This is a show that has trampy women all duking it out for the love of Brett Michaels. Now, if you do not know who Brett Michaels is, well then you were probably living under a rock in the 80's for he is the make-up wearing, "Talk Dirty To Me" singing, platinum blond lead singer of the band Poison.
I sat and watched the "Rock of Love" marathon and eventually my husband joined me in this mind-numbing television show. I love it because it offers me no educational value whatsoever... it is like Novocaine for the brain-just what a tired mom needs after a full day.
I posed this question to my husband: "Do you think these women are pretty?"
Before I give you his answer let me describe these women to you-They have fake hair, fake boobs, fake tans and fake nails. They curse like sailors, fight like inmates, and throw around their sexuality like a low-price call girl. Basically, they are like many of the girls I went to high school with-or correction, many of the girls my husband went to high school with. I went to a good Catholic high school where we wore our skirts hiked up above our knees and our hair teased and sprayed 4 inches high. My husband went to our public high school where the girls were tough and the lip gloss was sparkly. Actually, the only difference between the girls at public school and the girls at my school was the fact that we went to Mass every morning and our parents wanted us to be nuns... other than that we were on a pretty even playing ground. (Hey, I never said the 80's were pretty).
So my husband's answer to my "Do you think these circa 1984 women are pretty?" was basically a "Hell Yeah!"
I was floored. Here I sit portraying a woman of stature. I have manner and values. I go to bed by 10 p.m. every night and make sure my family has their correct servings of fruits and vegetables everyday. I drive a minivan and try not to show off too much cleavage as I am a respectable wife and mother. Who knew that all along I could have stuck to my long hair and spandex dresses? Who knew I could still carry around a can of Aquanet in my purse and make rocker signs with my fingers and tongue all day long? Who knew!
I started to think back to my Poison loving days and shook my head in disgrace over the life that my husband and I have kidded ourselves into believing is what we want.
My husband was a rocker too... he was a drummer in a band. He wore spandex pants and tied bandannas around his ankles and wrists. He even had long hair and ripped up t-shirts. He was AWESOME!
I was a rocker chick. I loved any band that had big hair and tight pants. My parents were so frightened by the choice of boyfriends that I had that they threatened to send me away to an all-girls school on more than one occasion.
Sadly, my husband and I did not hook up when we were our rocker selves. We met when we stifled our bad boy and bad girl images and carried out our lives as responsible citizens of this game we call life.
I have always made the claim that my husband "saved" me from myself. I was still living like an extra in a Bon Jovi video when we met and he was all clean cut and mature. He reeled me in and I have never returned to my "She's My Cherry-Pie" themed days. I have even said that if I had not met my husband I would probably be in jail right now...
But then I realized, if I hadn't met my husband... I would probably be on VH-1 kicking some girl's butt in order to win Brett Michaels love. *big sigh*
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