Cheaters is still on TV. I fucking love Cheaters. It’s one of those shows I know I shouldn’t love but I do, like COPS, Full House, and (rarely, and only when I am at least moderately drunk) Dog the Bounty Hunter. If you’re a conversational failure who can’t keep up with references, Cheaters is a show hosted by some greasy nerd named Joey Greco that, based on the suspicions of one person in a relationship, follows the suspected significant other with cameras and unmarked vans in the hopes of catching them in the act. Of cheating, of course, which always happens because nobody gives a shit about virtue anymore.

Once the significant other has been confirmed as a cheater by the surveillance crew, a confrontation is staged wherein the wrongdoer is “officially” found out by the wrongdoee. The confrontations that are real are pretty spectacular. The confrontations that are fake are…well, they’re pretty spectacular, too.

ALSO! Once Joey Greco got stabbed. Stabbed! During a confrontation, there was a scuffle (on a boat, if memory serves me right?) and in the melee, the cheater stabbed the host. I could give a shit if the show went totally staged after that. I mean, I realize that it’s partly staged and of course I think it’s a slimy premise, but if the soulpatch-wearing host gets stabbed on a boat, then I’d rather have Cheaters pretending it’s a legit detective agency than have TMZ pretending it’s any kind of journalism.

One of the complaints I hear from female wrongdoees on Cheaters is that their men never tell them they’re beautiful, or sexy, or are appreciative of what their women do for them. This is how they know their men are cheating, because if their men aren’t appreciating them, then they must be appreciating someone else. While I don’t miss the logic here, I’m so tired of people complaining about how they’re not validated enough by someone else.

About eight years ago, I worked with a girl named Kristian. Kristian was sort of like some loopy hippie who somehow wore goth makeup without actually being goth, and all she ever talked about was her horses (she owned several). Oh, sometimes she also talked about where she lived, which was two rooms in someone’s semi-abandoned vacation home and she may not have had electricity. Or possibly a bed. Kristian was a dipshit but an innocent one, and she honestly saw nothing strange about her life, or about the life of anyone who owned several multi-thousand-dollar beasts and yet was basically squatting without utilities. One day, Kristian called into work. She did the same thing the next day. And the next day. The day after that, my boss happened to answer the phone and asked Kristian what the fuck was going on. Kristian started bawling about how some guy had broken up with her and she was too sad to even leave the house, let alone come into work to earn money to buy more horses.

“And I just told her that you can’t wait around for someone else to make you happy with yourself because you have to be okay with yourself first,” my boss said of the conversation later. I thought this was solid advice, though I wasn’t sure how it applied to someone who may have finally taken a look at her 2-room apartment and wondered where the fuck she’d been going with her life. I don’t think Kristian ever came back into work after that, and I tend to think that she’s probably still looking for someone else to make her happy with herself.

Actually, if I think hard about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if I learned that Kristian had started doing really awful porn. Seriously. She was just desperate enough for people to like her and clearly there was some financial mismanagement there.

The point is that people who constantly need someone else to tell them how great they are haven’t yet learned to be happy with themselves first. I mean, it’s all well and good when someone says you’re beautiful, but isn’t it better to hear that and think “I know” rather than “oh my god, do you really think so? Because I don’t think so.” And that’s ridiculous. It’s a combination of boring (no way, you have low self-esteem too?) and time-consuming (how many fucking times do I have to compliment you before I can watch TV in peace?), which is a real drag because one thing does not alleviate the other.

Graham doesn’t tell me I’m beautiful all the time. I don’t know if he’s ever said it. He probably did at one point, but I gave him the side-eye and asked how much he’d had to drink. But I don’t need him to say this. We’ve been together for four and a half years; I assume that if he’s still in this relationship and continues to want to have sex with me, then there must be something about me he likes.

Also I am totally above calling Cheaters for any reason. I just want all of you to know this.

(And can you imagine all the hits I’ll get based on this entry title alone???)