If there is one thing I love as much my husband (and my family), our cat, and good landscaping, it is probably food. I I love everything you can do with food, the infinite combinations you can come up with. I am also drawn to aesthetically pleasing things, and if I'm going to eat food, it better be pretty food. 

For example, I've learned to like meatloaf again (look, Mom! I'm growing up!) but will never make it myself or order at a restaurant for one valid reason: it's ugly. It's grey meat on a plate with brown gravy. Blah.  I like hamburgers, but a good hamburger to me has a toasted, shiny bun, green leafy lettuce tucked under that bun, a thick cut tomato slice, a wedge of purple onion, and a pleasing yellow-ish slice of cheese. I don't even think I like tomatoes that much, but I need red in that color scheme to complete the meal. If you have ever seen me wield a can of whipped cream, you can attest that I like to make perfect little tufts on pie and ice cream. A doughnut with vanilla frosting and sprinkles is a thing of beauty in my world.  I think I might have been a food stylist in another lifetime. 

It's not surprising then that one of my uber-favorite shows is Top Chef on the Bravo channel. As I have said numerous times, it makes the cooks on Hell's Kitchen look like they work at the Waffle House. Top Chef is all about combining flavor, aesthetics, and presentation in a way that is pleasing to the palate as well as the eye. It is the show that taught me about the amuse bouche, the joy of sous vide cooking, and brought the term 'molecular gastronomy' into my vocabulary. I love the close-ups of each dish. Family-style dining  is about as popular as processed cheese; it's all about the plated presentation. Ahh...attention to detail. Love it.

Prior to pregnancy, my Top Chef regime consisted of pouring a glass of either a buttery Chardonnay or a hearty red Zin* into the appropriate stem-ware, slicing a few pieces of Brie or Cambert cheese with an apple or pear (seasonal, of course), and settling on the couch for the night. Of course, those things are now forbidden to me (minus the fruit) so I can't tell if I'm not into 'Top Chef: Masters' because I am missing my favorite snacks or because it's just not really that good this season.

The premise of this season is a little different than seasons past. Instead of amateur chefs competing for $100,000 ("from the Gladd Family of Products"...) with one contestant being sent home each week, now four professional (and rather famous) chefs compete each week to win $10,000 to a charity of their choice. Between the Quickfire Challenge and then the Judge's Challenge, they earn stars based on the quality and presentation of their meals, with 25 total stars up for grabs.  Six chefs will go on to the finale where they will do something...I just don't know what yet. Stay tuned. Sorry, I'm not an insider.

Anyways, we're talking about some HUGE names here - Hubert Keller, Rick Bayless, Wylie Dufrese. Just add Thomas Keller (no relation to Hubert) and Alain Ducasse and I might have rolled off the couch. Rick Bayless, for those of you who don't know, is famous for his Mexican restaurants in Chicago, which just so happens to be a favorite of our current president (woot!). Hubert Keller, James Beard winner in 1997,  owns Fleur di Lys in San Francisco and Vegas. These are like the A-list stars of the culinary world. They are the Brad and Angelina of food.

And, based on where I live, I get to play pretend that I actually know what I'm talking about. The great thing about Vegas is we have knock-offs of lots of these great restaurants; there is a Fleur di Lys, Joel Robuchon, CraftSteak, CUT, Nobhill, Bouchon - I could go on and on - owned by a slew of celebrity chefs, including Wolfgang Puck, Emeril Lagasse, Bobby Flay, the lovely Hubert Keller, of course...if you are into fine dining, Vegas is a bad place for both your waistline and your wallet. You don't need to have any knowledge to dine there, just a credit card and a pleasant dining companion. 

With all of these options, it's not surprising that anniversaries and birthdays are always an adventure in Vegas. Although I don't think I quite cut it as a true foodie (I still consider the Whooper Jr. to be a perfect meal, when it is made correctly), it's fun to experiment. Brian and I have been to many of the above-named restaurants, dropping what amounts to a car payment on delicious, culinary creations that I no longer remember nor could pronounce. I think I'm the only pregnant woman to ever ask for a table at Joel Robuchon as a push present instead of jewelry. Don't worry - I'm insisting on the tasting menu with wine pairing.

So you can imagine my joy when I heard that some of biggest names in the food business were going to duke it out...or at least, what I thought was joy. Instead, three episodes into the season, there is something missing...something feels under-seasoned. We need a splash of an acid, or perhaps a hint of spice to rev up what is turning into a rather anemic display of culinary talent.

First, let's talk about the judges. As the first episode aired, I sat expectantly on the couch, clutching my enormous, hospital-grade water bottle, eating a turkey burger (so boring, I know, but it's safe), ready for Padma to announce the contestants. But...no Padma. A rail-thin woman with an annoyingly high voice named Kelly Choi was hosting the show. Does Padma know about this? was my first thought. And then...they announced the judges. No Tom. Wait - what? No Tom or Padma? And, as it turns out, no Gail, no Toby...nobody familiar.

My heart sank a little. Instead, we have Jay Rayner, Gael Greene, and James Oseland. Uh...who are they? Do any of them have a cool scar on their arm? No. They are allegedly food critics (most of the chefs pale in fear at the sight of Gael Greene and her little bowler hats), but they don't mesh well. Padma, Tom, Gail and Toby, in my opinion, created a flavor profile of criticism: we had sweet (Padma), sour (Tom), bitter (Gail) and salty (Toby). Occasionally, there was a celebrity chef thrown into the mix, adding the fifth element: savory. But now? It's bland, blander, and just plain treachley. Blech.

And the chefs, while fascinating to watch them work, just don't have the same comraderie as the sixteen, hungry contestants, vying for a top spot. Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed watching Hubert Keller rinse macaroni in a college shower, and that French dude brag about his talent only to later fall flat on his oversized ego, but...it just doesn't pop. It is palatable, but not satisfying. Kind of like my giant bottle of water. I drink it because I need to, not because I want to. 

I hope the fourth course is better than the first three.

Grade:  C

* = Looking for a good zinfandel'? Let me recommend anything from the Lodi, California region. According to the sommelier at Fleur di Lys, the rocky soil and dry climate are conducive to growing the best zin grapes. My two favorites are Earthquake Zinfadel and aptly named, The Zin.

I haven't written much in the last few days, mainly because I haven't been reading much. While last week I loved bed rest, this week seems to be dragging. Just getting to the month of July will mark a major mental milestone for me, and I am anxious for it.

We also received some sad news about our little pumpkin cat, Emma.  As most of you know, she was diagnosed with an inoperable kind of nasal cancer back in January 2009. They gave her about two to three months to live. Miraculously (but not surprising - we have decided that Emma clearly has more than nine lives), she is still kickin' it. I'm trying to use an objective eye to measure quality of life and food and water intake, and she seems to be doing very well.

However, this past Tuesday, I scheduled an appointment with our vet due to some erratic behavior on Emma's part. She has developed a tendency to walk into a room, stop, swivel her head around several times, and then start meowing and look really confused. I thought perhaps the nasal tumor was starting to cause neurological damage by pressing on the frontal lobes of her little cat brain.  As it turns out, the vets (yes, plural - never a good sign - I got two vets for the price of one; both of them looked at me with sad eyes. I think they are slightly afraid of giving the crazy pregnant lady bad news about her cat) determined that Emma has lost sight completely in her right eye, and has partial sight in her left. They performed a battery of highly sophisticated tests that involved waving their hands in front of her face and shining a light in each eye and they were right; Emma barely flinched. Her right pupil never dilated and her left eye was slow to respond. They felt as though the tumor is putting pressure on the chasm where the optic nerves cross, causing blindness.  This was certainly not the news I expected. Just goes to show you that you should never send a therapist to do a vet's job. I would have ordered a full battery of neuro-psych testing, not an eye exam.

And yes, I cheated on bed rest to take her into the vet. I'm not sorry. Emma has been a part of our family for over seven years and has brought the husband and I unending entertainment, love, and happiness. We know the end is coming (we call it 'going back to North Korea' -- don't ask. Long story), but I just can't imagine our lives without the little cat. When her time does come, I just hope she is able to go without pain or stress.

::Sigh::

Am sad now. Going back to my normal sad-Kim activities, that involves watching copious amounts of the Food Network and eating frosting.

I'm not going to review 'The Bachelorette' so much as I am going to vent about it.

First, I am angry with myself. It's my own fault that I became emotionally involved in this season. I haven't always been a huge fan of the series, even skipping entire seasons altogether. I started watching (again) back in the Deanna Pappas days, when she spurned Jason only to pick that weird ski-boarder dude. Jason, as we all know, later went on to dump Melissa on national television and settle with bland-as-white-bread Molly. I was overjoyed when they announced spunky little Jillian was going to be the new bachelorette. Finally! Someone with personality, independence, and a tendency to pronouce long 'o's. (she's Canadian, eh). Little Jillian is not blond, not ditzy, and best of all, not a Laker cheerleader. (sorry, Trista). I started to believe.

And so my Monday nights have been happily taken up with Jillian and her quest for a 'partner' ("Careful with the 'h' word," she cautioned Chris Harrison in the last episode. Oh, that spunk! What a gal).

And then, last night happened. I'm not going to recap the whole episode, as it can be summed up in four words:

She sent Jake home.

Perhaps three more words also work here: She kept Wes.

I'm done. I give up. All of the confidence I had with this renaissance bachelorette evaporated in the rose ceremony. And I don't remember ABC ever villifying a bachelor quite so much as Wes, the slimy musician from Texas who allegedly is on the show only to promote his music career. Our rather intrepid bachelorette hasn't caught on to this yet, although all of America is on to him, making her look like the doe-eyed, swooning female that is more about romance than reality. Or in other words, just like every single bachelorette in the series' history.

And this stands in stark contrast to set-your-watch-to-him Jake the pilot. He is so good looking he is almost shiny around the edges. He's intelligent, polite, and has perfectly straight, white teeth. He and Jillian shared a one-on-one date during the very first episode, and I think he surprised all of America as well as Jillian with not just his washboard abs but also his ability to two-step BETTER than our bachelorette. Adorable! I cried during their first date (again, I'm blaming it on the hormones) and actually thought to myself, "I am witnessing two people fall in love." I don't consider myself especially swoon-prone, so this was big.

Cut to last night's episode: Jillian tells Chris that Jake is "too perfect" and despite all of his amazing qualities, she thinks he apologizes too much. And as she reaches for the last rose to dole out to her suitors, she pins it on man-boy Michael as opposed to our leading man. Michael must have gotten lost on his way to the studios, since he clearly is a better fit for MTV's 'Real World' than primetime.

And worst of all, minutes after having his dreams crushed, Jake is talking to the camera about - what else? Jillian! He's not angry like Tanner, but worried that the other guys might hurt her. Argh! The agony of it all.

Jillian let the perfect guy go. Inexplicably. And foolishly.  She is exactly the kind of female client I would see in private practice: intelligent, independent women with a penchant for bad boys. When it doesn't work out, they come to therapy, bemoaning their bad luck and their inability to find a stable relationship. Twelve weeks and lots of Kleenex later, you are no closer to helping them than Day One. Any attempt to point out 'Hey! Maybe it's YOU and YOUR choices' is met with deafening silence and the utmost resistance.

It reminds me a conversation I had with a friend several months ago. (It was before bed rest, when I was still non-reclusive). Over lunch, my extremely intelligent, outgoing, vivacious, single friend was telling me about a date she had been on the night before at a dog park. She began to extol her theory about how all men are either one of two kinds of dogs: dobermans or poodles. Dobermans are the bad boys: the guys that drive motorcycles and don't call when they are supposed to. Poodles, as one would guess, are pleasant, thoughtful, and obedient. And, according to my friend, extremely boring.

When I asked what kind of dog her date owned, she dropped her eyes, blushed, and admitted sheepishly, "Doberman," Gosh, I can't imagine why it didn't work out.

I was quick to offer Theory C: what about other breeds? Not all men have to be dangerous and edgy (read: Wes) but all men aren't all poodles, either. Neurotic Reid could be part dalmation. I can't tell Kiptyn and Jesse apart, so they must be from the same litter.  Michael would be a puppy in this analogy. And Jake would definitely be the golden retriever - lovable, sweet, affectionate, and cuddly. And if you want to avoid playing it 'safe,' at least go for a terrier: they are unpredictable and hard to train, but at least they won't drag you to your death the way a doberman will. They will just annoy the hell out of you, but you love them anyways.

I just have one question to pose for Jillian before she selects her 'perfect half' : let's imagine it is three years in the future. She's now married, and just found out she is expecting. Her doctor tells her that she has to go on bed rest for the remainder of pregnancy (where in the world am I coming up with this situation? Sounds so far off base...). Who does she want at her side? Wes, who wil probably be on tour with throngs of female groupies and a reluctance to call home, or would she want Jake, the guy that will likely rub her feet, tell her she is beautiful, and buy her pie when she is hungry?

Yeah, I think the answer is obvious. Jillian, go with the pie guy. Please.

(and yes, I do plan to continue watching - ONLY b/c Jake comes back and he's wearing his cute pilot outfit. And he fights for her honor by confronting Wes! Please, please, let him back on the show, ABC. Or at least make him the next 'Bachelor' so he's given a chance to finish first.)

(and for all of you wondering, I think my husband is kind of like a St. Bernese Mountain Dog; hard-working, social, protective, intelligent -- and destructive to the home when left alone for too long. :-)  Besides, we're cat people).

My first foray into the world of Jodi Picoult. I had heard a great deal about her books, but had not had the opportunity to read any until now. Sent by my loving mother (who also thought to include a little blue post-it note that read, "Enjoy! Love, Mom," remensicient of so many elementary school lunches), this novel will be released as a major motion picture later this summer.  Since my husband has already guaranteed me he will not (read: never) watch this movie, I figured it was best to read the novel if I ever wanted to learn what happens. Books are always better than the movies, anyways.

FYI: my wheelchair was delivered earlier this week, making the occasional outing possible. We've only used it to go to hospital baby classes, but I'm hoping to bust it out in real-world Vegas shortly. Look out, Town Center!

In "My Sister's Keeper," you meet the Fitzgerald family; Brian (Dad) is a level-headed firefighter, Sara (Mom) is an attorney-turned-stay-at-home-mom with the spirit of a protective moutain lion, Jesse, the oldest and only boy with a thick streak of delinquency, Kate, the middle child striken with a rare and difficult to treat cancer, and finally, Anna, the youngest daughter in the family. Anna was conceived and genetically engineered to be a perfect match for Kate after her sister's diagnosis at the age of two. What seemed like a good idea 13 years ago has now worn thin on little Anna; she is tired of being 'spare parts' for her sister, and seeks medical emancipation from her parents. She hires an attorney (the dark-haired, morally-ambiguous Campbell Alexander) and to the shock of everyone around her, begins the court process.

Picoult seamlessly weaves between narrators; just as you get comfortable with Anna's first person point-of-view, the book (and font) will switch to another party. All characters are well represented, save the mysterious (and ailing) Kate.  The moral, ethical, and legal questions are endlessly fascinating; it is nearly impossible to read this book without thinking, "What would I do?" And by the book ends, the only thing I could focus on is, "What is Anna going to do?"

And the ending does not disappoint.

My only regret while reading this book is that I just tossed out all of our information on cord-blood banking. The horror and unbelievable stress of having a child with cancer was not glossed over by Picoult; she took a measured (and appropriate) systems approach to acknowledge how each member of the family was affected by Kate's diagnosis, highlighting the roles people play in the face of crisis.

I'm a little nervous to discuss this book with my own mother, for fear she might break into her 'You love your children more than your own life, Kimmy' speech. (I don't disagree with this statement, I've just been hearing it since the age of eleven, and now she gets a little weepy as she says it, completely throwing me off-kilter because then I get weepy and well, that's just not a good thing.) I may not technically be a mother yet, but just the thought of anything happening to our little 29-week old fetus (who already has a name, a personality, and litany of hopes and dreams) is enough to make me sick to my stomach with anguish.

Eleven weeks of bed rest doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Grade: solid A

Oh, Jen Lancaster. You crazy, ex-sorority girl with a penchant for pearls and unending narcissism. How I love thee.

However, I may not be the best person to review Ms. Lancaster's fourth memoir. Not because I'm not a fan - HUGE fan, even joined the fan club via Facebook - but because there are days I have to ask myself if I AM Jen Lancaster.

I was introduced to her books by an email from my friend Liz (yup, same one - mom to Wes) last summer. She first asked me if I had read any books by Jen Lancaster, and when I didn't reply, she sent this:

"Also you never answered my question about Jen Lancaster. Have you read her books? It is really important that you answer. If the answer is no I am sending them to you when I am done. You have to read them because I think they are written by you. Is your pen name Jen Lancaster?"

Concerned I may have a writing doppleganger, I set off to buy these books as soon as possible. Even my attempt to pick up her material was Jen Lancaster-esque (although I didn't know it at the time).

With gas prices soaring over $5/gallon at this time, I maximized my errands and swing by the book store prior to my yearly eye doctor appointment. I grabbed all three of her books - "Bitter is the New Black," "Bright Lights, Big Ass," and the newly published "Such a Pretty Fat." With some extra time on my hands, I decided to grab a quick lunch at one of our favorite microbreweries that just so happened to be very close to my doctor's office. I'd only been there on Friday and Saturday nights, and the place was always packed with annoying Summerlin teenagers and their oblivious, shiny-SUV driving parents. I hated the place on principle, but secretly loved the food. With only a few cars in the parking lot, it seemed like a best case scenario: a quiet Thursday lunch minus the texting brats, high school drama and completely uninvolved parents.

Not wanting to take up an entire table myself, I slid quietly into the bar area and ordered my favorite salad. The bartender asked if I wanted anything to drink; hmm, good question. It was my day off, it was a lovely summer day in Vegas, and I was not pregnant (oh, those were the days...) Spur of the moment, I pointed to my favorite microbrew and settled in with 'Bitter.'

Forty-five minutes, one turkey salad, and two Brewhouse Blondes later, I couldn't contain my giggles. Jen Lancaster was really funny! The book was excellent and she did sound a little like me. She was overdramatic, let any level of power go to her head, and took loving care of her delicate blond highlights. This woman could be my sister. I was able to finally put the book down, collect my belongings (begrudgingly) and head to my appointment. 

It didn't hit me until I was in front of the puff-of-air test that my head was slightly spinning. I was starting to feel as little...tipsy. My only job at hand was TO FOCUS and I had done the one thing that preventing me from doing that.

What the hell was I thinking -drinking before a doctor's appointment? I tried to focus on the "lens one? lens two?" test by blinking furiously and asking for copious amounts of water.  I prayed no one could smell my breath. Considering the circumstances, I looked ripe for an intervention.

I think I passed all of the tests (and managed to score some free saline solution), but I definitely finding a new eye doctor this year.

So, onto 'Pretty in Plaid." Ms. Lancaster kicks it old school by reliving childhood memories based on specific items of clothing apparel. You watch as she goes from an over-aggressive Girl Scout to an awkward seventh-grader who was bullied to a size-5 Jordache-wearing high school junior whose hair was as big as her ego. She recounts pivotal moments of her development through fashion, ultimately leading up to the pride-comes-before-the-fall person we meet in 'Bitter is the New Black."

The book starts slowly. Reading about her Girl Scout exploits made me fear she may be several pages away from going all James Frey on us. (careful! Careful!) She regains her commanding voice during the high school, but the best part is by far - by far - her description of sorority rush.

This is where I fear my critical edge fails me. Jen is from the Midwest, lived in Indiana, went to a college in Indiana, loves cats, was in a sorority, and also eventually wound up as Rush Chairman. Go ahead and replace 'Jen' with 'Kim' in that sentence. And those are just demographics.  (just to avoid confusion: I went to undergrad in Illinois and graduate school in Indiana).

Her over-the-top bossiness, hyper-competitiveness, and need to have things perfect made me blush; during my time as Rush chair, I literally lived and breathed Rush. Hell, even before Rush, I took my sorority vows seriously. My feelings about other sororities rivaled that of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.  During Rush, however, it reached new levels.  I spent hours pouring over Rush flow-charts and planning the perfect parties. I yelled at members who failed to look enthusiastic during Rush practice. I snapped when strawberries were not set at 4:00 on the lip of champagne glasses.  My parents worried that all of my involvement was interfering with my school work, but I was quick to soothe them with 'I'm learning about the real-world application of leadership skills!' Funny how nothing in the field of psychology has ever required me to paint a banner or sing while clapping.

And you know what? I'm glad I did it. The hard work paid off. (kudos to my co-Rush, Liz, as well before she sends me an email asking why I didn't mention her).  We were rewarded with the best pledge class on campus that year. Even now, much to my husband's chagrin, I will occasionally refer to that part of my life as 'The Golden Years of Alpha Gamma Delta' and extol the power and progressiveness of the Cooper Administration. Suck on that, Kappas.

Ahem...back to Jen. After college, we read as she buys her first business suit and ultimately, her first 'status' hand bag.  Her Vegas vacation literally had me rolling off of all twelve of my body pillows and gasping for air. I read parts out loud to my husband, who also cracked up (and he's a pretty tough critic). I don't want to ruin anything for you, but the phrase, "When did I eat corn?" will get stuck in your head, making you smirk/giggle at the most inappropriate times.

My only criticism for Ms. Lancaster?  The epilogue scared me a little. Jen is starting to dance on that 'Look, I'm normal but I'm famous!' edge, and I'd hate for her to fall into the pit of celebrity-dom. Her greatest quality is her likableness and ability to relate to her reader. I, obviously, over-identify. However, you can tell she is proud of her writing and most recent status on The New York Times' Best Seller list...a huge accomplishment no doubt, but we, as readers, don't want to hear about it. I think the hardest thing about being famous/talented is constantly having to downplay the fame and talent, lest you become incredibly unlikable. (also see: "Gosselin, Kate" and "Boyle, Susan.") So Jen...love ya, but hold it in. Call your mom and brag. Don't put it in the epilogue.

Overall: great summer read. Definitely worthy of some pool time and a fruity drink.

Grade: A-.

So I ventured outside today by myself. Before I get negative comments about how I should be at home on the couch, please know all I had to do was 1.) go to the mailbox and 2.) go to the bank. The bank is literally one well-placed golf shot from my house, and yes, I drove to both the mailbox and the bank.

Anyways, what a crazy world out there! I attempted to make a right hand turn on red and was almost broadsided by a woman in a large white SUV making a U-turn. While driving into the ATM machine at the bank, another car totally cut me off. In an effort to cut my losses, I decided to hit Burger King for a Jr. Whooper (since making a right is easier than making a left turn) and almost got hit again (!!) at a four-way stop.

I don't need this stress. My ten-minute errand run turned into a stressful, death-around-the-corner dodgefest. I am camping out on my safe, accident-free couch for the rest of the afternoon. At this rate, I'll be using one tank of gas for the entire summer.

I'm currently up to my elbows in paperwork and activities. Writing thank you notes, finishing up my business paperwork, and a breastfeeding class is all preventing me from vegging out with a book this afternoon.

The next reviews I have planned are:

"Pretty in Plaid" by Jen Lancaster
'The Prodigal Summer" by Barbara Kingsolver
Top Chef: Masters (episode 1 and 2 reviews)

Coming soon!

O.M.G.

Best.
Show.
Ever.

I've been a fan of the 'Real Housewives' series for quite some time...there is nothing better than finding yourself on a lazy Sunday afternoon with not much on your schedule, only to happily discover an entire marathon of 'Real Housewives' episodes on Bravo. The same channel that brings me my beloved 'Top Chef,' Bravo certainly deserves some applause. First, the Orange County version came out, then the show traveled to New York, Atlanta, and finally, New Jersey. There is loose talk of possibly a Las Vegas version of the show, but we could only be so lucky.

Anyways, onto the New Jersey version. Only six meager episodes long, we meet Teresa, Dina, Caroline, Jacqueline, and Danielle. Three of these women are related - Dina and Caroline are sisters (who married brothers), and Jacqueline married Dina and Caroline's brother, making her their sister-in-law. Teresa has three adorable little girls and a tag line that I've already adopted: "Happy wife, happy life!'" she chirps in the first episode. She and her husband have a propensity to pay cash for everything, and watching them peel off hundred dollar bill after hundred bill is both mesmerizing and slightly disturbing (where did they get all of those bills?!). She spends $123,800 in furniture in one shopping trip...and paid cash for it. Wouldn't that be heavy?

Every show needs a good villian, and Danielle fits the bill. A single mom with a pending divorce settlement and the need to find a new fabulously wealthy partner, she exhibits poor parenting skills and terrible decision making (gucci model? really? Really?). She and Jacqueline are friends, but for reasons unexplained on the show, Danielle and Dina don't see eye to eye. They even go to the same hair salon, which offers several awkward run-ins. Danielle has that creepy, needy friend quality that makes most normal people run for the hills. She doesn't seem to care that her friendship with Jacqueline (and dislike of Dina) puts Jacqueline squarely in the middle, a position Jacqueline laments during each episode. Jacqueline is a former Vegas resident, so she was an instant favorite.

Caroline has this tough, Jersery-like quality to her (or what I imagine to be 'Jersey-like,' since I've never been there). She has three almost-grown children and dotes on her family like a protective lion. During the last episode, it also shows her training her German shepard to viciously attack intruders. Um...yeah. I would not mess with Caroline.

The strong Italian-Catholic undertone of the show was something I found fascinating; there was no hesitation to unleash emotion. The strong family connection resonated in the last episode, as Caroline took the blame for her sister while wagging her finger at Danielle, stating, "You need to understand my family," she drawled in her thick NJ accent. "We...[dramatic pause]...are as thick as thieves." You go, girl!

Speaking of the last episode...holy catfight! (quote from Bethanny, RH of NY). I hope it goes down as one of the greatest trainwrecks of reality TV, ever. Sweet little Teresa had organized a dinner party for the other four women and their families, to celebrate her onyx-and-marble 10-million square feet dream home. Danielle decides to use the occasion to confront the other women about talking behind her back. And not surprisingly, all hell breaks loose.

With children present, all five women start shouting accusations at each other. Daniella accuses Dina of spreading lies (via a book, 'Cop Without a Badge,' by Charles Kipp. Yup, I ordered it). Dina adamantly denies this allegation. Caroline jumps in and defends her sister, claiming she was the one who found the book. Jacqueline, out of no where, goes against family loyalty and calls Dina a 'big fat liar.' Danielle looks as smug as the cat that ate the canary as Jacqueline choses friendship over family. And then, out of nowhere, Teresa asks a question about the book and Danielle snaps at her, 'Pay attention!'

And Teresa completely loses it.

I tried to record what happened next, verbatim, and this is what I came up with:

Teresa: "You [BLEEP]! You freaking [BLEEPING] [BLEEP]! I (inaudible, sounds like growling noises)...[BLEEP] you!"
[Teresa bangs table with both fists]
-- Cut to Dina, talking to the camera, claiming she has known Teresa for 15 years and has never witnessed an ounce of this kind of behavior. --
--Cut back to Teresa, at the dinner party. She now stands, still yelling. --
"[BLEEP]! You [BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP]'
And then...she DUMPS THE TABLE.

Holy cow! I didn't even know you could DO that! Throw/dump a table??? In my wildest revenge fantasies, I've only gotten to the point of throwing a drink in someone's face, or possibly stepping on their foot. But the whole table? With all of the stem ware and plates and food? What about the glass shards? Someone could cut their foot.

I even made my husband watch this scene after he got home from work. Watching his jaw drop as Teresa overturns the table was totally worth it. Who does that? I mean, seriously?

And the reason for Teresa's completely apesh*t departure from reality? She felt as though Danielle was calling her stupid. And clearly, no one calls her stupid. (note to self: don't break into Caroline's house, and do not call Teresa stupid).

After the melee finally quiets down, Dina offers quite possibly the best line I've heard in a long time. She confronts Danielle and tells her that she is not mad at her, but instead, "I will pray for you, as you clearly are kind of koo-koo." How great is that? 'I will PRAY for you.' Ouch. I'm totally going to use that in the future.

It looks as though Bravo will grace us with one more episode, airing on June 18th. Aptly named 'The Last Supper,' (love those Catholic undertones!), it is the director's cut of the last episode. You better believe I'm going to tune in.

Good, mindless fun.

Grade: A-