The Real Housewives of Alameda

Premiering on Bravo TV, this Saturday. Not really. But I would be right there watching if it were.

I don’t mind admitting it – I watch Bravo TV. I’ve never done any heavy drugs, but I can only imagine that this type of television is as powerful, or more so, than heroin and perhaps heroin and Oreo cookies and potato chips combined.

If I ever end up in the hospital with a brain tumor, I can tell them right away that it’s from reality TV and perhaps they can inject some Masterpiece Theater directly in there and clear it right up. Anything’s possible.

But when I watch The Real Housewives of OC (Orange County, for those uninitiated), for example, as they’re filmed in each other’s homes or out to lunch at many a local eatery (or more often, bars), I often think, Wouldn’t it be fun to do the same show in Alameda?

My friend Lexi and I joked about spending our days filming at La Peñca Azul, getting hammered on margaritas while discussing whatever are we do to about the shoe selection at Ross! I mean, if you’re not there right when the new shipments come in, forget about it.

Or lunching at Speisekammer discussing all the different types of sausages and how underutilized knockwurst is in home recipes.

But then we’d amble through the Alameda Marketplace and talk about another friend and her disturbing habit of parking in her driveway a bit too far into the sidewalk and how irritating that is. She should know better.

And then that Other Friend would find out we were talking out of school and we’d have a big showdown at the Lucky 13, but not before we each order just the right cocktail to match our respective moods and peruse the menu of Scolari’s next door. 

We’d have a knock-down, drag out, polite conversation that would lead to us discussing where to go next, like perhaps Forbidden Island, where things would really get weird watching old surf movies while sipping something in a bowl with a dozen umbrellas and several straws shooting out of it.

The next day I’d go over to Lexi’s house and ask her if she ever figured out who stole her clothes line out of the backyard, while her blind and deaf cat, Pickle, makes his way to the litter box, drooling all the way. Then I’d tell her we might still be in big trouble with our Other Friend after seeing a post online that she was upset.

But all would work out fine, as viewers would see, while Lexi, Other Friend and I eat pancakes and chat on my sofa in clear view of the cat hair on the cushions and the colossal mess of the bird cage in the background. Henry, the bird, would chime in with his unintelligible parrot dialect and then relieve himself as we wrapped up our conversation.

I mean, obviously we have to finish casting and maybe figure out more story lines, but I think we have a lot to work with already.