That’s the Waldorf Astoria. It’s where I grew up.

The last time I’ve accidentally seen an episode of Paris Hilton’s My New BFF was nearly two years ago. It was hilarious then and it’s still funny even now. This isn’t a Paris-bashing post  so if you’re into that, you may need to go somewhere else. I still kind of leaning towards liking Paris Hilton especially after she has toned down the wild stuff. Heck, the girl just turned 30! It’s about time to start acting like a woman. I still suspect that there’s a brain (and a heart) underneath the dumb-blonde rebel act.

Anyway, back to the show. The episode I saw was a replay of the Season 1 finale and it was between the last two finalists: Brittany and Vanessa. Brittany is the rocker chick with a penchant of showing half of her underwear above her jeans (Brit, there is a reason why it’s called underwear) and for not owning a comb. As for Vanessa, there’s only one word to describe her: SCARY. She’s the fangirl from hell who’s so obsessive that she gets this psycho look every time someone else talks to her Paris.

I was in stitches just by looking at Vanessa’s face while Brittany was recounting her day out with Paris. She was silent but livid, and her normally sweet face was a mask of jealousy. If I were Paris, I’d be a bit scared of her. She’d probably be the type of best friend who would murder you in your sleep if you decide to get married and have kids.

Brittany herself seemed like a faker, too, although she’s far better at her game than poor Vanessa, who would burst into tears every time she said Paris’ name. Brittany pretended to be so into being BFFs with Paris and look where she is now: no longer friends with Paris, no longer into “that” scene, has turned her celebrity into a career break and is now (surprise, surprise!) working on her debut album.

Dad was shaking his head the whole time we were watching. “Puro mandurugas ang mga yan. Mga model/starlet.” (Trans.: They’re all con-artists. Those models and starlets.)

While on the helicopter with Brittany over Manhattan, Paris pointed and said:

“That’s the Waldorf Astoria. It’s where I grew up.”

LOL! I can honestly say that I don’t envy Ms. Hilton for that one. She grew up in a hotel?! Poor little rich girl.

Since we moved places several times from birth until adulthood, I practically grew up in apartments. I’ve always envied the kids who have an ancestral home with a roomy kitchen, a big yard, a tree somewhere in that yard and a treehouse if they’re really special. Sigh. Maybe that’s something that I can give to my future child.

Conclusion: Is Paris Hilton’s My new BFF the best reality show ever? NO WAY! Is it something one can watch on a sleepy Friday afternoon when you’re bored and need mindless amusement from watching  materialistic girls who are so obsessed with being (or being with) a celebutante? HELL, YEAH!


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