Reality television is probably the best thing ever created (I mean, next to Twitter or Chipotle, of course.) You probably assumed that I’m a lot dumber than you thought since I actually said that. In reality, though, (a pun, cue the phony laughter) reality television is probably better than school at teaching America’s youth about how to survive in “The Real World,” (a show that I have decided is, in fact, nothing like the real world). I think it would have been so much more beneficial to watch Big Brother in Elementary school rather than learn to play the recorder.

First, let’s look at a reality show based on my own life: “Jersey Shore.” Nothing cheers me up more than the adorable and goofy antics of DJ Pauly D and Vinny, but nothing frustrates me more than the shady Situation. “Jersey Shore” has taught me about more than how to put together a high-fashion outfit and the dangers of hot tub escapades and near-alcoholism, though. I’ve learned that by slapping your hand on tables and throwing my hands out at people while yelling with a strong Jersey drawl (“Rahhhhhhhn, staaaaaahp, you’re traumehtizing meh”), people instinctively want to listen to you, and will find you more intelligent.

Next comes my most recent (not-guilty) pleasure: “Kourtney and Kim Take New York.” Nothing I have said thus far is truer than this: I wish I was a Kardashian. Riley Kardashian has sort of a ring to it, don’t you think? I constantly ponder why I was not born into the Kardashian family, and why, instead, I was born a Cosgrove. Let’s take a moment to collectively admire their hair—I am not sure what they put on it (or if it’s even real), but it’s so shiny and perfect-looking…all the time. And MASON! A round of “aws” is in order for Kourtney’s son, Mason, arguably the most adorable child possibly produced by two human beings. The Kardashians as a whole have taught me that if you cake yourself in makeup, speak with a high-pitched, nasally voice, and wear excruciatingly tight clothing, you will automatically become famous; (curiously, I’ve implemented all of these strategies, but Perez has yet to call me).

From the show “My Strange Addictions,” I’ve learned that if you start eating pottery, you will become addicted. So basically, the main lesson here that I’ve learned is not to start eating pottery.

And let’s not forget “Storage Wars,” which has taught me the value in run-down storage units, as well as to be careful when saying “YUUUP” around people, since it’s been copyrighted by the famous auctioneer. (Why can’t this class count as a finance credit for my diploma?)

Finally, from the “Real Housewives,” of every city, I’ve learned that the only way to stay beautiful and fit in at an advanced age is a combination of Botox, Liposuction, and exotic facials. From their wise example, I’ve already begun saving for my retirement—which hopefully will come at age 30 if I’m married to a wealthy entrepreneur, preferably one who suffers from a variety of ailments—with my plastic surgery fund.