Every Monday night, my sister (a lawyer), my brother-in-law (a pharmacist), and I have a binding obligation to one another. Every Monday night we have a party, a party to watch the most intense, gripping, and polarizing show on TV. I have denied it, hided it, and justified it, but, the truth is … My name is Shyla, and I’m a Hills-aholic.

The Hills, MTV’s hit reality television show, follows BMW-driving, Pucci-wearing, Lauren Conrad and her entourage of girly friends. The girls party, shop, and pretend to work around the hills of Hollywood. The central drama pivots around an on-going feud between Lauren and Heidi. The once best friends are now arch rivals. Heidi’s boyfriend, Spencer, a jerk, leaked rumors surrounding Lauren and a sex tape. Heidi tried to reconcile with Lauren. Lauren’s response was, “I forgive you.” Pause. “And I want to forget you.” (Oh snap, one point LC!)

The intrigue of the show is that nothing ever really happens. Every episode is a blur of swanky-vodka-induced nights, over-sized sunglass-wearing brunches, and staged-bitchy, dramatic confrontations. The latest drama centers on Stephanie Pratt, the sister of the heinous Spencer, a.k.a Heidi’s boyfriend, a.k.a, the shit-stirrer. Stephanie is a she-witch trying to get cozy with Lauren. (Oh, no she didn’t!) Heidi is getting back by trying to steal Audrina, Lauren’s best friend.

Beyond the fluff and frills, The Hills is a phenomenon that over four million Americans have made the most-watched program on MTV. I can’t explain why, or hide it any longer; this show is nicotine for my soul—I am addicted. When it’s Hills time, a chainsaw, lawnmower, or naked George Clooney wouldn’t or couldn’t distract me. Trust me, these girls are not the type of chicks I would befriend. They have overly bleached hair, overly collagen-filled lips, overly designed clothes, and overly empty brains. Somehow, their drama and light-heartedness keeps me (and America) coming back for more.

This show does exemplify some basic human truths we often deny. It illustrates the real American dream—the ability to get ridiculously famous and ridiculously rich for doing absolutely nothing. These girls fill their days with shopping bags, fill their nights with kamikaze shots, and get big bucks for doing it on TV. As a society we are addicted to this show because we are jealous of their silver-spoons, trust-funds, and hot bods.

My Monday night sessions of The Hills are the beaconing light at the end of my dreary Monday mornings. They give me twenty-two drama filled minutes of utter trash. If you are in the need of someone to judge, someone to laugh at, someone to shoot, and someone who you want to root for, then watch The Hills. I personally promise that you will immediately feel better about yourself and our world. As Lauren once said to Heidi, “Love is not a maybe thing, you know when you love somebody.” For me, there are no maybes; I know I love the drama, shallowness, and pettiness that is The Hills.