I don’t watch The Real Housewives of Anyfuckingwhere, so I’ll admit my education on all things Rimes, Cibrian and Glanville (an apt name for the worst damn PR firm on the planet) comes directly from the internet. That being said, Brandi Glanville strikes me as the type who would take the kids to the park and spend the entire time on a bench, tossing her hair while looking to see who’s watching her when she’s not staring at her phone. Instead of giving her kids the time left in minutes, she yells, “Kids! We’re leaving in 22%!” as her battery starts to get low.
I could be totally off base, because Brandi wrote a column for SoberBook.com (via Radar) where she talked about never getting over Eddie Cibrian passing his dick to LeAnn Rimes (“DUH!” - fucking everybody) and how her kids are her everything.
“Four and a half years after my betrayal, I still battle with depression and trust issues. I survived my heartbreak, but I will be dealing with the damage it caused for the rest of my life.”
“I have my good months and bad months,” she said. “If I didn’t have my children, I might be one of the many who never came out of the darkness. These two little men, Mason (10) and Jake (6) keep me grounded and in check.”
“I share half custody of my boys,” she said. “This equates to me having a half and half split personality. By this, I mean when I have them and there is total chaos in my house, I am complete. My soul is happy.”
“Then the inevitable happens… they leave me,” Glanville continued. “My big, chaotic house is silent. I hear crickets chirping and that feeling of falling back into the darkness it took me so long to come out of hits me.”
Having the major sads sucks and even though I joke about putting my kids on the auction block with some regularity, I can’t imagine what it would be like to not have them around. Brandi laid that shit on pretty thick though, so she gets three-and-a-half out of five Gary Coleman side eyes from me for her overly dramatic descriptive imagery that could have been taken straight out of an essay on depression written by a high school sophomore.
Brandi also threw out a little burn to her basement-dwelling, forever alone haters:
“Don’t be so hard on yourself when you mess up because we all make mistakes,” she reasoned. “Learn to ask for help when you need it and know that the people that sit back and judge us, pretending to be perfect, are usually the most messed up of all.”
Eddie should check his security tapes for footage of a shadowy figure that looks like an animatronic sex doll sneaking into their house and snagging LeAnn’s diary from her nightstand. That shit sounds like it could have been taken verbatim from a journal whose pages alternate between scrawls of “Mrs. Eddie Cibrian” with little hearts over the i’s and life-afirming quotes from one of those “relatable” Tumblr pages designed to appeal to the awkward teen crowd.