Blab On Reality Television

Hello, I'm Joni, and I am addicted to reality television.

I’m ready to admit that I watch most of the Real Housewives-of-some-city shows. I watch most of the cooking competition shows on the Food Network and Top Chef on Bravo. I watch Teen Mom OG and Teen Mom 2. I watch Dance Moms. I watch Dancing with the Stars. I watch The Voice. I watched and will be watching American Idol. I watch Don’t be Tardy. I watch Shark Tank. I watch the show about the Amish with the funny mother, Mary. I watch Outdaughtered. I used to watch Kate Plus 8, but I’m over that. I guiltily watch the Duggars with one eye closed because of all the controversy (I just have to know). I watch most of the shows on HGTV, especially House Hunters. I watch Hell’s Kitchen. I watch Master Chef and Master Chef Junior. I watch Sister Wives. I watch Flipping Out. I watch Storage Wars. I watch Project Runway and Project Runway All Stars.

That’s a lot. It’s more than I thought. I never listed them like that before. I wonder how I have time for anything else. (I thank the technology gods for DVR.)

Among about a hundred other shows that have gone to reality show heaven—like Jerseylicious and Here Comes Honey Boo Boo—I used to watch Dog the Bounty Hunter. I heard it’s still on somewhere, but I’d need a bounty hunter to find it.

I don’t watch The Bachelor or The Bachelorette (no reason, just never got into it). I don’t watch anything scary or gross or shows about drunk people having sex in hot tubs. I don’t watch crime reenactment shows, but I used to watch Cops. I used to watch Hoarders until it started to make me sick and Intervention until it made me too sad. I don’t watch celebrity reality shows, but I did watch I Am Cait. (Okay, I did watch The Anna Nicole Smith Show. Don’t judge me.)

I tried to stop. I really did. I read a book instead of turning on the television or I went out for a walk or I went to bed early. But no matter how hard I tried to quit, every time I turned on the computer, there it was—right in my face—the latest happenings on my favorite shows. Or I’m in the food store standing in a long line at the register reading the front pages of the tabloids, “Polygamist Adds Another Wife and Another Husband in a Shocking Twist!” Or I’m overhearing conversations. “Did you see the Real Housewives last night? Oh, my God, I couldn’t believe what she did.” Or “Can you believe that girl on Teen Mom went and got herself pregnant again?” Or “Guess who got eliminated on The Voice last night? You’re not going to believe it.” I couldn’t take it anymore. Before I knew it, I was back to four or five shows a night.

I wonder if there’s an RSA group I could join. If there is, maybe they’ll document it for television. They could call it Reality Rehab. I’d watch that.