First, a confession: I watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Actually, in full disclosure, I watch any and all of the Housewives no matter the region, whether it be New York, Orange County, Atlanta, Jersey, or D.C. (I grew up just north of there, after all). Many and varied are my excuses for watching these shows on Bravo, though I’m not convinced any of them is valid. The hubs is even less convinced.

Arguably the most condemning of the multiple versions of the “like-crack-to-me” series is the show (and I do mean “show” in EVERY way here) in New Jersey. Perhaps this is because–to quote one of the show’s stars, Theresa Guidice–”People (like to) make fun of Jersey girls, but I think they’re just jealous.”

I keep scratching my head wondering what exactly she could possibly mean by that statement, at least as far as the show goes, because one thing I’m certain of is that I’m not jealous of these women. Ok, maybe I’m a little jealous of the front doors to Caroline Manzo’s house (they’re so sparkly and grand with the glass and the uplighting!), but other than that, I’m not buying whatever it is these women are selling. Except for Caroline. I do love me some Mama Caroline. And Jacqueline’s really sweet. Funny, too. And Dina–I’m so bummed she left…

Ah, I can’t stop myself from watching. Can’t. Stop. Watching. It’s a problem, people. A problem a blame Bravo TV for completely. It’s their indictment after all: “Watch what happens.” It’s as if I never had a choice in the matter.

I blame you, Andy Cohen.

If you don’t watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey, consider yourselves lucky; you haven’t taken a swig of the Cool-Aid just yet. If you have, humor me as I to take a moment to deconstruct one of the more complicated “woman” on the show: Danielle.

Wait! Wait! Come back! I know she’s scary in a myriad of different ways, but let’s consider the “character” of Danielle, as if she were the protagonist in her own life story–because that’s exactly what she is. Whackadoodle, right? In her life story, she is the protagonist, the “hero,” who is making the decisions she deems best for herself and her daughters.

So what if there’s a book. Oh, and that porn tape. And the stripping. There’s that whole “extortion” plot. And the cocaine. And the gun. There was the prison time, something that brought her close to her mob-like friends (Danny and the really scary guy who doesn’t talk but looks like he came right out of The Godfather). I know she comes across as a bit of a stage mom, but so does Teresa at times. There are also  those allegations that she tried to have Dina’s daughter Lexie taken away from her–really, nothing when you take into account the supposed death threats against the Manzos, Lauritas, and Giudices. ALL ALLEGATIONS SO PLEASE, DANIELLE, PLEASE DON’T SEND ONE OF THOSE GUYS TO HURT ME!

Must. Stop. Watching.

This season gave the audience a little bit of insight into the “crazy,” and I, for one, found myself feeling truly sorry for Danielle. There are the obvious: she can’t seem to read social cues very well. Understatement. But she also began looking for her birth mother, after what she alluded to was a pretty rough childhood with her adoptive family. Whether or not you think it’s just a ploy for more attention, the fact remains that Danielle wants to know where she came from and who her “people” are. I’m not sure you can fake a longing like that.

That kind of longing became evident for me whenever Danielle was with a friend on the show. She kept saying things like:

“I’m gonna have my people there, right?”

“But you got my back, right?”

“But you’ll be with me, right?”

Right. And then it dawned on me: Danielle’s looking for her tribe. She’s practically begging people to stick around for the next act, but they never do. Folks, I’m not saying I blame them. Trust. (Jacqueline, you tried. We all saw how you tried.) Still, it does seem like this isn’t her first rodeo with rejection, see? A far cry from it, really.

All this makes it so obvious to me now why Danielle will not leave the other “woman” (she refuses to use the plural version of the word) on the show alone. They’re all a huge family. A HUGE GINORMOUS TRIBE. They’ve got one another’s backs. Even I’m envious of how their family/tribe works. You know, you gotta love those big Italian families. My first boyfriend came from a huge Italian family; his cousin’s wedding was just a celebration of laughter and yummy food and big hugs and–I digress.

So what does it all mean? I don’t know, honestly. Maybe something’s wrong with me that I’m feeling sorry for those folks on reality dramas (is that a real genre?), people who have crossed the line between reality and reality television. Sometimes I think we all just want someone to see us where we’re at and acknowledge us. 

And so, from afar and at a safe distance (I hope. Gulp!), Danielle, I see you. I see that you’re hurting, and I can even see the beginnings and the origin of your pain. I acknowledge you as a struggling protagonist in your own life story, who is trying to do right by you and and yours. I see you.

And I’ll BE seeing you on Monday night for the extra-long second installment of the Real Housewives of New Jersey Reunion Special!!!

Must. Stop. Watching. 

Babe, I totally get what you’re saying… This is a problem.