoke, there’s usually fire...eventually. And in this case, it makes me kind of sad. As much as I love the Depp, I was kind of rooting for these two.

Johnny and Vanessa faking their way through it.

It’s rumored that the reason for the split is none other than the infamous man-stealer and humanitarian, Angelina Jolie. If you remember, Depp and Jolie starred together in the widely-panned film, The Tourist, and even during production there were rumblings that Paradis was unhappy with her lover’s costar. Can’t say that I blame her, given the leggy mom’s history of wooing costars, but seriously, Angelina has 6 kids and Brad Pitt. Where would she find the time or energy to steal yet another man?

Of course, considering neither Depp nor Pitt has aged particularly well, maybe it’s true; maybe Jolie just can’t help herself when in the company of aging pretty boys. That said, Luke Perry’s girlfriend better watch her back. And her man.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

In July of last year, Kim Kardashian filed a lawsuit against The Gap, parent company of Old Navy, for using her doppelganger in its Old Navy commercials. She contended that using this “look-alike” was confusing and misleading for her fans, as well as a violation of her intellectual property rights and damaging to her reputation. The Gap has recently hit back, which is bringing the lawsuit back to the media’s forefront. And let me tell you, folks, there’s so much juicy goodness in this lawsuit that I’m not even entirely sure where to start. But let’s start with the term “look-alike.” To me, this implies that one person looks like another. Correct? 

Admittedly, one semester of Media Law and an attempt at the LSATs doesn’t make me a lawyer, but I’m not convinced this is a valid argument. What do you guys think? 

Separated at birth?

Sure, they both have that “everything about me is fake” look but I can’t imagine confusing one with the other, and therefore find it hard to believe that these commercials could be misleading or confusing to anyone—Kimmie’s fans included. Of course, I suppose that if you’re a Kardashian fan of any of flavor, you’re not, by definition, the sharpest eyeliner in the make-up bag.

As far as violating intellectual property rights, don’t you have to have an intellect in order to have rights to its property? I’m just saying…

But the best part of this lawsuit is, by far, The Gap’s response to KK’s contention that these commercials are damaging to her reputation. The company’s lawyers are arguing that Ms. Kartrashian’s reputation is so bad that it is in fact “libel-proof.” This essentially means that her reputation is already such a joke that it cannot be damaged any further—by the clothing giant or anyone else. That’s gotta hurt. Of course, considering her greatest claims to fame are a sex tape and a fake 72-day marriage, I think The Gap has a solid case.

And, as if the defense against her isn’t humiliating enough, Kim’s ex-boyfriend Reggie Bush is adding insult to injury by wining and dining the alleged look-alike, Melissa Molinaro.

Don’t worry, though, Kim. Maybe Reggie was just confused. Maybe he thought he was actually on a date with you.

After all, you know what they say about Kim Kardashian fans… 

‘Til (Almost) Death Do We Part

In a world where marriages come with a 30-day trial period and quickie internet divorces are as instant as a cup of Folgers, it seems miraculous for one’s wedding vows to remain unbroken for even a decade. Sure, there are plenty of marriages that have beaten the odds, but for every Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward (married 50 years) and Jerry Stiller and Anne Meara (married 57 years), there are many more Britney Spears and Jason Alexander(s) (married 55 hours) and Mario Lopez and Ali Landry(s) (married 2 weeks).

Sure, not living in Hollywood increases your marriage-enduring odds exponentially, but given some recent events in Italy, it’s painfully obvious that there are no guarantees in the business of being married.

For, you see, it seems that a 99-year-old Italian man, known only as Antonio C., is divorcing his 96-year-old wife after 77 years of marriage. Seventy-seven years. I can’t even count that high.

You may be asking yourself what on earth would provoke a man—after 77 years—to divorce his wife; a woman who he’s presumably seen at her absolute worst and her, him. What incites a man to leave the woman with whom he’s had five children, 12 grandchildren, and one great-grandchild after nearly eight decades together?

Lies, that’s what.

Apparently Mr. C. recently stumbled across love letters exchanged between his wife Rosa and her lover. That’s right. Rosa had an affair. 60 years ago.  And after finding the evidence of his wife’s infidelity, Antonio was apparently unable—to (sort of) quote The Lion King’s deep-thinking warthog, Pumba—to put his behind in his past. I can’t say that I necessarily blame him. That’s six decades of lies fermenting in an antique chest of drawers. Not to mention the fact that she kept the letters. For 60 years. That’s gotta sting if you’re the husband.

Obviously this is a messy situation, in which there is no winner. All I know is that on our friend Antonio’s next birthday, he’ll have the opportunity to not only celebrate hitting the century mark but also hitting the town as a single dude.

Wonder where a centenarian goes to pick up chicks...   

New Year. Same Judgment.

First let me say, Happy New Year!

But fear not, my friends. The year may be new, but the judgment remains the same.

The first object of today’s affectionate judgment is one of our favorites: Kate Middleton. To start the year off right, here’s a picture of the “world’s most beautiful woman” (yeah, perhaps if we lived in Whoville) en route to a royal Christmas celebration. Sometimes I truly feel like I’m living in an alternate universe. I would feel much more charitable towards her if I wasn’t constantly being told how stunning she was, what an amazing dresser she was, how she can do no wrong, blah, blah, blah.

So, you see? My bitchiness isn’t really my fault. I blame the media. 

The Duchess of Whoville, er, Cambridge

I will say, though, that someone mentioned Kate Middleton in conversation the other day and I couldn’t, for a second, remember who that was. This says to me that I’m either making real progress or I have a brain tumor. Either way, maybe we’ll give Waity a slight reprieve in 2012. (Although, her 30th birthday is Monday, so I make no promises...)

However, we promised you judgment, and by golly, there will be judgment. So, on to the next object of our affectionate judgment…

Have you heard that, although Kate Middleton may be the most beautiful woman in the world, Jennifer Aniston is—according to Men’s Health—the sexiest woman of ALL-TIME? 

The Sexiest Woman of All-Time (?)

Yes, friends, you read that right. We’re not talking the last year, the last decade, or even the last five minutes. No, they voted her the sexiest woman of ALL TIME. What?! Granted, I don’t subscribe to Men’s Health—mostly because I’m not a man—so perhaps I have no room to talk (although, really, when has that stopped me?) but I also don’t subscribe to the idea that JA is the sexiest woman of all time. What about Carole Lombard? Hedy Lamarr? Marilyn Monroe? Lana Turner? Rita Hayworth? Spending the majority of Horrible Bosses saying filthy things does not a sexy woman make. It’s just gross. That’s my thought, at least, what do you guys think?

And lastly…

This is incredible. Finally someone else is passing the judgment for me. What a relief. Being such a judgmental jerk can get SO exhausting!

Spoiler alert: If you’re a huge Kristen Stewart fan (and, really, if you’re over 12, you’re probably not), you may want to refrain from clicking the above link. Otherwise, enjoy.

And, again, happy new year! Here’s to a 2012 filled with good health, much happiness, and lots of juicy judgments!